Opposite our resting-place we observed some remarkably elegant tree ferns, whose stems rose occasionally to the height of ten feet, and with their long leaves bending gracefully on every side, they were an ornament to the river’s bank. We noticed as yet but little old forest. The only fine trees we saw were near the villages, and these were preserved for their fruits. Where the land is not cultivated, it is either covered with brushwood, or trees of a young growth.
Drizzling rain prevented our departure till near eight, when we continued our course along the ricefields: we had been told we should find the path very bad, but were agreeably surprised by it proving dry and principally among plantations of kiladi. We crossed the river only five times, and passed over a sandstone range about five hundred feet above the plain: it was nearly three miles from our resting-place. The stream had now become a perfect mountain torrent, breaking continually over rocks.
Occasionally the fords were difficult, as the continued rains rendered the river very full. At one place where an island divides the Tampasuk, it was so deep that it was found necessary to swim over, and only a very expert man could have done it, as the water rushed down with great force. The Bajus, however, were quite prepared; they did not attempt to cross the stream in a direct course, but allowed themselves to be carried away a little, and reached the other side about fifty yards farther down. They did it very cleverly, carrying all our luggage over, little by little, swimming with one hand and holding the baskets in the air with the other. As we could not swim, two men placed themselves, one on either side of us, told us to throw ourselves flat on the water and remain passive; in a few minutes we were comfortably landed on the opposite bank, drenched to the skin, it is true, but we had scarcely had any dry clothes on us during the whole journey; however, no sooner did we arrive at our resting-places, than we stripped, bathed, rubbed ourselves into a glow, and put on dry clothes. Nothing is so essential as this precaution, and I have twice had severe attacks of fever from neglecting it. The hills as we advanced began closing in on the river’s banks, leaving occasionally but a narrow strip of flat ground near the stream.
At 11.20 A.M. we reached Koung, a large, scattered village on a grassy plain: it is a very pretty spot, the greensward extending to the river’s banks, where the cattle and buffaloes graze: about a hundred feet up the side of a neighbouring hill is another portion of the village. The roaring torrent foams around, affording delicious spots for bathing, the water being delightfully cool. In the bed of the stream there were masses of angular granite, mixed with the water-worn boulders. It was the first time we had ever seen it of that sharp form, but similar blocks were afterwards noticed on the summit. The wild raspberry is very plentiful here. One cannot help having one’s attention continually drawn to the air of comfort, or, rather, to the appearance of native wealth observed among the Ida’an: food in abundance, with cattle, pigs, fowls, rice, and vegetables; and no one near them to plunder or exact. Accustomed as I had been to the aborigines around the capital, the contrast struck me forcibly.
Next day we hoped to reach Kiau, the village from which Mr. Low started for the mountain in the spring of 1851. There was an apparent hitch about getting from that place; but we thought perhaps the reports arose from tribal jealousy. At four P.M., Koung: barometer, 28·678°; thermometer, 77·5°; unattached, 78·3°. So that this village must be about 1,500 feet above the level of the sea: a very rapid rise for the stream in so short a distance. The sandstone hill we crossed to-day had the same characteristics as those I had observed up the Sakarang, Batang Lupar, and near the capital—all being very steep, with narrow ridges, and buttresses occasionally springing from their sides: on the one we crossed to-day was a quantity of red shale.
Near our last night’s resting-place, I noticed, for the first time on this river, some sago palms; they have again shown themselves to-day, and there are a few round the village, but neither these trees nor cocoa-nut nor areca palms are plentiful. At every village I made inquiries about cotton, and, like the men with tails, it was always grown a little farther off; only we know cotton must be grown somewhere in this neighbourhood, as at the very moment I was writing my journal I saw an old woman engaged spinning yarn from native material. The Lanuns also furnish a cloth which is highly prized among every class of inhabitants in Borneo; it is a sort of checked black cloth, with narrow lines of white running through it, and glazed on one size. This was formerly made entirely of native yarn; but I am afraid this industry will soon decline, as connoisseurs are already beginning to discover that the Lanun women, finding English yarn so cheap, are using it in preference, though it renders the article much less durable. It is also worthy of notice that this cloth is dyed from indigo grown on the spot. These Ida’an purchase their supplies of cotton of the Inserban and Tuhan Ida’an who live on the road to the lake, while the Bajus obtain theirs from the Lobas near Maludu Bay. I saw one plant growing near the hut where we rested last night; it was about ten feet high, and covered with flowers.
They told us at Koung that the Ida’an were at war; but though they may have quarrels, they must be trifling, as we met every day women and children by themselves at considerable distances from their houses. Besides, parties of a dozen men and boys of the supposed enemies passed us on their way to Tampasuk to trade, and in none of their villages did we notice heads.
All these Ida’an appear to pay particular attention to the cultivation of the Kiladi (arum), planting it in their fields immediately after gathering in the rice crop, and keeping it well weeded: they grow it everywhere, and it must afford them abundance of food. It is in shape something like a beetroot, and has the flavour of a yam. Roasted in the ashes, and brought smoking hot to table, torn open, and adding a little butter, pepper, and salt, it is very palatable, particularly among those hills.
Saduk bore N.E. and Kina Balu due E. from the southern portion of the village.
Started about seven in a S.E. by E. direction, ascending a hill on which the village of Labang Labang is situated: here occurred a scene. Mr. Low and I, with a few men, were walking ahead of the party; as we passed the first house, an old woman came to the door, and uttered some sentences which struck us as sounding like a curse: however, we took no notice; but as we approached the end of the village, we were hailed by an ugly-looking fellow, with an awful squint, who told us to stop, as we should not pass through his village: this was evidently a prepared scene, the whole of the population turning out, armed: so we did stop to discuss the point. We asked what he meant: he answered that they had never had good crops since Mr. Low ascended the mountain in 1851, and gave many other sapient reasons why we should not ascend it now; but he wound up by saying that if we would pay a slave as black mail, they would give us permission to pass and do as we pleased: this showed us that nothing but extortion was intended; yet, to avoid any disagreeable discussion, we offered to make him a present of forty yards of grey shirting; but this proposition was not listened to, and he and his people became very insolent in their manner.