LIFE IN THE FORESTS
OF
THE FAR EAST.

F. Jones, lith.

Day & Son, Lith^rs. to the Queen

Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65 Cornhill, London.

KINA BALU FROM THE LOWER TAMPASUK.

LIFE IN THE FORESTS
OF
THE FAR EAST.

BY

SPENSER ST. JOHN, F.R.G.S., F.E.S.,

FORMERLY H.M.’S CONSUL-GENERAL IN THE GREAT ISLAND OF BORNEO,
AND NOW
H.M.’S CHARGÉ D’AFFAIRES TO THE REPUBLIC OF HAYTI.

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.

M.DCCC.LXII.

[The right of Translation is reserved.]

PREFACE.

I have explained in a short introduction the object and plan of the present volumes, and have little more to say, beyond a reference to the assistance I have received, and the plates and maps which accompany and illustrate them. In order to prevent mistakes, and correct my own impressions, I submitted a series of questions to four gentlemen who were intimately acquainted with the Dayak tribes, and they gave me most useful information in reply. To Mr. Charles Johnson and the Rev. William Chalmers I am indebted for very copious and valuable notes on the Sea and Land Dayaks; and to the Rev. Walter Chambers and the Rev. William Gomez for more concise, yet still interesting accounts of the tribes with whom they live.

To Mr. Hugh Low, the Colonial Treasurer of Labuan, I am under special obligations, as he freely placed at my disposal the journals he had kept during our joint expeditions, as well as those relating to some districts which I have not visited. It is to be regretted that he has not himself prepared a work on the North-West Coast, as no man possesses more varied experience or a more intimate knowledge of the people.

With regard to the plates contained in this work, I am indebted to the courtesy of George Bentham, Esq., the President of the Linnean Society, for permission to engrave the figures of the Nepenthes from the admirable ones published in Vol. XXII. of that Society’s Transactions, and which being of the size of life are the more valuable.

I have inserted, with Dr. Hooker’s permission, his description of the Bornean Nepenthes; and it will always be a subject of regret that the British Government did not carry out their original intention of sending this able botanist to investigate the Flora of Borneo, which is perhaps as extraordinary as any in the world.

I have also to thank the Rev. Charles Johnson, of White Lackington, and Charles Benyon, Esq., for the photographs which they placed at my disposal, and which have enabled me to insert, among other plates, the most life-like pictures of the Land and Sea Dayaks I have ever seen. To the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel I am also indebted for their generous offer to place all their drawings at my disposal.

I must likewise draw attention to the exquisite manner in which the plates of the Nepenthes are coloured, and to the beauty of the engravings in general. They are admirably illustrative of the country, and do very great credit to the lithographers, Messrs. Day and Son, and to their excellent draughtsmen. I ought also to mention that the Nepenthes are drawn less than half the natural size, as it was found impracticable to introduce the full size without many folds, which would have speedily destroyed the beauty of the plates.

I will add a few words respecting the maps. The one of the districts around Kina Balu was constructed from the observations made during our two expeditions to that mountain. The map of the Limbang and Baram rivers is the result of many observations, and with regard to the position of the main mountains, I think substantially correct, as they were fixed with the aid of the best instruments. The third map is inserted in order to give a general idea of the North-West Coast, though the run of the rivers is often laid down by conjecture.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MAPS.

ERRATA.

Page 317, line 9, for “four,” read “fourteen.”

„   „ 17, for “was,” read “that of the others is.”

London. Day & Son, Lith^rs. to the Queen

LIFE IN THE

FORESTS OF THE FAR EAST.

INTRODUCTION.

The wild tribes of Borneo, and the not less wild interior of the country, are scarcely known to European readers, as no one who has travelled in the Island during the last fourteen years has given his impressions to the public.

My official position afforded me many facilities for gratifying my fondness for exploring new countries, and traversing more of the north of Borneo than any previous traveller, besides enabling me to gain more intimate and varied experience of the inhabitants.

In the following pages I have treated of the tribes in groups, and have endeavoured to give an individual interest to each; while, to preserve the freshness of my first impressions, I have copied my journal written at the time, only correcting such errors as are inseparable from first observations, and comparing them with the result of subsequent experience.

Preserving the natural order of travel, I commence with an account of my expeditions among the tribes living in the neighbourhood of Sarawak; then follow narratives of two ascents of the great mountain of Kina Balu, the loftiest mountain of insular Asia, of which I have given a full account, as it is a part of Borneo but little known, and rendered still more curious by the traces we find of former Chinese intercourse with this part of the island; my personal narrative being concluded by the journal of a distant expedition I made to explore the interior of the country lying to the south and south-east of Brunei, the capital of Borneo Proper.

The starting-point of the first journeys was Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, where I was stationed in the acting appointment of H. M.’s Commissioner in Borneo. I lived so many years among the Dayaks, that the information I give of their mode of life may be relied on; and I have received so much assistance from others better acquainted with individual tribes, that I can place before the public, with great confidence in the correctness of detail, the chapters on the Manners and Customs of these people. I persuade myself that the more the natives of Borneo are studied, the more lively will be the interest felt in them. The energy displayed by the Sea Dayaks, gives much hope of their advancement in civilization at a future time; and a few years of quiet and steady government would produce a great change in their condition. The Land Dayaks scarcely display the same aptitude for improvement, but patience may do much with them also; their modes of thought, their customs, and the traces of Hinduism in their religion, render them a very singular and interesting people.

