To-day we only penetrated through the mountain and looked at the country beyond, a restricted view, as the jungle closely hemmed round the cave: afterwards I heard that we need not have returned the way we came, but that if we did not fear a steep climb, there was a cavern exactly above the one we had come through that would lead us back to the river—in fact, an upper tunnel. We thought at first it must be a joke of the Dayaks, but they assured us of the truth: so we told them to lead the way. It was difficult, in fact very difficult, until we came to an overhanging rock, against which a long pole leant with an occasional cross-piece; at the top was another overhanging one, round which it was necessary to pass by leaning the body over the abyss, and trusting entirely to our hands and to the strength of the roots. The Dayak guide led the way, and as we approached this difficulty we observed him smile. It was at an unfortunate boast. When we first proposed to make the ascent, our guide observed—“No one but a Dayak can go up there.” I unfortunately answered, “Wherever a Dayak can go, an Englishman can follow.” Hence his smile. He proceeded cautiously, as these rough ladders are often rotten, and, it is said, occasionally left unfastened to entrap an unwary thief, who may desire to pilfer the edible swallows’ nests found in the upper caves. When he had reached the summit, he invited me to follow; there was no help for it, so I tried; the pole was no great difficulty, but the rounding the overhanging rock with my body leaning over the abyss tested my strength and nerve; one of the party followed, the other thought it wiser to return by the way he came. It repaid us, however; the cave, though not lofty, was full of large chambers, of narrow passages, and occasionally of huge chasms penetrating to the depths below. They said the whole mountain was perforated by these galleries. Our return to the boat was difficult, as we had to force our way through the tangled bushes, and over ground unknown even to the Dayaks. We found our companion seated in the boat, discussing some cool claret and water, and as he beheld us coming in tired, hot, covered with dirt, and with clothes half torn from our bodies, I fear he did not envy us.
Our men had now to drop their paddles once at least in every reach, and to seize their poles and force us along up the gradually lengthening rapids; the motion of the boat thus propelled is exceedingly pleasant; at one spot we noticed a Dayak suspension-bridge that spanned the river above a dangerous rapid. Kasim, a favourite follower, turned to us and said, “It was here that the Datu Tumanggong nearly lost his life.” We asked how. I will let Kasim relate his story; it is an illustration of Bornean ways.
The Datu Tumanggong is the chief third in rank in Sarawak, and was in his early days known as a successful pirate. He was also the terror of the Dayaks. Many years before Sir James Brooke arrived, he had for some cause killed a Dayak of the tribe of Si-Buñgoh, in those days not considered a deed requiring particular notice; but on this occasion the tribe determined to be revenged. The next time the Datu was known to be on his way up the river, the Dayaks assembled in great numbers round the suspension-bridge, concealing themselves among the trees. Unsuspicious of the ambuscade, the chief, with twenty Malay followers, was endeavouring to pole up the rapid, when a shower of spears threw them into confusion; the Datu was principally aimed at, his umbrella was torn to shreds, and he was wounded severely about the shoulders. The men dropping their poles, allowed the boat to get across the stream, and she was instantly upset; while they, unable to see their enemies, scattered themselves in every direction, and hiding among the rocks shouted to their chief to fire. They say he stood his ground manfully, and fired twice without success at his foes, who, thus emboldened, drew nearer. The water was rushing down with great force and reached over his knees, which rendered the operation of loading extremely difficult, but his third shot was fortunate, for bringing down the boldest Dayak, it created a panic among the rest. On collecting his followers, he found two killed and several wounded, among the latter one of our present boatmen. I have often heard the Datu tell the story since with great glee, his voice rising, and going through all his remembered movements with wonderful spirit. “Ah, I was young in those days.”
There is a very singular belief prevalent among the Malays—it is this, that men, by going through certain ceremonies, can render themselves invulnerable. The Datu, notwithstanding the many wounds he has received, is still popularly believed to be so. They generally say that these men can never have their skin cut by any sharp instrument, and the offer to test the truth by the application of a razor is not considered polite. The old Datu has often said—“It is as well that the vulgar should believe it, though we know better.”
