August 9th.—We were up at daybreak, and at once ate our breakfast. As usual, we had to await the coming of our guides, and it was fully nine o’clock ere we got fairly started. I notice that many of the natives here wear semi-circular betel-boxes tied around them, and charms are very commonly worn. These last are seemingly of the most varied description, anything seems to do for a charm—shells, teeth, and bones of animals, seeds, stones, and bits of rock, tiny bells, and especially a kind of fossil wood called “kayu lagundi,” or, “tree of youth.” These are enclosed in the folds of an old kerchief and are tied around the body. Great confidence is felt by the wearers of certain good charms, and they are very popular among the Sulu pirates, who will fight like demons, believing themselves to be invulnerable. All the villagers had come down to see us start, and they followed us down to the river, which is not far from the houses. Rain during the night had caused the current to run strong and high, and none of our men dare venture across. We had a rope for such emergencies, and my interpreter, a lusty Badjow, named Suong, swam across and tied it fast to a tree. It was now easy for our men to cross, and we all got over safely. A little higher up we had to recross again, but the current here was stronger, and all the goods had to be carried across by our Dusun followers, who had accompanied “Gantang,” the headman of Sineroup. Fortunately nobody was drowned, but the time occupied in crossing was so long and we were all so tired with our exertions that we were glad to stay at a wayside village instead of going on to Kambatuan as we had desired. We saw a good many attractive plants to-day, but unfortunately the dangerous difficulties of our journey left us but little time for collecting. And yet, although hungry and fatigued to a degree which no one can imagine who has not travelled in a tropical land without roads or bridges, one could but feel enthusiasm as ferns of filmy beauty, orchids of curious structure and vivid colours, graceful glumales, flowering shrubs and palms, met our eager eyes for the first time.
One of my first “finds” this morning was a singular bolbophyllum, which grew on the branch of a tree over a stream, and which, as I had from the first suspected, has turned out to be “quite new.” It has been named, in gratitude to the Hon. P. Leys, M.B., Colonial Surgeon of Labuan, B. Leysianum, Rchb. f. Its structure is so very extraordinary that nothing but an engraving could give any adequate idea of its characteristics. A creamy flowered dendrobium (D. cerinum, Rchb. f.), grew on trees here and there, bearing its flowers in clusters, and a dwarf cymbidium (C. Spinksianum, Rchb. f.), was also met with in bloom, as also was a white-blossomed ixora, bearing pendulous compound clusters of fragrant blossoms. A curious strong-growing vanilla draped trees in most places, and on some wet mossy rocks beside a rushing torrent, a glossy-leaved phalænopsis (P. luteola) displayed its golden blossoms, each sepal and petal mottled with cinnabar. Cœlogynes were everywhere abundant on trees and rocks alike, and on the latter overhanging the streams hung masses of a waxy-leaved æschynanthus, bearing axillary clusters of crimson, black-striped flowers, each standing erect from a gracefully modelled purple chalice. Ferns and mosses hung on the dripping river rocks in glorious profusion. Numerous, indeed, were fair Flora’s temptations to lingering dalliance on our way, but we had an ulterior object in this journey which nothing must interfere with. Our mission was to push onward, letting nothing hinder our march—difficulties and inclinations must alike be conquered if we would that our journey be crowned with success!
