Rounding Nosong Point, we crossed the broad Bay of Kimanis, which here runs deep into the land, and receives the waters of numerous rivers. Just round the point is Qualla Lama, or the Old Mouth: entering this, a large boat can pass through an inner channel, and reach the mouth of the Kalias, opposite Labuan. It is often used by the Malays to avoid the heavy sea, which, during the height of the south-west monsoon, breaks upon this coast. The shores of Kimanis Bay are rather low, yet have an interesting appearance, from the variety of tints to be observed among the vegetation.
There runs into this bay a pretty little river of the same name—Kimanis, from kayu manis, “sweetwood.” Its forests are famous for the large amount of cassia bark which used to be collected there, but which has now all been exhausted near the banks by the continued requisitions from the capital. This district is the appanage of one of the sons of the late Sultan, the Pañgeran Tumanggong, and he used every year to send up several trading prahus to be loaded with cassia,—paying to the aborigines tenpence for every 133 lbs., and selling the same amount for nine shillings. As long as the bark could be easily obtained from the trees near the banks of the river, the people were content to work for the low price; but as soon as it required a long walk from their villages, the Muruts declared the whole forest was exhausted. I am assured, however, by trustworthy men, that ship-loads might be obtained, if the aborigines were offered fair prices; but the noble and his followers do their utmost to preserve a strict monopoly. And this is the case in most of the districts near the capital. Though they cannot themselves obtain much from the people, they have still sufficient influence to paralyze trade.
Kimanis, like most of the other rivers north of Labuan, is obstructed by a bar; in fact, though I could see its mouth from my boat, yet I could not find the channel, till a Malay canoe led the way by coasting south about three hundred yards: then, pulling straight for the shore over the boiling surf, we soon found ourselves in the smooth river. The scenery, though not grand, is very lovely, and consists generally of the variety to be observed in the groves of cocoa-nuts and fruit-trees which line its banks, and the cultivated fields stretching inland. I always remember my visit to Kimanis with pleasure, as it was on turning a wooded point I had my first view of Kina Balu. A straight reach of the river stretched before us, overshadowed on either side by lofty trees, and the centre of the picture was the precipices and summit of the massive mountain.
On the left-hand bank is the grave of Pañgeran Usup, who, flying from the capital, met his death, under orders from the Government, at the hand of the chief of this river. I have heard the story told several ways, but the one the Orang Kaya relates himself is a curious illustration of Bornean manners. The Pañgeran, flying from his enemies in the capital, came to Kimanis, which was one of his appanages, and asked its local chief whether he would protect him. The Orang Kaya protested his loyalty, but, a few days after, receiving an order from the Government to seize and put his guest to death, he made up his mind to execute it. He imparted the secret to three of his relations, whom he instructed to assist him. Pañgeran Usup was a dangerous man with whom to meddle, as he was accompanied by a devoted brother, who kept watch over him as he slept or bathed, and who received the same kind offices when he desired to rest. For days the Orang Kaya watched an opportunity—tending on his liege lord, holding his clothes while he bathed, bringing his food, but never able to surprise him, as he or his brother were always watching with a drawn kris in his hand. The three relations sat continually on the mats near, in the most respectful attitude. The patience of the Malay would have carried him through a more difficult trial than this, as I think it was on the tenth day Pañgeran Usup, while standing on the wharf, watching his brother bathe, called for a light. The Orang Kaya brought a large piece of firewood with very little burning charcoal on it, and the noble in vain endeavoured to light his cigar. At last, in his impatience, he put down his kris, and took the wood in his own hand. A fatal mistake! The treacherous friend immediately threw his arms round the Pañgeran, and the three watchers, springing up, soon secured the unarmed brother. Usup was immediately taken to the back of the house, and executed and buried on the hill, where his grave was pointed out to me.
We continued our voyage along the coast till about four in the afternoon, when heavy clouds rising in the south-west warned us that a squall was coming up. We, therefore, resolved to take shelter under the little islet of Dinaman, to the north of the Papar River. At first, we thought of running in there, as I had not yet seen this district, so famous for the extent and beauty of its cocoa-nut groves, and for the numerous population which had rendered the river’s banks a succession of gardens.
Our anchorage sheltered us tolerably well from the storm which now burst over us, but we rolled heavily as the swell of the sea came in. Drenching rain and furious blasts generally pass away quickly, as they did that evening, and left us to enjoy the quiet, starlight night.
We always endeavour to start on an expedition a few days before full moon, having a theory that the weather is more likely to be fine then, than during the days which immediately follow a new moon.
Next morning we set sail for Gaya Bay, and in a few hours a light breeze carried us over a rippling sea to the deep entrance of this spacious harbour, in which all the navy of England could, in both monsoons, ride in safety. It is formed by numerous islands and an extended headland, which make it appear almost land-locked. The harbour is surrounded by low hills, some cleared at the top, presenting pretty green patches, others varied with bright tints, caused by exposed red sandstone; the rest covered with low thick jungle.
When I last visited this place, Pañgeran Madoud lived up the Kabatuan river, which flows into the bay, but had now removed to the shore, and established there a village called Gantisan. I had twice visited this Malay chief, and on both occasions had disagreeable news to impart to him, as I had to remonstrate against his system of taking goods from English traders and forgetting to pay them when the price became due. The banks of the Kabatuan, except near the entrance, were entirely of mangrove-swamp, until we arrived within a short distance of the scattered village of Menggatal, but from our boat we could see the sloping hills that rose almost immediately behind the belt of mangrove.
The first buildings we saw were those in which the natives were making salt. I have already described the process pursued in the Abai, but here it was somewhat different, as they burnt the roots of the mangrove with those of the nipa palm, as well as wood collected on the sea-beach, and therefore impregnated with salt. In one place, I noticed a heap, perhaps fifteen feet in height, sheltered by a rough covering of palm-leaves, and several men were about checking all attempts of the flames to burst through by throwing salt-water over the pile. This, doubtless, renders the process much more productive. In one very large shed, they had a kind of rough furnace, where they burnt the wood; and suspended around were many baskets in which the rough remains of the fire are placed, and the whole then soaked in water and stirred about till the salt is supposed to have been extracted from the charcoal and ashes. The liquid is then boiled, as at Abai, in large iron pans purchased from the Chinese.