A glance at the map will show the serpentine course of the Limbang, and how the river is eating into its banks; in several places they are nearly worn through. I imagine (and examination almost confirms it) that the origin of the numerous ponds to be found a short distance from the banks arises from the alteration of the river’s bed. There is in the Sarawak river a short cut between two reaches, which appears within a few years likely to become the main stream—nature assisted by man: sandbanks are already forming, which yearly tend to increase the force of the current through the short passage, and will doubtless ultimately close up the old channel, leaving a lake of a couple of miles in length on the right bank.
I may here notice, in order to test the value of native geographical information, the various accounts I have received of the journey before us. Casting aside the stories of its being one, two, or three months’ distance, I will simply enter what I have reduced to something like reason. They say from Blimbing to Madalam is two days’ pull; to Salindong, two; to Madihit, two; to Busoi or Saledan, three; to Adang, seven, or sixteen days from the last inhabited village (since abandoned) to the Adang landing-place: from that to the houses, from one to six days.
I do not understand the great discrepancy in the land journey, except that the Adangs have removed farther inland. It is certainly a voyage of discovery, but my only anxiety is with respect to the provisions. From the amount of water that was in the river above Madalam, I cannot think it so far. Busoi appears to mean a cataract, and there, they say, the river falls over rocks, and the boats have to be dragged along the shore for a distance which varies with the stories from fifty yards to a mile. Enormous overhanging rocks occur at the cataract, almost shutting in the river, but above it the water is smooth, and the pulling easy for seven days; this is not very likely. The river is said to abound in fine fish. The story of the wild goats is beginning to fade away, and is replaced by tame ones in the possession of the Muruts. One of the greatest curiosities, the natives say, is the formation of two mountains, which rise from the plain in lofty peaks of the shape of needles; they have never been to them, but have seen them from a distance; they are the pillars of the gate of some enchanted palace, and I heard it whispered to one of my men that all were not privileged to see even these pillars; it requires some incantation; so that there is a chance of the needle mountains vanishing into thin air.
I may remark that when the natives speak of the journey sometimes occupying two or three months, they mean for a Murut party. The reason is that they start with, perhaps, two days’ provisions, and trust to hunting for their food. If they find a spot where game is plentiful, they stay there till it is exhausted; if the jungle produce no sport, they live on the cabbages taken from the palms, on the edible fern, on snakes, or anything, in fact, that they can find. If they come across bees’ nests, they stop to secure the wax and honey. Time is of no value to them, as they generally start after the harvest, and many parties are said to have taken six months.
It is curious to hear the Islam-converted old Pakatan Japer talk. He says dreams were sent by God to be a teaching and a warning to us; when he is going up a river on an expedition, if he dream of his wife or of his children, or of ascending a river, it is good; if of descending a river, or of fire, or of anything disagreeable, he is sure to meet an enemy or some misfortune. If his añgei, or omen bird, cry to the right, it is good luck; his cried to the right when he left Kanowit eight years ago, and he has not had a misfortune since. I asked him how it came to pass then that his house was plundered and burnt down by the Kayans last year; he was silenced for a moment, and having waited till the men had had their laugh, he said his people considered it a punishment for living among the bad Tabuns;[3] however, the Pakatans have avenged him by burning down a Kayan village.
It is two p.m., and no sign of Orang Kaya Upit yet; this delay is very provoking, as we can get no provisions here. Last night, at six, I sent a party with Orang Kaya Napur down the river to find Kadayan, an Adang man, and try and induce him to follow us; he promises to come in the morning. We had a long talk last night about various matters. Old Japer was telling us of the belief of the wild tribes. Having been converted, however, he laughs at the follies of his countrymen, and therefore spoils his narration. His conversion, however, is but skin deep. He says they believe in antus, or spirits, one of whom is far greater than the rest; he it was who “made the woods, the mountains, and the streams, and is above all and over all.” The Pakatans call him Guha, the Kayans, Totaduñgan.
He denies that head-hunting is a religious ceremony among them; it is merely to show their bravery and manliness, that it may be said so and so has obtained heads; when they quarrel, it is a constant phrase, “How many heads did your father or grandfather get?” If less than his own number, “Well, then, you have no occasion to be proud!” That the possession of heads gives them great consideration as warriors and men of wealth; the skulls being prized as the most valuable of goods. “Alas! when I was a Kapir (infidel) I took more than forty heads,” hypocritical sorrow, but real pride, in his tone. He adds that hunting is the greatest pleasure of the wild tribes, and that the wild boar is exceedingly fierce, and makes a good fight; it requires much skill to conquer him. “It is a delight for me to look back on my hunting days.” The China trader that lives at the Pangkalan Tarap came and promised his assistance in getting sago, which we must use as a substitute for rice.
29th.—A little rain last night, and a dirty-looking morning. No Orang Kaya Upit. We are now opposite the Chinaman’s house. I shall push on to-morrow morning, guide or no guide, and trust to their following us.
2 p.m.—Kadayan and a companion have come, and promise to be guides, but as they have to return to their houses, I have no confidence that they will follow, but only cause us fresh delays; however, as I have obtained a pikul[4] of raw sago, and seven gantangs[5] of beans, I can better afford to wait. They put every difficulty in the way, and lie like troopers as to the distance, declaring it to be a journey of six months for us who take food; they say, also, that they are in debt at Adang, and in debt here. I have given each a piece of blachu,[6] to buy food for their families; and I have sent a crew away to try and borrow a couple of sampirs.
30th.—This morning the lazy Orang Kaya Upit joined us with three men; their omen bird, they said, had uttered a warning cry, and they had been unable to join me before, an excuse to which I am now somewhat used.