Starting again, a very trying climb took us to the top of a hill, from which a long but easy descent led to the Tinuman, a feeder of the Tawaran. We observed, both yesterday and to-day, many villages scattered over the face of the country, as Tagau, Bañgau, and others. Though there was no plain at the foot of the hills, yet many of the slopes were easy, occasionally almost flat.
At the little stream of Tinuman, we came upon a party of Dusuns, belonging to the village of Buñgol, who led us by a very winding path to their houses, situated on the left-hand bank of the Tawaran. We had scarcely reached it when rain came on, as it appears generally to do about three o’clock in the afternoon in the neighbourhood of Kina Balu and other lofty mountains.
Buñgol is a large village, and contained, in 1851, according to their own account, about 120 families; but this time (1858), they appeared uncertain how many there were. I estimated, from the length of the different houses that there were above 160 families. It is situated on grassy, undulating land, about fifty or sixty feet above the level of the stream; yet the inhabitants are exposed to floods, that reach their houses and damage the crops on the low lands.
In our first expedition up the Tampasuk, we rested at some houses of the Buñgol Ida’an, but we could discover no more connection between these communities of the same name than between the others. Notwithstanding the pouring rain, we walked through the village, and bathed in the rushing torrent that ran beneath the houses, the Tawaran now deserves no other name.
Next morning, Omar, the guide, came to say that all the bridges of the regular path had been washed away, and that it would be necessary to take us by another, with which he was unacquainted. We suspected that this announcement was merely to serve a friend who was hired as guide; but we gave way to their assurances that the old path was impassable, and had reason to repent it, as, instead of taking us by the direct route, only four miles in an east direction, he led us first north, then north-east, ending in east-north-east, and after wandering over numerous pathless ranges, at last, after eight hours’ walking brought us to the Tampasuk, about three miles below the village of Koung. The dividing ranges are very much broken up, and run in all directions. A tributary of the Tawaran, to the north of us, came within a mile of the Tampasuk, running direct towards Sulaman, and then turning to the eastward.
We had beautiful views to-day of the surrounding country, both towards the sea and towards the mountains; but had scarcely reached the Tampasuk when heavy rain came on, totally obscuring the prospect, and although we pushed on resolutely for an hour, fording the swelling stream and climbing the slippery banks, were at last obliged to stop at a hut amid a field of kiladis, and give up our intention of reaching Koung.
We thought ourselves completely exhausted, until we saw the bungling attempts of our men to set up the tents. The Malays were very tired, and were shivering in the drenching rain and cold wind which swept down from the mountains, so we determined before taking off our wet clothes to see our men comfortable. Under our directions, and with our active assistance, the tents were soon raised, as the men, encouraged by our example, worked with a will. But it was a fatiguing day—nine hours of continued climbing and descending.
On the following morning we proceeded to Koung. There were few farms in sight that day, though yesterday we saw immense clearings, some extending over a whole hill-side, and all were working hard to increase them.
On reaching Koung, we found the villagers assembled, and crowds occupying the chief’s house. We had intended, if possible, to reach the summit of Kina Balu from this village, as on the last occasion, we were disgusted with the conduct of the Kiau people; but soon ascertained it was not to be done, as the western spurs did not reach above half way up the mountain side; nor was there any rice to be procured in this village. We were also very much astonished to hear the kind old chief asking for black-mail; it did not appear to come from his heart, so we looked round to find who was his prompter, and, at the first glance, discovered the ugly face of Timbañgan, a wall-eyed man—the very chief who had tried to prevent our passing through Labang Labang, in the spring. To give way would have been absurd, as we should have had black-mail demanded of us at every village, and increasing in a progressive ratio. So we called up all the interpreters and made them carefully explain what were our motives in travelling and the objects we had in view; that we would pay for everything we required, or for any damage done by our followers, but not for permission to travel through their country. We then reminded them how their great enemies, the Lanuns of Tampasuk and Pandasan, had been defeated by the English, and how impossible it would be for the Ida’an to fight with white men. A revolver was then discharged through a thick plank, to show the effect of that small instrument, and how useless a defence their shields would prove; and I handed the chief my heavy double-barrelled rifle to examine, that he might reflect on its great power.
The effect of the explanations and of the conical balls was immediate, and we heard no more of black-mail; on the contrary, the most friendly relations were established. To show what a curious people they are, and how we appeared to have hit the hidden springs of their actions, I may mention that we now felt the utmost confidence in them, and asked the chief to take care of a fever-stricken servant, and of all such portions of our baggage as we did not wish to carry on with us. He cheerfully agreed to do all we wished, and proved most friendly and useful. We then made presents to his wife to a greater extent than his demand for black-mail, trying to convince them by our actions that the better they behaved to us, the more kindly and liberally we should behave to them.