Of the Kayans we know less; and I have only been able to give an account of one journey I made among them, very slightly corrected by subsequent experience. They are a strange, warlike race, who are destined greatly to influence the surrounding tribes. They have already penetrated to within thirty miles of Brunei, the capital, spreading desolation in their path.

For ten years, every time I had entered the bay near the Brunei river, I had speculated on what kind of country and people lay beyond the distant ranges of mountains that, on a clear day, appeared to extend, one behind the other, as far as the eye could reach. I constantly made inquiries, but never could find even a Malay who had gone more than a few days’ journey up the Limbang, the largest river which falls into the bay. In 1856, I took up my permanent residence in Brunei as Consul-General, and, after many minor attempts, I was at last enabled to organize an expedition to penetrate into the interior, and, hoping it might prove interesting, every evening, with but two exceptions, I wrote in my journal an account of the day’s proceedings. I have printed it, as far as possible, in the same words in which it was originally composed. As this country was never before visited by Malay or European, I hope there will be found in my narrative some fresh and interesting matter.

The Malays being a people about whom much has been written, I have refrained from dwelling on their characteristics.

I conclude with a sketch of the present condition of Brunei and Sarawak, of the Chinese settlers, and of the two missions which have been sent to Borneo, one Roman Catholic, the other Protestant.

It was with much regret that I gave up the idea of penetrating to the opposite side of Borneo, starting from the capital, and crossing the island to Kotei or Baluñg-an, on the eastern coast; but the expense would have been too great: otherwise, with my previous experience of Borneo travelling, I should have had no hesitation in attempting the expedition.

Having thus briefly indicated the plan of the work, I will commence with an account of my journeys among the Sea Dayaks.

G. M^c Culloch, Lith.

Day & Son, Lith^rs. to the Queen

Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65 Cornhill, London.

THE SEA DAYAKS.

CHAPTER I.
THE SEA DAYAKS.

Habitat of the Sea Dayaks—Start for the Lundu—Inland Passages—Fat Venison—The Lundu—Long Village House—Chinese Gardens—Picturesque Waterfall—The Lundu Dayaks—Their Village—Gradual Extinction of the Tribe—A Squall—Childbirth—Girl Bitten by a Snake—Mr. Gomez—His Tact—A Boa Seizes my Dog—Stories of Boa Constrictors—One Caught in a Cage—Invasion of a Dining-room—Capture of a large Boa—Boa and Wild Boar—Native Accounts—Madman and Snake—Boas used as Rat Catchers—Floating Islands—A Man Found on one—Their Origin—The Batang Lupar—The Lingga—Alligators Dangerous—Method of Catching them—Their Size—Hair Balls—Death of an Acquaintance—The Balau Lads—The Orang-Utan—A large one killed—Banks of the River—The Fort at Sakarang—The late Mr. Brereton—Sakarang Head-hunting—Dayak Stratagem—Peace Ceremonies—Sacred Jars—Farmhouse—Love of Imitation—Illustrated London News—Women—Men—Poisoning—Workers in Gold and Brass—Anecdote—Rambi Fruit—Pigs Swimming—The Bore—Hunting Dogs—Wild Boar—Respect for Domestic Pig—Two kinds of Deer—Snaring—Land and Sea Breezes—The Rejang—Lofty Millanau House—Human Sacrifices—Swings—Innumerable Mayflies—Kanowit Village—Kayan Mode of Attack—Kanowit Dayaks—Men with Tails—Extraordinary Effect of Bathing in the Nile—Treachery—Bier—Customs on the Death of a Relative—Curious Dance—Ceremonies on Solemnizing Peace—Wild Tribes—Deadly Effect of the Upas.

The Sea Dayaks are so called from their familiarity with the sea, though many live as far inland as any of the other aborigines. They inhabit the districts lying to the eastward of Sadong, and extend along the coast to the great river of Rejang. They are the most numerous and warlike of the Dayaks; and the most powerful of their sections formerly indulged in the exciting pastime of piracy and head-hunting. The next river to the east of Sadong is the Sibuyau, whose inhabitants were scattered and had fled to the districts around Sarawak.

The first village of these Sibuyaus, to whom we paid a long visit, was situated on the Lundu, the most westerly river in the Sarawak territories.

We started in March; and the north-east monsoon still blowing occasionally, made it necessary to watch our time for venturing to sea, as the waves would soon have swamped our long native prahu.

From the Santubong entrance of the Sarawak River to the Lundu, there are passages which run behind the jungle that skirts the sea-shore, enabling canoes to hold communication between those places thirty miles apart without venturing to sea; but our boat being fifty feet long was unable to pass at one place, so during a lull in the weather we pushed out, calling at the little island of Sampadien, where Mr. Crookshank was preparing the ground for a cocoa-nut plantation. He brought us down a fine haunch of venison, covered with a layer of fat, a very rare thing in Borneo, where the deer generally are destitute of that sign of good condition. He had employed himself the first few days in clearing the island of game, and his dogs had on the previous evening been fortunate enough to bring this fine animal to bay, when he speared it with his own hands.

Pushing off quickly, as the sea breeze was blowing in strongly, we sailed and pulled away for the river of Sampadien, and after a narrow escape from not hitting the right channel, found ourselves clear of the breakers and safe in still water. An inland passage then took us to the Lundu.

The banks of this river are very flat and the plains extend for a considerable distance, but the scene is redeemed from tameness by the mountains of Gading and Poè. There is a flourishing appearance about the place; all were engaged in some occupation. We were received by Kalong, the Orang Kaya’s eldest son, the chief himself being absent collecting the fruit of the mangkawan, from which a good vegetable oil is extracted: the natives use it for candles and for cookery, but it is also exported in quantities to Europe.