Kambatuan reached, wet and fagged, we were glad of a change of clothing, preceded by a brisk rub with a dry towel, ere we thought of food. Our guides had selected a roomy house, and we soon had a cheerful wood fire ablaze on the hearth, which, as is usual here, was in the centre of the large public apartment occupied by ourselves and our retainers. A fowl and some eggs were soon purchased, and our whilom host was very hospitable, having spread some nicely-worked mats near the fire, and instructed his daughters to make cigarettes for us, which, with the kindness which clings to their sex all the world over, they, seeing that we were strangers, wet and tired, were nothing loth to do. These cigarettes, under the native name of “rokos,” were always forthcoming, and are made of tobacco (segope), both grown and manufactured by these inland people. It is cut very neatly, and is made up for sale into ropes or rolls a yard or more in length, these being folded so as to make convenient bundles about nine inches long. Although not given to trickery, it is customary for these people to make the rope “core” of refuse tobacco, or of the leaves of kaladi, or other plants, and over this the really good manufactured tobacco is wound. The result of this is that the useable produce is not above one-fourth of the apparent bulk, and although all are well aware of the subterfuge, and carefully examine every roll of this tobacco before they purchase it, yet the practice continues year after year. For smoking, this dark shaggy tobacco is carefully unwound from the “core” (or “prot,” literally stomach), and enfolded in a neat wrapper formed of the young leaf of the nipa palm, or occasionally in the thin husk of the maize cobs, both of which serve the purpose of cigarette paper by burning slowly but freely, producing neither flame nor flavour. There is scarcely a more national trait observable among Borneans than the smoking of the “roko.” It is the one luxury common to all. From the Sultan to his meanest subject—male or female—everyone indulges in smoking them; indeed I have repeatedly seen unweaned infants partaking of the solace of the breast and of their tiny “rokos” alternately, both the gift of indulgent Bornean mammas.
August 10th.—All night we could hear the rain pouring down in torrents, but it cleared up towards morning, and at sunrise all was beautifully clear and bright. This is the view we obtained of the mountain as seen this morning at 7 a.m., all the lower part being obscured by the trees in the foreground. By 7.30 we had breakfasted, and were on our way. Yesterday had been a most unfortunate day so far as real progress towards the mountain was concerned, and although all our guides were loud in their protests that it would be impossible to cross the streams after the late heavy rain, we were doggedly determined to go on. We crossed the river twice, and now, at 8.30, all further progress seems impossible, since we have to cross again, and this at a place where the river is a boiling torrent nearly five feet deep. The Dusun themselves seem to have no great difficulty in crossing, but our Labuan men are afraid. The great difficulty is to keep one’s legs under one in the strong current, and to facilitate this being done the Dusun often take up a heavy stone and carry it on one shoulder. Our men bathed here whilst waiting, and most of them took up a stone and cast it into the water ere they flung themselves in. This they do to propitiate the “antu,” or river god, who they tell me might otherwise be offended, and afflict them with sickness. As we sit beside this rushing river, the most gorgeous butterflies flit here in the chequered shade afforded by overhanging branches. Yellow, white, and brown species vie with each other in activity. Now and then the most splendid ornithoptera are seen, their strong and swift flight resembling that of a bird. One lovely fellow, fully six inches across the wings, settled on my boot as I remained motionless watching it. It was of a velvety blackness, with a bold band of pea-green across the wings. Another species rather smaller has a band of metallic blue. These delicate insects are generally most numerous by rivers, or in sunny places by the dry beds of streams, and, singularly enough, are most abundant during the cool wet monsoon.
August 11th.—A lovely morning, and at sunrise we obtained charming views of “Kina Balu.” The rugged top crags were especially well defined, as also the sloping plateau, which seemingly forms the watershed for one of the highest falls. Apparently we are quite near to the mountain, and the waterfall is distinctly audible, which does much to increase the delusion. As the sun’s power increased, however, the view lost its distinctness, and in half an hour’s time heavy white mist clouds had swept around its summit, and all its beauty of tint and shadow was lost to view. We ate a hurried breakfast, and started for Koung, a large and prosperous village situated a little to the south-east of Saduc-Saduc, the mountain ascended by Mr. Thomas Lobb in 1856. Our way lay diagonally down a hillside drain until we came to the river, which we forded, and then bore to the left across level rice-fields and patches of luxuriant kaladi (Caladium esculentum) and Indian corn, both of which evidently succeed best on these