Started next morning at a quarter to eight, and soon arrived at a place where the river divided, the Penantaran coming from an E.N.E. direction. Its bed was full of large blocks of serpentine (though after passing the mouth of this branch we met with very few specimens of that kind of rock). There is a village of the same name as the branch close to the junction. We followed the right-hand branch—direction about south—keeping close to the banks, crossing and recrossing continually, seeing occasionally a few houses. We were now passing through sandstone ranges, but the country had no remarkable features. At 9.40, stopped to breakfast, having made about four miles; our followers gradually closed up. At eleven we pushed on again. Huge granite boulders are now common, and under the shelter of one mighty stone we rested for half an hour, waiting the arrival of our straggling followers.
One of the greatest advantages of travelling with an intelligent companion is the interchange of ideas, and consequently the more accurate noting of observations. As we sat beneath the shade of the huge granite boulder, surrounded on all sides by sandstone hills, we could not but speculate how it came there. Without having recourse to the glacier theory, the reason appeared to me simple. It is evident that the level of the country was very much greater in former times than at present, and that water is the great agent by which these changes have been effected.
The streams continually cut their way deeper in the soil, as we may daily observe: the increasing steepness causes innumerable landslips, and the process going on for ages, the whole level of the country is changed, and plains are formed from the detritus at the mouths of the rivers. Huge granite masses, falling originally from the lofty summit of Kina Balu, would gradually slip or roll down the ever-forming slopes which nature is never weary of creating.
In ascending some of the steeps that rise on either side of the streams near Kina Balu, we continually came across boulders of granite, which, in comparatively few years, will, through landslips, roll many hundred feet into the stream below, to commence their gradual movement from the mountain. I have continually come across evidences of the Bornean rivers having flowed at a much higher level than at present, finding layers of water-worn pebbles, a hundred feet above the present surface of the stream. In Borneo, where the rain falls so heavily, the power of water is immense. After a heavy storm, the torrents rise in confined spaces often fifty feet within a few hours, and the rush of the stream would move any but the largest rocks, and wash away most of the effects of the landslips.
Standing on a height overlooking a large extent of country, it is instructive to be able to survey at a glance the great effect caused by the rivers and all their tributaries, deep gullies marking every spot where an accession joins the parent stream. After heavy rains, the rivers present the colour of café au lait, from the large amount of matter held in temporary suspension, and on taking out a glassful, I have been surprised by the amount of sediment which has immediately fallen to the bottom.
The walk was becoming rather tiring; drizzling rain rendering the stones very slippery, and having continually to make the mountain torrent our path, it was severe work for our bare feet. The rain continuing, and the stream rapidly rising, we halted at some farm-houses in the midst of a long rice-field. Fording the river is difficult work; the water rushing down at headlong speed, renders it necessary to exert one’s utmost strength to avoid being carried away: the pole in both hands, placed well to seaward, one foot advanced cautiously before the other, to avoid the slippery rocks and loose stones. I found that this fatigued me more than the walking. The water became much cooler as we approached the mountain, while the land is rapidly increasing in elevation. The river was full of Ida’an fish-traps, made by damming up half the stream, and forcing the water and fish to pass into a huge bamboo basket. They appeared to require much labour in the construction, particularly in the loose stone walls or dams. As we advanced, we found the whole stream turned into one of these traps, in which they captured very fine fish, particularly after heavy rain. I bought one with large scales, about eighteen inches long, which was of a delicious flavour.
To see the young Ida’an ford the stream, raised both my envy and my admiration; with the surging waters reaching to their armpits, with a half-dancing motion, they crossed as if it were no exertion at all. So much for practice. During the last three hours we did not make more than four miles, though out of the stream the paths were good. The rain continuing to pour heavily, we determined to stop, as I have said, at these Ida’an huts, which were situated opposite the landing-place of the village of Tambatuan, concealed by the brow of a steep hill rising on the other bank. We sent a party there to buy rice, which became cheaper as we advanced: these villages also possessed abundance of cattle and buffaloes. We were much pleased to find the great confidence shown by the people; we often met parties of women and girls, and on no occasion did they run away screaming at the unusual sight of a white face. Several of them came this afternoon to look at us, and remained quite near for some time, interested in watching our proceedings. Kina Balu was cloud-hidden this evening.
During the night our rest was much disturbed by bees, who stung us several times, and Mr. Low, with that acuteness which never deserts him in all questions of natural history, pronounced them to be the “tame” bees, the same as he had last seen thirteen years ago among the Senah Dayaks in Sarawak. About midnight we were visited by a big fellow, who, our guides assured us, wanted to pilfer; but we found next morning that he had come to complain of his hives having been plundered. On inquiry, we discovered the man who had done the deed. He was fined three times the value of the damage, and the amount handed over to the owner.
A great many questions were asked as to what could be our object in visiting Kina Balu: to tell them that it was for curiosity would have been useless: to say that we were seeking new kinds of ferns, pitcher-plants, or flowers, would not have been much more satisfactory to them. Some thought we were searching for copper or for gold, while others were equally convinced we were looking for precious stones. One man sagaciously observed that we were seeking the Lagundi tree, whose fruit, if eaten, would restore our youth and enable us to live for countless years, and that tree was to be found on the very summit of Kina Balu. To-day an Ida’an came, I suppose to try us, and said he knew of copper not more than half a day’s journey from our path, and offered to take us to it; seeing we were not to be tempted, another told us of a tree of copper that was to be found a few miles off; but even that did not alter our determination to make the best of our way to the mountain. We left the questioners sadly puzzled as to what possibly could be our object in ascending Kina Balu.
All the Bajus and Borneans are convinced that there is a lake on the very summit of this mountain, and ask, if it be not so, how is it that continual streams of water flow down its sides. They forget that very few nights pass without there being rain among the lofty crags, even when it is dry on the plains. Sometimes the sun, shining on particular portions of the granite, gives it an appearance of great brilliancy; and those who formerly ascended the summit with Mr. Low, reported that whenever they approached the spot where these diamonds showed themselves at a distance, they invariably disappeared: as these men have a perfect faith in every wild imagination of the Arabian Nights, they easily convinced themselves and their auditors that the jinn would not permit them to take them. The old story of the great diamond, guarded on the summit of Kina Balu by a ferocious dragon, arose probably from some such cause. The Malays are great storytellers, and these wonders interest them. I may notice that most of the men that were with us accompanied us to the mountain of Molu the preceding February, and then one of the Borneans commenced a story which lasted the seventeen days we were away, and he occasionally went on with it during our present journey. It was the history of an unfortunate princess, who for “seven days and seven nights neither eat nor drank, but only wept.”