The landing-place is very picturesque, being overshadowed by a grove of magnificent palms, under which were drawn up the war-boats of the tribe. A passage raised on posts three feet above the ground, led to the great village-house, which extended far on either side, and was then hidden among the fruit-trees. It was the longest I had seen, measuring 534 feet, and contained nearly five hundred people. There are various lesser houses about of Malays and Dayaks, forming a population of about a thousand. The Orang Kaya lived in the largest house, which was certainly a remarkably fine one: the broad verandah, or common room, stretched uninterruptedly the whole length, and afforded ample space for the occupations of the tribe. The divisions appropriated to each family were comparatively large, and all had an air of comfort; while in front of the house were bamboo platforms, on which the rice is dried and beaten out.

No village in Sarawak is blessed with greater prosperity than this. The old Orang Kaya, being of a most determined character, has reversed the usual order of things; and the Malays, instead of being the governors, are the governed. Having for years been little exposed to exactions, they are flourishing and exhibit an air of great contentment.

They made us comfortable in the long public room, and placed benches around a table for our accommodation. I confess to prefer the clean matted floor. After the first burst of curiosity was over, the people went on with their usual avocations, and did not make themselves uncomfortable about us.

We walked in the evening among the Chinese gardens extending over about a hundred acres of ground, and neatly planted with various kinds of vegetables, among which beans and sweet potatoes appeared most numerous. There were here about two hundred Chinese, most of them but lately arrived, so that the cultivated ground was continually increasing. A large market was found for their sweet potatoes among the sago growers and workers of the rivers to the north.

Next day we started for a waterfall, which we were told was to be found on the sides of the Gading mountain, a few miles below the village. After leaving our boat, the path lay through a jungle of fruit-trees; but as we ascended the spur of the mountain these ceased. In about an hour we came to a very deep ravine, where the thundering noise of falling water gave notice of the presence of a cataract. This is by far the finest I have yet seen: the stream, tumbling down the sides of the mountain, forms a succession of noble falls: the first we saw dashed in broken masses over the rocks above, and then descended like a huge pillar of foam into a deep, gloomy basin, while on either side of it rose smooth rocks, crowned with lofty trees, and dense underwood, that threw their dark shadows into the pool.

A slight detour brought us to a spot above the cascade, and then we could perceive that it was but the first of a succession. One view, where six hundred feet of fall was at once visible, is extremely fine: the water now gliding over the smoothest granite rock, then broken into foam by numerous obstructions, then tumbling in masses into deep basins,—the deafening roar, the noble trees rising amid the surrounding crags, the deep verdure, the brightness of the tropical sun, reflected from burning polished surfaces, then deep shade and cooling air. This varied scene was indeed worth a visit. We ascended to the top of the mountain, though warned of the danger we incurred from a ferocious dragon which guarded the summit.

The Sibuyaus are only interlopers in the Lundu, as there is a tribe, the original inhabitants of the country, who still live here. One day we visited them.

After pulling a few miles up the river we reached a landing place, where the chief of the true Lundus was waiting to guide us to his village. For six or seven miles our path lay through the jungle over undulating ground, and we found the houses situated at the commencement of a great valley lying between the mountains of Poè and Gading. The soil is here excellent, but now little of it is tilled, though there are thousands of acres around that might support an immense population. Most of it, however, had, in former times, been cleared, as we saw but very little old forest.

The Lundu houses, on the top of a low hill, are but few in number, neat and new. The tribe, however, has fallen; they fear there is a curse on them. A thousand families, they say, once cultivated this valley, but now they are reduced to ten, not by the ravages of war, but by diseases sent by the spirits. They complain bitterly that they have no families, that their women are not fertile; indeed, there were but three or four children in the whole place. The men were fine-looking, and the women well favoured and healthy—remarkably clean and free from disease. We could only account for their decreasing numbers by their constant intermarriages: we advised them to seek husbands and wives among the neighbouring tribes, but this is difficult. Their village is a well-drained, airy spot.

On our return, one of those sudden squalls came on that are so frequent in Borneo: we were among the decayed trees that still stood on the site of an old farm. As a heavier gust swept from the hills, the half-rotten timber tottered and fell with a crash around us, rendering our walk extremely dangerous. I was not sorry, therefore, to find myself in the boat on the broad river. The banks are tolerably well cleared by Chinese, Malays, Millanaus, and Dayaks. A few months after this, a sudden squall struck the British brig “Amelia,” and capsized her: ninety-three went down with her, but twenty escaped in the jolly-boat.

In the evening Kalong’s wife was taken in the pains of childbirth. The Rev. F. Dougall, now Bishop of Labuan, offered his medical assistance, as it was evident the case was a serious one, but they preferred following their own customs. The child died, and we left the mother very ill.

A young girl, bitten by a snake, was brought in; the wound was rubbed with a piece of deer’s horn, she became drowsy and slept for several hours, but in the morning she was about her usual occupations.

A year after this visit, the Rev. W. Gomez was established there, to endeavour to convert the Sibuyau Dayaks. At first, he did not press religious instruction upon them, but opened a school. I mention this circumstance on account of the very remarkable tact he must have exercised to induce the children to attend as they did. His system of punishment was admirable, but difficult to be followed with English boys. He merely refused to hear the offending child’s lesson, and told him to go home. A friend, who often watched the progress of the school, has told me that instead of going home the little fellows would sob and cry and remain in a quiet part of the school till they thought Mr. Gomez had relented. They would rarely return to their parents, if it could be avoided, before their lessons were said.

