It was daylight when we reached the Samarahan, at a spot about twelve miles from the sea. The banks of this river are low, and consist entirely of rich alluvial deposit. When cleared, they form the best ground for rice; when drained the sugar-cane flourishes with extraordinary luxuriance. It is, therefore, a very favourite farming ground for all those strangers who have sought refuge in Sarawak. There are several thousands scattered along its banks, besides the native population of the river.
The Samarahan Malays are a quiet, inoffensive people, and live almost entirely by farming and gardening; there is also a large Dayak population in the interior. On the left-hand branch are the Bukar tribe, divided into four villages—Munggu Babi, or the hill of pigs, Jenang, Lanchang, and Kumpang—which contain about three hundred families that pay revenue. On the right-hand branch are the two tribes of Sring and San Pok, each containing about eighty families. I say “pay revenue,” as it is seldom that seventy-five per cent. do so. The custom is to pay by the “door,” that is, each division in their village houses pays the Government rice to the value of from three to four shillings. To avoid this, two or three families will crowd into a space barely sufficient for one; however, measures have been taken to ensure a proper enumeration.
Pulled on towards the village where Orang Kaya Stia Bakti, the principal Malay officer, lived, and passed on our way the houses of a branch of the Sibuyau tribe of Dayaks. At the landing-place we were met by a crowd of Malays, looking especially miserable, thus showing, that like good Mahomedans, they were strictly keeping the fast; while a crowd in the neighbouring mosque where chanting in a loud voice verses from the Koran.
The old Orang Kaya, a pleasant, fine-looking man, came down to our boat, and our follower, Kasim, explained to him the object of Captain Brooke’s tour of inspection, which was to inquire into the charges brought against certain Malays of oppressing the Dayaks. He said he was extremely pleased, as it would then prove how well he and his people had conducted themselves. He offered to accompany us, but this was politely declined on account of the fast, but the real reason was that the Dayaks would not have entered into their complaints before their local ruler. As the flood-tide had just ended, and there was a six hours’ ebb before us, we fell down the river to the Sibuyau village to while away the time, and give the men an opportunity to cook and sleep. We were received with much hospitality by the Orang Kaya Tumanggong. The hamlet consists of two long houses, surrounded by a rough palisade, called by them a fort.
The Samarahan was a favourite attacking ground of the pirates, and owed much of its safety to the courage of these Dayaks, who were formerly more united than they are now. The Sibuyau are, in fact, strangers. They were harassed out of their own country by the Seribas pirates and retired to Samarahan; they are now scattered, a section here, a larger one on the Lundu river, another at Meradang on the Quop, besides smaller villages on the Sarawak, the Sadong, and in other districts.
Their houses are like the others belonging to the Sea Dayaks; the Orang Kaya’s own division is large, with musquito curtains, and has an air of comfort and tidiness very unusual. These Sibuyaus are more independent than the Land Dayaks, and keener traders. One of the chief’s married daughters was quite pretty, extremely fair, with soft expressive features, and a very gentle voice; she was making an elegant mat of the finest rushes; other women were employed in forming coarser ones from the rougher leaves, while those that were not so engaged were turning the padi into rice by beating it in their mortars, and winnowing it. They show a skill in the latter process truly marvellous: they put the beaten padi into a flat basket with slightly rounded raised edges, and standing on the platform to catch the slight breeze, quietly throw the contents in the air, and catch the grains while the wind carries away the chaff; it is quickly cleaned. There was an appearance of activity and bustle about this village that was really pleasing.
On the beams above our heads were some roughly carved dragons’ heads ornamented with China paper, which some wise Dayak had informed them must be guarded and preserved with care. They were quite modern, and most probably a knave had worked on these simple people to purchase them of him, as they could not tell their use except to stick up during their feasts, in the same way as the other Sea Dayaks do with their rudely-carved figures of birds. In front of their village was erected one of their climbing-poles, at the raising of which the Orang Kaya proudly declared one hundred and fifty jars of tuak were consumed; and he added, with an appearance of the greatest satisfaction, that his tribe and all their visitors were intoxicated for six days. At their convivial meetings some strong-headed fellow will sit down before a jar holding, perhaps, a dozen gallons, and help those around; for every one he serves out he should drink one himself, and it is his pride if he can manage to keep his seat until all have lost their senses around him. To take glass for glass with each man until the jar was emptied being a manifest impossibility, there must be some sleight of hand practised to deceive the others. On inquiring whether they never felt headaches the next day, they said no; but their Lingga visitors at the last great feast had cried from the pains they suffered; it was ludicrous to notice the boastful look with which they said, “The Sibuyaus get no headaches.”
The Orang Kaya furnished us with fresh tuak, which has rather a sickly, unpleasant taste, excellent omelettes, and slices of fried kiladi, a species of arum; in return we presented him with Batavian arrack, tobacco, and sugar. I have said that these Sibuyaus are not so easily oppressed as the other Dayaks; in fact, when the Orang Kaya was a young man, the most powerful Malay chief on the coast, Abdulraman, the governor of Siriki, entered their village, and tried to force them to purchase his goods at exorbitant prices. They refused, upon which he directed his followers to seize some baskets of rice, but to his astonishment the Dayaks resisted, drove him and his party to their prahus, and in the struggle killed several of his followers. The remembrance of this and other similar deeds has given them confidence and preserved them from oppression.
On the flood tide’s making, we took leave of our hospitable friends and pulled up the river. Both banks are covered with gardens filled with fruit and vegetables, as well as with remarkably fine sugar-cane, which is grown, not to be manufactured into sugar, but to be eaten in its natural state.
Before daylight, we were again on the move. The appearance of the country continues the same, but the houses, as we proceed farther up, are not quite so numerous; the gardens do not extend above a few hundred yards from the river, and we could observe the line of the forest even from our boat. We nowhere found the water shallow till we turned up the left-hand branch that leads to the Bukar tribe; here it becomes very narrow and is obstructed by trees and branches, and occasionally little pebbly rapids. It was often almost impassable from the old trunks of fallen trees that stretched from bank to bank; but by the greatest patience and perseverance, and by removing the covering of our boat, we passed over some and under others of these obstructions: at last all these difficulties were surmounted, and we reached the landing-place of the Munggu Babi Bukars about half-past two, after upwards of eight hours’ hard work.