The favourite spot chosen by the novitiates was in the jungle at the back of Sir James Brooke’s former house, between two little streams, called the greater and lesser Bedil (a brass gun). The aspirant was required to remain three days alone in the woods without speaking to a soul; to live very sparingly, and not to indulge in the favourite luxuries of tobacco, sirih and betel. If on the third day he dreamt of a beautiful spirit descending to speak to him, he might consider that his work was accomplished. Patah, the Datu’s son, a fine, bold and good fellow, told me he had tried twice, but the fairy had never appeared to him.
On reaching the landing-place leading to the Grung village, we found a large party of Dayaks assembled, who begged us to remain and visit their houses; but instead, we promised to return in a few days, and meet the representatives of the neighbouring tribes at their village. We now pushed on to the Sibuñgoh Dayaks, who inhabited the river’s bank; but on our stopping at the landing-place, an old man came down to say that the long house before us was pamali or tabooed, and that the Orang Kaya was himself in that unenviable predicament. So we pulled across the river and took up our quarters near a pebbly beach; the men making temporary mat huts, while we stayed in the boat. In the course of the evening, a number of the elders of the neighbouring village houses of the same tribe came down to see us, and promised to provide small canoes and Dayaks to take us up the stream, as it had become too shallow to allow of our continuing in the large boat.
At six the Sibuñgoh Dayaks brought the light canoes with which we were to continue our progress up the river. We left all our crew behind, taking with us only our personal servants and Kasim. It was quite a little procession. Each canoe contained but two Dayaks and one passenger. We started, and were poled up at a rapid pace against the stream. Our canoes were small, drawing but a few inches of water, and were managed, as I have said, by two Dayaks, one standing at the stem, the other at the stern; with long bamboos in their hands, they impelled us forward at a great pace.
The scenery varied much; occasionally we passed beneath high hills, which rose smilingly above us, clothed to the summit with vegetation; Bornean hills seldom frown, their clothing is too luxuriant, their aspect generally free from harsh outlines, even their precipices have some softening feature. On we passed, sometimes a long reach stretched before us, completely overshadowed by trees whose branches entwining from bank to bank completely sheltered us from the sun, then reclining on our pillows we could indulge in snatches from the Quarterly or Edinburgh. Could the authors of some of the articles but imagine the variety of situations in which their effusions would be perused, could they anticipate the delight they inspire in the British traveller who works his way onwards even towards the interior of Borneo, they would, I think, be surprised and gratified. The magazines and reviews are the solaces of educated exiles in all positions. From these soft scenes and pleasant employments, we were constantly aroused by our approach to roaring rapids, which foaming over scattered rocks threatened destruction to our frail canoes; but the skill of the Dayak was never at fault, we passed every obstruction without an accident. At these rapids, as at those before mentioned, boats are often lost.
As we approached the country of the Senah tribe, the banks became more uniform in appearance, and the bamboo constantly formed the principal vegetation: these bamboos are wonderfully useful to the Dayaks, and are turned to many purposes. In height they sometimes exceed sixty feet. During this tour I have seen them used, stretched in lengths, for paths, placed notched for steps up steep ascents, as railings for rice fields and yam gardens, as posts for houses; split they form the floors, beaten out they are the walls of many of the dwellings, and neat and pretty they look; cut into lengths, water is carried in them; joined together they form aqueducts that stretch for hundreds of yards; with them the Dayaks can strike a light; and last, not least, they are used to cook rice in—they are hard enough to stand the fire until the food be ready to eat. They are put to numerous other uses, but the above enumeration is sufficient.
The Senah Dayaks plant yams to a great extent; they grow to a large size, and boiled have an excellent flavour, whether used as a vegetable or a salad. These Dayaks are called rich from the abundance of their rice, which flourishes in their fertile valleys, but more is chiefly owing to their industry; we saw many instances of the latter in their fishing apparatus, which was often very extensive; while the tribes lower down, with better opportunities, seemed quite to neglect their fisheries. Our men unfortunately have brought no casting net with them, so we are obliged to be content to hear from the Malays that the flavour of the fresh-water fish caught here is excellent. It is a curious fact, that far as we are above the influence of the flood tide, and with so many rapids below us, yet sharks are found here in the fresh water. I call it a fact because native testimony is unanimous. I remember hearing Mr. Crookshank say to the Datu Patinggi, the principal native chief, that he considered it a very curious thing that a fish, supposed to live only in the sea, should frequent these interior waters.