Some of the men are curiously tatooed; a kind of pattern covers their breast and shoulders, and sometimes extends to their knees, having much the appearance of scale-armour. Others have their chins ornamented to resemble beards, an appendage denied them by nature.
I have never before entered a village without noticing some interesting children, but I observed none here; though active enough, they looked unhealthy and dirty.
Belabun, the chief of this tribe, has had, from his position, a very extensive intercourse with men, particularly with the Kayans, who inhabit the upper portion of the river. One of our objects in visiting the country was to proceed to the interior to make friends with the numerous Kayan chiefs who live there; but the small-pox had, unfortunately, broken out among them, and the ascent of the river was forbidden, and all had fled into the forest. I much regretted this, as I never had another opportunity of ascending the Rejang. I will not introduce here the information we collected concerning the Kayans, as I intend giving an account of the visit I made shortly after to a branch of those people who lived on the Baram.
It is singular how the story of the men with tails has spread. I have heard of it in every part I have visited, but their country is always a few days’ journey farther off. The most circumstantial account I ever had was from a man who had traded much on the north-east coast of Borneo. He said he had seen and felt the tails, they were four inches long, and were very stiff, so that all the people sat on seats in which there was a hole made for this remarkable appendage to fit in.
Sherif Musahor, a chief of Arab descent, and one of the most violent men that ever tormented these countries, arriving from Siriki, came in to see us; he is a very heavy-looking fellow; at one time we were great friends, as we were equally fond of chess. It is not my object to enter into political affairs, but I may mention that having instigated the murder of two Englishmen he fled north, and after a variety of adventures found himself in 1861 at the head of a band of desperadoes at a place called Muka. Sir James Brooke had often been reported dead, and on his arrival at Sarawak the news spread like wildfire along the coast. Sherif Musahor, greatly disturbed, called before him a Madras trader and asked him, “Did you see the Rajah?”
“Yes.”
“Had he all his teeth perfect?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, you lie! when I saw him last he had a front tooth knocked out.”
The Madras man saw the fiery look of this desperate chief, but without losing his presence of mind for a moment, answered, “What, have you not heard that the Rajah bathed in the waters of the Nile, and that it has restored his youth again?”