rich low lying alluvial plains. We crossed the river four or five times ere we at last found ourselves on the splendid village green of Koung. This green is a mile or more in length, lying at the foot of a range of sandstone hills which shelter it from the north, while the river skirts its southern side, and another hill rises from the river banks still further southward. It is, in fact, a well watered grassy plain between two sheltering parallel hill ranges, and affords the best pasturage for cattle that I have seen anywhere in the East. Of this the villagers take every advantage, for nowhere have I seen finer kine and buffaloes than here. We reached the headman’s house at Koung about four o’clock in a drenching downpour of rain. Some trees beside the stream were draped with a glorious climber, having scarlet flowers (Bauhinia kochiana), and a glaucous climbing plant, having lilac flowers, had completely overrun some of the forest trees on the opposite bank. We took up our quarters in the house of the headman, “Lapayang,” to whom Mr. Veitch and myself had given a Tower musket on the last journey I made in this direction. I notice that such of my men as speak the Brunei language can converse with the Dusun very readily after a few days’ residence amongst them. This fact was noted by Mr. St. John, and from what I know of the language myself after a year’s residence, and aided by vocabularies carefully collected, I believe the language of these people is intermediate between that spoken in the capital, Brunei, and that of the Sulus. Bees-wax and caoutchouc or rubber are frequently offered for barter as we pass through the villages. “Lapayang” welcomed us in his own way by firing a salute, and a gong was beaten to announce our arrival. I was sorry to find that his father had died since my last visit, when he had received us with many expressions of good-will, and told us of Mr. Low’s first visit to the mountain, which he remembered well. As we had arrived before our supplies, “Lapayang” brought us some rice and a fowl as a present, and one of his sisters gave us some eggs and a fine cluster of bananas. I felt thankful when we arrived at Koung, since I knew the way from this place to the mountain quite well, and had not to trust to lazy guides, who have not the slightest idea of time or its value to the traveller. My buffalo also had reason to be glad, for here the plucky little beast had the luxury of good herbage on which to feed, a much better thing for him than the miscellaneous browsing afforded by our former halting places. The river runs about fifty yards from our quarters, and is very much swollen, having in many places overflowed its banks. Capital shooting may be had here at the large blue pigeons which roost in the trees beside the river, quite close to the houses.
DUSUN BORNEANS AT A STREAM.
To face page 264.
August 12th.—Again a lovely morning as we crossed the ford just at the end of the village and pushed on for Kiau. The road lies by the sides of the river most of the way until the turn to the left is taken up the open rice-fields, which lie below the last-named village. We crossed this river thirteen times to-day, and some of the crossings were deep and rapid. Met troops of natives—male and female—mostly laden with large baskets of tobacco, which they were taking down to the villages nearer the coast to barter for cloth, knives, and other goods, as no traders appear to venture further inland than the first Dusun villages. Most of the men were armed with a long slender-shafted spear, which is especially useful to them in fording the streams. In addition they had the “parang,” a sort of scimetar-shaped sword, having a good keen edge. This is slung to a broad belt worn sash-wise over one shoulder, the part which crosses the breast being ornamented with cowrie shells sewn on very thickly. I was very glad when we reached the little farms of the Kiau villagers, and could see their dwellings and palm-trees in the distance. In some of the clearings the crimson-leaved dracæna (D. terminalis) was conspicuous. It has here slender stems five or six feet in height, each terminated by a tuft of bright coloured leaves. Going up the hill slowly, I made a little collection of the weeds found among the rice and kaladi crops. Among these were two pretty little plants of the daisy family (Compositæ), the one with purple and the other with yellow florets. A tiny species of torenia formed spreading tufts of purplish leaves and stems, and bore rather pretty purple and white flowers. A woolly-leaved gnaphalium attaining a foot in height, and bearing dense clusters of yellow immortelle-like flowers, was especially noticeable. There are numerous springs of cool water, clear as crystal, in this hillside, and these are brought down to the path in tiny troughs or aqueducts of bamboo, so that one has only to stoop very slightly to drink, and water-vessels are readily replenished. The whole hillside is dotted with flat-roofed field-huts of clean yellow bamboo. These afford shelter during the mid-day siesta enjoyed by the workers in the field, who are for the most part women and children. Tiny streamlets are met with now and then, and in favourable spots the most graceful tree-ferns of the primæval jungle still linger, although fully exposed to the hot sun. The lower