On our journey along the coast, while walking at the edge of the jungle, a favourite dog of mine was seized by a boa-constrictor, perhaps twelve feet in length. Fortunately, Captain Brooke was near, and sent a charge of shot into the reptile, which then let go its hold and made off. The dog had a wound on the side of his neck.

The natives tell many stories of these monstrous snakes; but rejecting the testimony of those who say they have seen them so large as to mistake them for trees, I will mention three cases where the animals were measured. A boa one night got into a closely-latticed place under a Dayak house, and finding it could not drag away a pig which it had killed there, on account of the wooden bars, swallowed the beast on the spot. In the morning the owner was astonished to find the new occupant of the sty; but as the reptile was gorged, he had no difficulty in destroying it. Its body was brought to Sarawak and measured by Mr. Ruppell, when it was found to be nineteen feet in length.

The next was killed in Labuan, and without head and a large portion of its neck, it measured above twenty feet. I heard the story told how the reptile was secured. One day, a dog belonging to Mr. Coulson disappeared, and a servant averred that it was taken by an enormous snake. The following week, as the same servant was laying the cloth for dinner, he saw, to his horror, a huge snake dart at a dog, that was quietly dozing in the verandah, and carry it off. The master, alarmed at the cries of his follower, rushed out, and, on hearing the cause, gave chase, spear in hand, followed by all his household. They tracked the reptile to his lair, and found the dead dog opposite a hole in a hollow tree; placing a man with a drawn sword to watch there, Mr. Coulson thrust a spear into an upper hole, and struck the boa, which, feeling the wound, put its head out of the entrance, and instantly lost it by a blow from the Malay. I believe that when it was drawn from its hiding-place it measured about twenty-four feet; the before-mentioned length was taken by me from the mutilated skin.

Mr. Coulson was also fortunate enough to secure the largest boa that has ever been obtained by a European in the north-west part of Borneo.

In March, 1859, a Malay, his wife, and child, accompanied by a little dog, were walking from the Eastern Archipelago Company’s house, at the entrance of the Brunei towards the sea-beach. The path was narrow; the little dog trotted on first, followed by the others in Indian file. Just as they reached the shore, a boa darted on the dog and dragged him into the bushes. The Malays fled back to the house, where they found Mr. Coulson, who, on hearing of the great size of the serpent, determined to attempt the capture of its skin. He loaded a Minié rifle, and requested three English companions who happened to be there to accompany him with drawn swords. He made them promise to follow his directions. His intention was to walk up to within a fathom of the boa, and then shoot him through the head; if he were seized, then his companions were to rush in with their swords, but not before, as he wished to preserve the skin uninjured. They found the reptile on the same spot where it had killed the dog, that still lay partly encoiled: on the approach of the party, it raised its head, and made slight angry darts towards them, but still keeping hold of its prey. Mr. Coulson coolly approached to within five feet of the animal, which kept raising and depressing its head, and, seizing a favourable opportunity, fired; the ball passed through its brain and it lay dead at his feet—a prize worthily gained. They raised the boa up while still making strong muscular movements, and carried it back to the house; there they measured it—it was twenty-six feet two inches. Mr. Coulson immediately skinned it, and, shortly after, brought it up to the consulate. When I measured it, it had lost two inches, and was exactly twenty-six feet in length.

These boas must have occasionally desperate struggles with the wild pigs. I one day came upon a spot where the ground was torn up for a circle of eight or nine feet, and the branches around were broken. The boar, however, had evidently succumbed, as we could trace with ease the course it had been dragged through the jungle. We followed a little distance, but evidently no one was very anxious in pursuit. I knew the animal killed on this occasion to be a boar, from finding his broken tusk half-buried in the ground.

I may mention one or two incidents which I heard from very trustworthy Malays. Abang Hassan was working in the woods at the Santubong entrance of the Sarawak river, when he came upon a huge boa, completely torpid; it had swallowed one of the large deer, whose horns, he said, could be distinctly traced under the reptile’s skin. He cut it open and found that the deer was still perfectly fresh. The boa measured about nineteen feet.

Abang Buyong, a man whose word is trusted by all the Europeans who know him, told us that one day he was walking through the jungle with a drawn sword, looking for rattans, when he was suddenly seized by the leg; he instinctively cut at the animal, and fortunate for him that he was so quick, as he had struck off the head of a huge boa before it had time to wind its coils around him. He said he carefully measured him, and it was seven Malay fathoms long—that is, from thirty-five to thirty-seven feet. Dozens of other stories rise to my memory, but they were told me by men in whom I have not equal confidence. The largest I have myself killed was fourteen feet.

I will mention an incident that took place in July, 1861, during the Sarawak expedition to the Muka river. A Malay, subject to fits of delirium, sprang up suddenly one day in a boat, drew a sword, killed two and wounded several men; he then dashed overboard, and fled into the jungle. Ten days after, he was found wandering starving on the beach. He appeared quite in his senses, and perfectly unaware of the act he had committed. He said, one night that threatened heavy rain, he crawled into a hollow tree to sleep. He was suddenly awakened by a choking sensation in his throat. He instinctively put up both his hands, and tore away what had seized him; it was a huge boa, which in the confined space could not coil around him. The Malay quickly got out of the serpent’s lair and fled, leaving his sword behind him. When found, there were the marks of the fangs on the sides of the torn wound, which was festering. The last news I heard of the man was that he was expected to die.

