As we advanced up the side of the mountain, we rested at spots where we could obtain partial views of the surrounding country; large Dayak clearings now completely brown, varied the otherwise continuous jungle; gently swelling hills encircled the base of Sirambau, and stretched onwards to the foot of the steep and distant mountains. The Dayaks have led rills of water to the edge of the path, at which they refresh themselves, and occasionally there are rough benches on which they rest their heavy loads, for they carry up their whole rice crop to their mountain villages.
After a toilsome ascent, which Madame Pfeiffer feelingly describes, we passed the village of Bombok on our left, and continued our course to that of Sirambau, a little distance farther. Here the path was more level, though it lay among huge rocks detached from the summit of the mountain.
Sirambau is one of the most curious villages I have seen; it is large, and the long houses are connected together by platforms of bamboo or by rough bridges—a very necessary precaution, as the numerous pigs had routed up the land; and as every description of dirt is thrown from their houses and never removed, it is almost impossible to walk on the ground. Thick groves of palms surrounded the village and buried it from the world: indeed, it looked as isolated a spot as any in wooded Borneo.
We found the chief Mita ready to receive us, and to conduct us to his apartments; they were very confined, but on the raised platform under the sloping windows we found place for our beds. They very politely gave Madame Pfeiffer an inner room, and provided her with neat white mats.
In the evening the apartments were crowded, and being small, not much space was left for dancing. This village house was altogether uncomfortable; its verandah was not five feet wide, and was totally unfitted for their feasts; the rooms were not twelve feet by sixteen, and the space was still further lessened by a large fireplace that occupied an eighth of the area. Some rough planks were laid on the floor and then covered with earth; on it were arranged a few stones, and that constituted the fireplace. At each corner was a small post that supported a platform, and on this was a heap of firewood kept here to dry and to be ready at hand.
We have had much more intercourse with the villagers on this hill, than with any other, as Sir James Brooke had a country house near the uppermost groves of palms that are seen from Siniawan. Formerly it was a Dayak village, but the inhabitants removing to join another section of their tribe who were in a more sheltered spot, Sir James purchased the fruit-trees around, and built a pretty cottage there.
Peninjau, or the “look-out,” was the name of this spot, and it well deserved its name, as from a rock which terminated the level summit of a buttress can be seen a view unsurpassed in extent. I have spent many months at this cottage, and rarely an evening passed without my witnessing the sunset from this favourite rock.
The peak of Santubong is the centre of the picture, and the undulating ground between and the winding of the river may be seen clearly in all its varied detail. The calm sea—from this distance it seems always calm—bounds the horizon. Two effects of light I have often witnessed here; just at sunset, the rays thrown on the hills, the woods, the water, have a sickly tint; and when rain threatens, the trees in the jungle on the distant hills of Matang stand out distinctly visible, and it is only at such times they do so.
T. Picken, lith.