parts of their black trunks, however, are shaded by coarse herbage, and their roots revel among the earth, débris, and wet stones below. In some places the wet earth and stones beside these streams were carpeted with lovely mosses, and of these several rare kinds in good condition were obtained. We met one of my old guides, “Kurow” (see p. 97), this morning as we came along. He came up to me laughing and vociferating loudly. “Soung,” who interprets Dusun for me, says that he wants me to understand that he, “Kurow,” is glad to see me again, and that he will do all he can to help me. We reached the village about three o’clock in a dense white mist, and it commenced raining heavily a few minutes after our arrival. Among the plants we saw to-day was a splendid large bolbophyllum (B. petreianum). A vanda grew on the trees overhanging the river, but was not in bloom. The deliciously-perfumed snow-white flowers of Dendrobium crumenatum, which were especially beautiful on the immense boulders of granite on the green at Koung, was also often met with to-day, and at one of the fords a large-growing cœlogyne (C. racemosa) bore drooping spikes of yellow and white flowers, the entire inflorescence being nearly a yard in length. While my boy was cooking dinner I made sketches of the most peculiar plants of botanical interest met with en route, much to the surprise—I might almost say awe—of the natives, who crowded around me and watched every line—and especially the colouring—with great interest. I was surprised at the small number of women who came to see us in comparison with those who flocked into the house when we were last here. I found, however, that this was owing to their being away engaged in rice planting and other field labour. The headman of this village, named “Lemoung,” had died since my last visit, and we saw his grave on the little hill just as we entered the village. A little hut had been erected over it, and this was decorated with eight little streamers of white cloth. His son, “Boloung,” now “reigns in his stead.” When we took our evening meal most of the women had returned from work, and the house was crowded, and the greatest curiosity was evinced as our plates, knives, forks, and glasses were spread out glitteringly in the lamplight. These people are very different from the Malays of the coast, and never tired of laughing and talking about ourselves and our goods. The women are not in the least secluded, and are far better proportioned, as well as more amiable and industrious, than are their Malayan sisters. Their clothes consist of a “sarong,” or short petticoat, fastened around the waist, and reaching to the knees, and a strip of black cloth is bound over the breast. Their ornaments consist of brass wristlets and anklets. Necklets of beads or brass wire are also worn, and over the breasts, as also around the waist, coils of rattan cane dyed black or red are worn. Ferrule-like pieces of tin are often strung on these rattan coils, and strings of beads are also worn around the waist. Ear ornaments are generally of wood, and as large as a wine-cork. Both men and women have holes pierced in their ears, but these are not unfrequently utilised as cigarette-holders, much in the same way as the Zulu Kaffirs at the Cape carry snuff-boxes in their ears. Everywhere here inland we find the native cloth is made from the “lamba” fibre dyed a deep blue-black with native indigo. I procured specimens of this fibre-weaving apparatus, and prepared cloth, and these may now be seen in the large Economic Museum at Kew. After dinner “Kurow,” our old guide, and “Boloung,” the headman of this village, came in with the avowed purpose of having a chat. They were particularly anxious to hear about the white man who had come to live on the Tampassuk river (Mr. Pretyman), who they had been told intended to make them all pay tribute, which was evidently unpleasant news to them. They also wanted to know where I had been since I left their village, and were very much interested in all I told them about the Sultan of Sulu. The house was full of people of all ages, who had come to see us, and among them were a party from a village three days’ journey inland. These were on their way to the coast villages to trade. The produce they had with them was tobacco, bees-wax, india-rubber, and a little “lamba” cloth and raw cotton. These people had never seen a white man before, and seemed rather interested in all we did; and in the accounts their Dusun neighbours gave them of us and our doings, the gist of which was that we came from a large prahu, or ship, to dig up grass and shoot birds, that we ate and drank all sorts of curious things, but singularly enough, as they thought, would not eat rats or tiger-cats, these being esteemed great delicacies here by the native trappers. Here, at Kiau, as at all the Dusun villages along our way, we noticed large quantities of tame or domesticated bees. These are kept in cylindrical hives formed of a hollow tree trunk, and are placed on a shelf fixed under the overhanging eaves of the houses. In several instances the hives were on shelves inside the houses, a hole being made through the “ataps” corresponding with the hole in the hive, so as to allow of egress and ingress, a plan similar to that adopted by the bee-keeping natives of Kashmir.