Many persons are very partial to small boas, as wherever they take up their abode all rats disappear; therefore they are seldom disturbed when found in granaries or the roofs of houses, though the reptile has as great a partiality for eggs as for vermin. Our servants killed one, and found fourteen eggs in its stomach.

Passing, on our way to the great tribes of Sea Dayaks, through Sarawak, we picked up our home letters and newspapers, and transferred our baggage to a larger prahu, very comfortably fitted up, with a spacious cabin in the centre.

At Muaratabas we joined the Jolly Bachelor pinnace, sending our boat on in shore. Setting sail with a fair breeze, we soon reached the entrance of the Batang Lupar, which is marked by two conical hills,—one the island of Trisauh, in the centre of the river, the other on the right bank. During our passage we observed some of those floating islands which wander over the face of the sea, at the mercy of wind and wave. I remember once that the signalman gave notice that a three-masted vessel was ahead. We all fixed our telescopes on her, as at sea the slightest incident awakens interest: her masts appeared to rake in an extraordinary manner. As we steamed towards her our mistake was soon discovered; it was a floating island, with unusually tall nipa palms upon it, that were bending gracefully before the breeze.

On one occasion a man was found at sea making one of these his resting-place. Doubtless he abandoned his island home cheerfully, though he fell into the hands of enemies. He told us that his pirate companions, in hurried flight, had left him on the bank of a hostile river, and so seeing a diminutive island floating to the sea, he swam off and got upon it, and he had been there many days, living upon the fruit he had found on the palm stems.

The origin of the islands is this: The stream occasionally wears away the steep bank under the closely united roots of the nipa, and some sudden flood, pressing with unusual force on the loosened earth, tears away a large portion of the shore, which floats to the mouth of the river to be carried by the tides and currents far out to sea. Some fifteen miles off Baram Point, mariners tell of a great collection of floating trees and sea-weed, that forms an almost impassable barrier to ships in a light breeze. Some action of the currents appears to cause this assemblage of floating timber always to keep near one spot, and to move with a gyrating motion.

The Batang Lupar is in breadth from two to three miles, and occasionally more: we never had a cast of less than three fathoms on the bar, and inside it deepens to six. The banks are low, composed entirely of alluvial soil. Wind and tide soon carried us to our first night’s resting-place at the mouth of the Lingga river, some twenty miles from the embouchure of the Batang Lupar. It is small, and its banks have the usual flat appearance, relieved, however, by some distant hills and the mountain of Lesong (a mortar), from a fancied resemblance to that article to be seen in every Malay house.

We found our boat here, together with a large force from Sarawak. I had taken advantage of the chance to accompany Captain Brooke on one of his tours through the Sarawak territories. This was to induce all the branches of the Sea Dayaks to make peace with each other, and with the towns of the coast, some of which they had so long harried.

While business detains the force at the mouth of the Lingga, I will describe Banting, the chief town of the Balau Dayaks, about ten miles up that stream. There are here about thirty long village houses, half at the foot of a low hill, the others scattered on its face, completely embowered in fruit-trees. From the spot where Mr. Chambers, the missionary, has built his house, there is a lovely view,—more lovely to those who have long been accustomed to jungle than to any others. For here we have the Lingga river meandering among what appear to be extensive green fields, reminding me of our lovely meadows at home. We must not, however, examine them too closely, or I fear they will be found swamps of rushes and gigantic grass. Still the land is not the less valuable, being admirably adapted in its present state for the best rice cultivation.

The Lingga river is famous for its alligators, which are both large and fierce; but, from superstitions to which I shall afterwards refer, the natives seldom destroy them. In Sarawak there is no such prejudice. It is a well-known fact, that no alligator will take a bait that is in any way fixed to the shore. The usual mode of catching them is to fasten a dog, a cat, or a monkey to a four or five fathom rattan, with an iron hook or a short stick lightly fastened up the side of the bait. The rattan is then beaten out into fibre for a fathom, to prevent its being bitten through by the animal when it has swallowed the tempting morsel. Near a spot known to be frequented by alligators, the bait, with this long appendage, is placed on a branch about six feet above high-water mark. The cries of the bound animal soon attract the reptile; he springs out of the water and seizes it in his ponderous jaws. The natives say he is cunning enough to try if it be fastened to the bank; but the real fact appears to be that the alligator never eats its food until it is rather high. So that when fastened, finding he cannot take away his prize to the place where he usually conceals his food, he naturally lets it go. Gasing, a Dayak chief, saved his life when seized by an alligator, by laying hold of a post in the water: the animal gave two or three tugs, but finding its prey immovable, let go.

Two or three days after the bait has been taken, the Malays seek for the end of the long rattan fastened to it. When found, they give it a slight pull, which breaks the threads that fasten the stick up the side of the bait, and it spreads across the alligator’s stomach. They then haul it towards them. It never appears to struggle, but permits its captors to bind its legs over its back. Till this is done they speak to it with the utmost respect, and address it in a soothing voice; but as soon as it is secured they raise a yell of triumph, and take it in procession down the river to the landing-place. It is then dragged ashore amid many expressions of condolence at the pain it must be suffering from the rough stones; but being safely ashore, their tone is jeering, as they address it as Rajah, Datu, and grandfather. It then receives its death at the hands of the public executioner. Its stomach is afterwards ripped open, to see if it be a man-eater. I have often seen the buttons of a woman’s jacket, or the tail of a Chinese, taken out. The alligator always appears to swallow its food whole. Some men are very expert in catching these reptiles; I remember one Malay, who came over from the Dutch possessions, capturing thirteen during a few months, and as the Sarawak Government pay three shillings and sixpence for every foot the beast measures, the man made a large sum.

