Life in the forests of the Far East (vol. 2 of 2)

by Sir Spenser St. John

After the first three or four years, the freshly planted palm is surrounded by smaller ones springing from its roots, so that when the time has arrived to secure its sago, which is after about eight years, there is a crop of young ones approaching maturity; in fact, in a well managed and old established plantation, a tree can yearly be cut from the same clump. The natives know directly when the palm is ripe by the appearance of the flower, but if it be allowed to fruit, the whole pith is spoilt for the purposes of commerce. At present the trees in these districts are seldom permitted to pass their fifth year, as the aborigines fear to penetrate far into the forests, and trust to those which grow near the banks of the river.

31st.—Got away this morning at 6.20, and arrived at the end of the west reach, beyond Suñgei Damit at 9.25. Just above Suñgei Damit is the site of the great Kayan encampment. A force of above three thousand of these wild warriors, in March and April, 1857, kept the capital in a state of great alarm: and near here also, on the left bank, is a famous fish-pond, Luagan Kura, and on its banks are some grassy slopes, where the Tambadaus, or wild cattle, love to congregate. I may mention that Mr. De Crespigny reached this spot in 1857.

There is little to notice, except that the banks are generally flat, fringed with a low jungle, at the back of which the Muruts formerly farmed. A stranger passing up the river would be apt to infer that no population had tenanted this district for a century, as there are no signs of cultivation, but the natives generally prefer farming in spots not exposed to floods or intrusion. I have been out deer-snaring in this neighbourhood, which made me notice that at the back of the belt of jungle which lines the river banks there are signs of a former extensive rice-planting.

Sagan on the right bank is a fine hill, perhaps 1,500 feet in height; between it and Suñgei Damit is the low range of Rudi, running along the edge of one of the reaches, and terminating a little below the Damit. This tributary is now very low, there having been but little rain to the S. E., so that I hope the discoloured water of the Limbang comes from the Madalam branch. The water, however, is much higher than it was when we ascended the river last February, as the Batang rapids are concealed; these rapids are caused by a collection of logs, mixed with sand and mud, and extend for several hundred yards.

I noticed the rocks occasionally cropping out of the banks. At the mouth of the Damit I took the dip and strike: dip N. E. by N., angle 31·5; strike S. E. by E. There is a high peak to the southward (S. by E.) which is apparently the end of the Molu range; it bends, the natives say, towards the Limbang: if not, it is a separate range, but the same that I see from the back of the Consulate at Brunei. I think that the thousands of pigs which inhabit this jungle contribute to the discoloration of the water: every night they descend to the banks and rout up the soft mud into heaps, which are easily washed away by rain or the rise of the river.

The fish we have caught are all small, though there are fine ones in the centre of the stream where the net cannot be used: we see them occasionally rise to the surface, causing a great commotion.

Japer tells me that the people of Adang occasionally obtain their salt from traders of the east coast, but their usual supply is derived from salt springs, and this is confirmed by Orang Kaya Upit. Japer adds that, when head-hunting round the great mountain of Tilong, in the centre of Borneo, he saw a salt spring that burst from the ground in a volume of about fifteen inches in diameter, rising three feet, and then spreading in a shower around: this is the source, he says, of the Bangermasin, and the reason of its being so called (masin, briny). He thinks there must be a passage all the way from the sea to cause this salt spring, and no reasoning will convince him to the contrary: his companions confirm his belief by their implicit belief. There is also a large lake at the foot of Tilong; he saw it, but did not go near it, as it might be the residence of spirits.

At 11.20 we again got under way, and soon reached Naga Surei, the first stone rapid: to the Orang Kaya Upit this place had a fearful interest; some years since about a hundred of his countrymen came down the river to trade in wax, and on their return stopped at this pebbly bank to cook, and while a party went inland to hunt, others collected wood. Suddenly three or four hundred Kayans came sweeping round the point, and were on them before they could recover from their surprise; seventy lost their lives, but thirty escaped.

We stopped for the night at 1.45, as the men pulled too late yesterday, and we must prepare for the rapids and freshes that may be expected: so I have sent them in inland to collect poles, and rattans for making ropes to secure us at night during freshes. It is a good plan whilst travelling in Borneo to make it a general rule to stop by 2 p.m., as one is never sure of not having showery weather after that, and unless the men have proper time to erect the tents and prepare the evening meal whilst fine, they don’t work willingly. (This journey will show what exceptions are required to general rules.) The sky is covered with broken clouds, with occasional patches of blue. I am afraid we shall have more rain, and the river is high enough already, though that is better than being very low until we get into the interior, where the rush of waters after heavy rain is terrific.

I think a traveller in Borneo will notice how few spots there are where birds are to be observed; whilst writing this line a little bird has perched itself before me, and by its song would induce me to alter what I have written, but notwithstanding this appeal, I reiterate that birds are but seldom seen. At certain hours and places a few pigeons or doves, more rarely crows; along the banks an occasional wagtail or kingfisher, and a songster in the trees above sometimes attracts your attention. A solitary teal now and then rises from the least frequented rivers, and the kite sails slowly above us.