August 13th.—I and Smith have been busy all morning, overhauling our stores and goods, and getting ready for our going up the mountain to-morrow. Our rice had suffered from damp, but as we find we can buy some here, it does not matter so much. Several fowls were also brought in for sale this morning, so that we are not likely to starve. Having put all our gear into order after our seven days’ march, we took our guns and a couple of men, and took the path leading eastward, which led us across one or two rice and vegetable plots, in which tobacco plants were growing freely, and at last we crossed a recent clearing and reached the forest, which crests the spur or hill range on which the village of Kiau stands. We turned northwards and climbed the hillside, which was stiff work, being in places nearly perpendicular. Here I found a pretty foliage plant, having strap-shaped leaves six inches in length, glossy green, boldly variegated with silver-white above, while the underside of the leaves was of a deep blood colour. Of this I gathered as much as I desired, and a wild plantain or banana growing near, I cut one down, and packing my plants close together in damp moss and earth, I enveloped them in the cool moist sheathing layers of the banana stem. Thus packed, they occupy but little space, and are easily carried without risk of damage by drought or friction. Saw several cœlogynes in flower on the surrounding trees, but other orchids seemed scarce. I made a collection of ferns, mosses, &c., for drying, but nothing striking from a horticultural point of view was seen. We gained the crest of the ridge after an hour’s hard work, and followed it eastward for two or three miles, but without any change in the vegetation. On returning, we did not descend the way we came, but followed the crest in a westward direction, and from one point we got a capital view of one of the waterfalls on the mountain. It was now becoming misty, however, and we returned to the village, which we reached just in time to avoid a drenching, for the rain came down in torrents. I sent one of my men to fetch “Kurow,” and when he came I told him I wanted to bargain with him to take me to the mountain in the morning. He at first said he couldn’t bargain, because “Boloung,” the headman, was out. He had scarcely spoken, however, before “Boloung” himself entered from the other end of the house. Finding this loophole closed, he said he could not bargain to-day, because it was an unlucky day to him. He had visited all his traps and snares this morning, he said, and there was nothing caught, adding that he knew it before he started; this was his bad day. “Boloung” said they would come in and bargain in the morning. Fortunately I was not entirely dependent on them, and could have found the way myself, intricate as it is. Anyone who had not travelled here before, however, is entirely dependent on these people as guides, and their utter disregard of the value of time is perplexing enough to a stranger with limited supplies of food for himself and followers. It was these people who turned back Mr. Thomas Lobb when he attempted to ascend Kina Balu from this village in 1856, and the moral force of a well-armed and rather imposing party is still necessary in order to keep their avarice within moderate bounds, and to obtain from them the little assistance necessary. When Mr. Low ascended the mountain in 1851, he gave many presents to these people, and even now the wealth the village obtained through his visit is much talked of among the hill villagers. When Mr. Lobb was there, five years later, he had but a small party of followers, and not being prepared to pay in cloth and other goods so liberally as Mr. Low had done, they refused to help him, and he was compelled to leave without ascending the mountain, as he had desired to do. Even in 1858 Mr. Low and Mr. S. St. John had to “guard carefully against pilferers,” and had a little hostility to contend with as well. On their second expedition, in the same year, however, they experienced a better reception. Some years later, I believe in 1866, an Italian expedition came here for natural history purposes, and the Dusun account is that they ascended 6,000 feet. This expedition, according to native accounts, paid twice as much as was necessary, a precedent which gives these hill villagers an excuse for extortion. When I and Mr. Peter Veitch came here, eight months ago, we had a well-armed force at our backs, and we taught the Kiau people how to moderate their desires by paying a just price for all they gave or sold to us, and for all services performed, but we gave no presents. Livingstone[1] deprecates the system of giving presents in his first work on travel, and he is not the only traveller who has had reason to complain of a mode of procedure which invariably causes inconvenience to others. These people were always well-disposed towards us, and this time I find our plan was a good one, for there is no misunderstanding; fowls, rice, and other provisions are far more easily procurable now, since the natives know that all will be fairly paid for, whereas under the old system their object was to give a small present in the hope of receiving something far more valuable.