Alligators sometimes attain to a very large size. I have never measured one above seventeen feet six inches, but I saw a well-known animal, the terror of the Siol branch of the Sarawak, that must have been at least twenty-four or twenty-five feet long. The natives say the alligator dies if wounded about the body, as the river-worms get into the injured part, and prevent its healing; many have been found dying on the banks from gunshot wounds. In the rivers are occasionally found curious balls of hair, five or six inches in diameter, that are ejected from these reptiles’ stomachs,—the indigestible remains of animals captured.

I once lost an acquaintance in Sarawak who was killed by an alligator. He was seized round the chest by the jaws of an enormous beast that swam with his prey along the surface of the water. His children, who had accompanied him to bathe, ran along the banks of the river shouting to him to push out the animal’s eyes; they say he looked at them, but that he neither moved nor spoke, paralyzed, as it were, by the grip.

I am very partial to this tribe of Lingga Dayaks; they have always shown so unmistakable a preference for the English—faithful under every temptation, and ready at a moment’s warning to back them up with a force of a thousand men.

The lads, too, have a spirit more akin to English youths than I have yet seen among the other tribes. I well remember the delight with which they learnt the games we taught them—joining in prisoner’s base with readiness, hauling at the rope, and shouting with laughter at French and English, represented by the names of two Dayak tribes. There is good material to work on here, and it could not be in better hands than those of their present missionary, Mr. Chambers. That his teaching has made any marked difference in their conduct I do not suppose, but he has influenced them, and his influence is yearly increasing.

It is pleasing to record a little success here, at the Quop, and at Lundu, or we should have to pronounce the Borneo mission a complete failure.

The largest orang-utans I have ever heard of are in the Batang Lupar districts. Mr. Crymble, of Sarawak, saw a very fine one on shore, and landing, fired and struck him, but the beast dashed away among the lofty trees; seven times he was shot at, but only the eighth ball took fatal effect, and he came crashing down, and fell under a heap of twigs that he had torn in vain endeavours to arrest his descent. The natives refused to approach him, saying it was a trick—he was hiding to spring upon them as they approached. Mr. Crymble, however, soon uncovered him, and measured his length as he lay: it was five feet two inches, measuring fairly from the head to the heel. The head and arms were brought in, and we measured them: the face was fifteen inches broad, including the enormous callosities that stick out on either side; its length was fourteen inches; round the wrist was twelve inches, and the upper arm seventeen. I mention this size particularly, as my friend, Mr. Wallace, who had more opportunities than any one else to study these animals, never shot one much over four feet, and perhaps may doubt the existence of larger animals; but he unfortunately sought them in the Sadong river, where only the smaller species exists.

The Dayaks tell many stories of the male orang-utans in old times carrying off their young girls, and of the latter becoming pregnant by them; but they are, perhaps, merely traditions. I have read somewhere of a huge male carrying off a Dutch girl, who was, however, immediately rescued by her father and a party of Javanese soldiers, before any injury beyond fright had occurred to her.

During the time I lived at Sarawak, we had many tame orang-utans; among others, a half-grown female called Betsy. She was an affectionate, gentle creature that might have been allowed perfect liberty, had she not taken too great a liking for the cabbage of the cultivated palms. When she climbed up one of these, she would commence tearing away the leaves to get at the coveted morsel, but shaking or striking the tree with a stick, would induce her to come down. Her cage was large, but she had a great dislike to being alone, and would follow the men about whenever she had an opportunity. At night, or when the wind was cold, she would carefully wrap herself in a blanket or rug, and of course choose the warmest corner of her cage.

After some months, we procured a very young male, and her delight was extreme. She seemed to take the greatest care of it; but like most of the small ones brought in, it soon died.

When I lived in Brunei, a very young male was given me. Not knowing what to do with it, I handed it over to a family where there were many children. They were delighted with it, and made it a suit of clothes. To the trousers it never took kindly; but I have often seen him put on his own jacket in damp weather, though he was not particular about having it upside down or not. It was quite gentle and used to be fondled by the very smallest children.

I never saw but one full-grown orang-utan in the jungle, and he kept himself well sheltered by a large branch as he peered at us. He might have shown himself with perfect safety, as I never could bring myself to shoot at a monkey; but a friend who was collecting specimens saw an enormous one in a very high tree: he fired ten shots at him with a revolver, one of which hit him on the leg. As in the case when I saw the orang-utan, he kept himself well sheltered, but whenever a bullet glanced on a tree or branch near him, he put out his hand to feel what had struck the bark. When he found himself wounded, he removed to the topmost branches, and was quite exposed, but my friend’s guns were left behind him, and he failed to obtain this specimen.

It is singular that most of the orang-utans die in captivity, from eating too much raw fruit. Betsy, that was fed principally on cooked rice, must have lived a twelvemonth with us. I was not in Sarawak when she died, and do not remember the cause.

On my return, finding that the arrangements were made, we started for a fort built at the entrance of the Sakarang, which was under the command of Mr. Brereton, accompanied by the Sarawak forces and the Balau Dayaks. The real value of the Batang Lupar as a river adapted for ships ceases shortly after leaving the junction, as sands begin, and a bore renders the navigation dangerous to the inexperienced; but it presents a noble expanse of water. As we started after the flood tide had commenced, the bore had passed on, and only gave notice of its late presence by a little bubbling in the shallower places.

