To ascend Kina Balu had been an ambition of mine, even before I ever saw Borneo. To have been, the first to do it would have increased the excitement and the pleasure. However, this satisfaction was not for me. Mr. Low, colonial treasurer of Labuan, had long meditated the same scheme, and in 1851 made the attempt. It was thought at the time but little likely to succeed, as the people and the country were entirely unknown; but by determined perseverance Mr. Low reached what may fairly be entitled the summit, though he did not attempt to climb any of the rugged peaks, rising a few hundred feet higher than the spot where he left a bottle with an inscription in it.
In 1856, Mr. Lobb, a naturalist, reached the foot of the mountain, but was not allowed by the natives to ascend it.
In 1858, Mr. Low and I determined to make another attempt; and early in April I went over from Brunei to Labuan to join him. We waited till the 15th for a vessel, which we expected would bring us a supply of shoes, but as it did not arrive we started. This was the cause of most of our mishaps,—as a traveller can make no greater mistake than being careless of his feet, particularly in Borneo, where all long journeys must be performed on foot.
In 1851, Mr. Low had gone by the Tawaran, but the Datu of Tampasuk, who was on a trading voyage to Labuan, having assured us that it was easier to get to the mountain from his river, we determined to try that route. He started before us, and on April 15th we followed, in a pinnace, obligingly lent us by Dr. Coulthard, of the Eastern Archipelago Company, our party being very large for the conveyance—Mr. Low and myself, two servants, six crew, and seventeen followers. During the night we passed Pulo Tiga, and were off Papar in the morning. We sailed along as beautiful a coast as can be conceived: ranges of hills rising one beyond the other, some grass-covered, others still clothed in forest, with soft valleys and lovely bays, and here and there patches of bright sandy beach, with Kina Balu towering in majestic grandeur as a background. In fact, the prospect increased in beauty until, on the evening of the 17th, we reached Abai, where we found the Datu of Tampasuk in his prahu. The little bay at the entrance of the Abai affords shelter from all winds except the N.W.; the bar, however, having only a fathom at low water prevents any but small craft from entering the river. On the sandy point of the grassy plain, at the west side of the entrance, is a small well where boats may water. The Datu came off and agreed to go up the Abai with us, and send his own boat round by sea to Tampasuk.
Started at four A.M., but made very slow progress, the wind blowing down the river, and the flood-tide not being strong. However, by towing and warping, we managed to reach our anchorage about ten P.M. The banks near the entrance appear to be high, but it was almost dark as we passed them; then narrow mangrove swamps fringed the shores with occasionally grassy hills in the background. On the left bank there are two small branches, Gading and Paka Paka, inhabited, the Datu said, by some villages of Ida’an. There appear to be but few people living on this river, or rather salt-water creek. Three very small hamlets, containing altogether about thirty houses, were all I saw. There are numerous sheds for making salt, which appears to be the principal industry of the Bajus. The manufacture is conducted as follows:—Great heaps of the roots of the nipa palm, that always grows in salt or brackish water, are collected and burnt; the residue is swept up and thrown into half-filled pans, where the ashes and small particles of wood are separated, and the water boiled;—a coarse, bitter salt is the result. It is not disagreeable after a little use, and I much prefer it to the common article brought from Siam, and generally sold in these countries. The natives of the north seldom use the imported salt, except for preserving fish; whereas, towards Sarawak, the Siamese is rapidly taking the place of that procured from the nipa palms.
The nipa palm is indeed a blessing to the natives; as we have seen, they make a salt from the ashes of the root; they extract a coarse sugar from the stem; they cover in their houses with the leaf; from the last also they manufacture the mat called kejang, with which they form the walls of their houses, and the best awning in the world for boats, perfectly water-tight, and well adapted to keep out the rays of the sun. Their cigars are rolled up in the fine inner leaf; and a native could doubtless tell of a dozen other uses to which it is put. In ascending rivers there is nearly always deep water near the nipa, but shallow near the mangrove.
The Abai creek has generally more than two fathoms from the mouth to the hamlets, but never less. We anchored opposite a Lanun chief’s house, which, though on the left bank, is still towards Tampasuk, as the river, after proceeding in a southerly direction, suddenly turns to the north-east.
The Rajah Muda, the Lanun chief, came on board, and was very civil. He is a handsome-looking, manly fellow, and extremely polite. From what I have heard and seen, he is a type of his countrymen—a different race from the Baju: a slight figure, more regular features than the Malays, a quiet, observant eye; he wore a delicate moustache. He is the son of the late Pañgeran Mahomed, of Pandasan, whose grave, ornamented with seven-fold umbrellas, we passed on the river’s bank.
Knowing that we could ride from Abai to Tampasuk, we had brought our English saddles, and were soon mounted on indifferent ponies, making our way towards the Datu’s house in an easterly direction. The Baju saddle, made of wood, covered with thin cloth, is very small. Instead of stirrups they have a rope with a loop in the end, into which they insert their big toe, and ride with the soles of their feet turned up behind; and when they set off on a gallop they cling with their toes under the pony’s belly.
The Baju is essentially a non-walker. He never makes use of his own legs if he can possibly get an animal to carry him. He rides all the horses and the mares, even when the latter have but just foaled. Cows are equally in requisition, and it was laughable to observe one of these animals with a couple of lads on her back trotting along the pathways, a calf, not a week old, frisking behind her. The water buffalo, however, appeared to be the favourite—the strong beast constantly carrying double. Every man we met had a spear, which was extremely useful in fording rivers, as well as for defence.