The river still preserved its unruffled surface, indicating the evenness of its bed. Although the stream rushed along with [[258]]increased speed it continued to be perfectly navigable; here and there whirlpools were to be observed as the water rushed over detached pieces of chalk, but these could be avoided with care. The Kapoeas was still a stream in which a small steamer, drawing six feet of water, could find no difficulty in manœuvring. After a couple of hours’ towing they reached Batoe Sambong. Amai Kotong went ashore here for a few minutes to take leave of the Chief of the Kampong, with whom he had lived in peace for many years. The inhabitants of the kotta, interested in the travellers, came out in a body and offered them cakes and toeak, both of which were gratefully received not only by La Cueille but also by the women, who according to their limited powers had taken their share in the rowing.
This pause on their journey did not occupy more than half an hour, but it seemed an age to Johannes, who did not feel safe until they had passed that barrier for steamers, the first cataract. Once beyond that, an hour or so would be of little importance as the fugitives could be no longer overtaken. Until then his motto was: “Forwards! forwards!!”
At a short distance from kotta Sambong they passed a solitary cliff of chalk about fifty feet high, to which Johannes drew the attention of his companions. Seen from a distance it appeared to resemble the form of a gigantic woman in a kneeling position, wearing a cloth around her head. Against the foot of this rock the Kapoeas beat with violence, scattering around wild mountains of foam as if furious at the barrier which forced it away from its course to seek a new direction. Johannes informed his friends that the neighboring kotta had taken its name from this [[259]]stone: Batoe Sambalajong, abbreviated into Batoe Sambong.
“What is the meaning of Sambalajong?” Wienersdorf asked.
“Sambalajong is the name of a white head-dress worn by widows. As that stone bears some resemblance to a widow in the native mourning it is called batoe sambong, which may be translated widow’s stone.”
The cry of “halt” was now heard from the foremost rangkan. They had arrived at Kiham Hoeras, the first cataract. A subdued murmur, increasing more and more as they advanced, had been heard for a considerable time, but it had scarcely been heeded by the Europeans who were intently listening to the legend of Batoe Sambong. The narrator now ceased talking and the tiktak caused by the movement of the oars in the rowlocks being also suspended, the majestic sound of the waters broke upon their ears. Looking up they beheld the river shooting downwards from on high in a magnificent cascade. The lower part of the fall consisted of massive rocks assuming the most fantastic shapes. At the more elevated part this chalk formation was broken by plutonic diorite, whose dark blue seams appeared between the white chalk on the surface. Here and there were scattered huge black masses of stone which seemed to have broken from the cliffs and to have been weather-beaten into the nearly globular shapes they now possessed. The whole of the upper part of the cataract presented to the eye an agglomeration of similar masses scattered about in the wildest manner. The impressions created by this scene of nature in her sublimity was most powerful. The Europeans looked on in much admiration [[260]]while their rangkans almost danced on the foaming waters; they could scarcely find words to give utterance to their thoughts.
“It is magnificent,” Wienersdorf said, deeply affected; “see over there how beautifully these black and white layers of stones are intermixed; look, a mosaic like that over yonder I defy any artisan to excel.”
“Observe that limestone beyond; does it not look as if carved? Only see how beautiful and white it stands out against that black background; it is like a gigantic piece of lace-work.”
“Only a little less fragile than your Brussels or Mechlen lace,” Johannes added.
“Look,” Wienersdorf continued enthusiastically, “at those high steep banks, in which chalk and diorite stones almost struggle for supremacy. Observe how they are clad in the loveliest soft green of gigantic ferns, crowned by the sombre foliage of the majestic primeval forest like the proud gothic arches of a mediæval cathedral. See, higher up, where the trunks lean over bending their branches, interwoven by the creepers and forming a low cave from which the white foaming waters escape as if from the mighty urn of the god of the stream.”