The banks of the river continue low, with only an occasional rising of the land; nothing but alluvial plains, formerly the favourite farming grounds of the Dayaks, then completely deserted, or tenanted only by pigs and deer; but it was expected that as soon as the peace ceremonies were over, the natives would not allow this rich soil to remain uncultivated, and the expectation has been fulfilled, as this abandoned country was, on my last visit, covered with rice farms, while villages occupied the banks.

After we had passed Pamutus, the site of the piratical town destroyed by Sir Henry Keppel, the river narrows, and is not above a hundred yards broad at the town of Sakarang, built at the confluence of a river of the same name. The fort was rather an imposing-looking structure, though built entirely of wood. It was square, with flanking towers, and its heavy armament completely commanded the river, and rendered it secure against any Dayak force.

This country was at the time influenced, rather than ruled, by the late Mr. Brereton, as his real power did not extend beyond the range of his guns. I never met a man who threw himself more enthusiastically into a most difficult position, or who, by his imaginative mind and yet determined will, exercised a greater power over Dayaks by the superiority of his intellect. A stranger can scarcely realize a more difficult task than that of endeavouring to rule many thousands of wild warriors without being backed by physical force; but he did a great deal, though his exertions were too much for his strength, and he died a few years after, while engaged in his arduous task. In him the Sarawak service lost an admirable officer, and we an affectionate friend.

When we landed at the fort, we found a great crowd assembled to meet us, among whom were the principal Sakarang chiefs, as Gasing and Gila. Many were fine-looking men of independent bearing and intelligent features. There were a few women about, but until the preliminaries of peace had been settled, they were not encouraged to come into the town.

It was found impossible to inquire into the origin of many of the quarrels, so Captain Brooke settled the matter by agreeing to give each party a sacred jar (valued at 8l.), a spear, and a flag. This was considered by them as satisfactory, and it was immediately determined that the next day the formal ceremonies should take place to ratify the engagement.

There is comparatively little difficulty in putting a stop to the piratical acts of the Sakarangs, as the fort commands the river; but it is almost impossible to prevent them head-hunting in the interior, there being so many unguarded outlets by which the hostile tribes can assail each other. The Bugau Dayaks—a numerous and powerful tribe, living on the Kapuas, and tributary to the Dutch—were principally exposed to their expeditions, and their justifiable retaliations kept up the hostile feeling.

Whenever a head-hunting party was expected to be on its return, a strict watch was kept to prevent it passing the fort. One day, at sunset, a couple of light canoes were seen stealing along the river bank, but a shot across their bows made them pull back: they dared not come up to the fort, having three human heads with them. The sentries were doubled, and Mr. Brereton kept watch himself. About two hours before dawn, something was seen moving under the opposite bank. A musket was fired; but as the object continued floating by, it was thought to be a trunk of a tree; but no sooner had it neared the point than a yell of derision arose, as the swimming Dayaks sprang into the boat, and pulled off in high glee up the Sakarang.

To prevent all chance of the hostile tribes of Sakarangs and Balaus quarrelling before the treaty was concluded, it was arranged that the latter tribe should remain at the entrance of the Undup, a stream about two miles below the town, and that we should drop down to that spot next day.

We found a covered stage erected, and a crowd of nearly a thousand Balau men around it, and in their long war boats: the Sakarangs came also in large force, and our mediating party of about five hundred armed men was there likewise.

Captain Brooke clearly explained the object of the meeting, when the topic was taken up by the Datu Patinggi of Sarawak, who, with easy eloquence, briefly touched on the various points in question. The Dayak chiefs followed; each protested that it was their desire to live in peace and friendship; they promised to be as brothers and warn each other of impending dangers. They all appear to have a natural gift of uttering their sentiments freely without the slightest hesitation.

The ceremony of killing a pig for each tribe followed; it is thought more fortunate if the animal be severed in two by one stroke of the parang, half sword, half chopper. Unluckily, the Balau champion struck inartistically, and but reached half through the animal. The Sakarangs carefully selected a parang of approved sharpness, a superior one belonging to Mr. Crookshank, and choosing a Malay skilled in the use of weapons placed the half-grown pig before him. The whole assembly watched him with the greatest interest, and when he not only cut the pig through, but buried the weapon to the hilt in the mud, a slight shout of derision arose among the Sakarangs at the superior prowess of their champion. The Balaus, however, took it in good part and joined in the noise, till about two thousand men were yelling together with all the power of their lungs.

The sacred jar, the spear, and flag, were now presented to each tribe, and the assembly, no longer divided, mixed freely together. The Balaus were invited to come up to the town, and thus was commenced a good understanding which has continued without interruption to the present time—about eleven years.

There are many kinds of sacred jars. The best known are the Gusi, the Rusa, and the Naga, all most probably of Chinese origin. The Gusi, the most valuable of the three, is of a green colour, about eighteen inches high, and is, from its medicinal properties, exceedingly sought after. One fetched at Tawaran the price of four hundred pounds sterling to be paid in produce; the vendor has for the last ten years been receiving the price, which, according to his own account, has not yet been paid, though probably he has received fifty per cent. over the amount agreed on from his ignorant customer. They are most numerous in the south of Borneo. The Naga is a jar two feet in height, and ornamented with Chinese figures of dragons; they are not worth above seven or eight pounds. While the Rusa is covered with what the native artist considers a representation of some kind of deer, it is worth from fifteen to sixteen pounds. An attempt was made to manufacture an imitation in China, but the Dayaks immediately discovered the counterfeit.

We pulled up the Sakarang river to visit Gasing in his farmhouse, which was large, neat, and comfortable; in form and general appearance like their usual village houses. These Sea Dayaks are a very improvable people. I have mentioned the tender point of their character as displayed in Mr. Gomez’s school at Lundu, and another is their love of imitation. A Sakarang chief noticed a path that was cut and properly ditched near the fort, and found that in all weathers it was dry, so he instantly made a similar path from the landing place on the river to his house, and I was surprised on entering it to see coloured representations of horses, knights in full armour, and ships drawn vigorously, but very inartistically, on the plank walls. I found, on inquiry, he had been given some copies of the Illustrated London News, and had endeavoured to imitate the engravings. He used charcoal, lime, red ochre, and yellow earth as his materials.

The Sakarang women are, I think, the handsomest among the Dayaks of Borneo; they have good figures, light and elastic; with well-formed busts and very interesting, even pretty faces; with skin of so light a brown as almost to be yellow, yet a very healthy-looking yellow, with bright dark eyes, and long glistening black hair. The girls are very fond of using an oil made from the Katioh fruit, which has the scent of almonds. Their dress is not unbecoming, petticoats reaching from below the waist to the knees, and jackets ornamented with fringe. All their clothes are made from native cloth of native yarn, spun from cotton grown in the country. These girls are generally thought to be lively in conversation and quick in repartee.

The Sakarang men are clean built, upright in their gait, and of a very independent bearing. They are well behaved and gentle in their manners: and, on their own ground, superior to all others in activity. Their national dress is a chawat or waistcloth, and in warlike expeditions they are partial to bright red cloth jackets, so that when assembled at a distance, they look like a party of English soldiers. The Sakarang and Seribas men have the peculiar practice of wearing rings all along the edge of their ears, sometimes as many as a dozen. I thought this custom confined to them, but I find the Muruts of Padas, opposite Labuan, also practise it.

Their strength and activity are remarkable. I have seen a Dayak carry a heavy Englishman down the steepest hills; and when one of their companions is severely wounded they bear him home, whatever may be the distance. They exercise a great deal from boyhood in wrestling, swimming, running, and sham-fighting, and are excellent jumpers. When a little more civilized they would make good soldiers, being brave by nature. They are, however, short—a man five feet five inches high would be considered tall, the average is perhaps five feet three inches.

We did not visit the interior of the Batang Lupar, but it is reported to be very populous, and the Chinese are now working gold there. I have penetrated to the very sources of the Sakarang, and found it, after a couple of days’ pull, much encumbered by drift-wood and rocks, with shallow rapids over pebbly beds. This interior is very populous, and from a view we had on a hill over the upper part of the Seribas River, as far as the hills in which the Kanowit rises, we could perceive but little old forest.

I may mention that the crime of poisoning is almost unknown on the north-west coast, but it is very generally believed the people of the interior of the Kapuas, a few days’ walk from the Batang Lupar, are much given to the practice. Sherif Sahib, and many others who visited that country, died suddenly, and the Malays assert it was from poison; but of this I have no proof.

Near the very sources of the Kapuas live the Malau Dayaks, who are workers in gold and brass, and it is very singular that members of this tribe can wander safely through the villages of the head-hunting Seribas and Sakarang, and are never molested,—on the contrary, they are eagerly welcomed by the female portion of the population, and the young men are not indifferent to their arrival; but the specimens of their work that I have seen do not show much advance in civilization. The Malau districts produce gold, and it is said very fine diamonds.

I will insert here an anecdote of the public executioner of Sakarang. Last year, a native was tried and condemned to death for a barbarous murder, and according to the custom in Malay countries, the next day was fixed for carrying out the sentence. A Chinese Christian lad, who was standing near the executioner, said to him earnestly, “What! no time given him for repentance?” “Repentance!” cried the executioner, contemptuously. “Repentance! he is not a British subject.” A curious confusion of ideas. Both were speaking in English, and very good English.

I tasted here, for the first time, the rambi fruit, that looks something like a large grape, growing in bunches, pleasantly sweet, yet with a slight acidity, yellow skin, with the interior divided into two fleshy pulps.

At the broadest part of the Batang Lupar, nearly four miles across, I saw a herd of pigs swimming from one shore to the other. If pigs do this with ease, we need not be surprised that the tigers get over the old Singapore Strait to devour, on a low average, a man a day.

On our return, while anchored at Pamutus, we saw the bore coming up, and it was a pretty sight from our safe position. A crested wave spread from shore to shore, and rushed along with inconceivable speed, to subside as it approached deep water, to commence again at the sands with as great violence when it had passed us. At full and change, few native boats escape which are caught on the shallows, but are rolled over and over, and the men are dashed breathless on the bank, few escaping with life.

Some of our Malays went ashore last night to snare deer, while the Balaus tried for pigs. It used to be a very favourite hunting ground of the Dayaks, who are expert in everything appertaining to the jungle; they nearly always employ dogs, which are very small, not larger than a spaniel, sagacious and clever in the jungle, but stupid, sleepy-looking creatures out of it, having all the attributes of bad-looking, mongrel curs as they lurk about the houses; but when some four or five are led into the jungle, dense and pathless as it is in most places, then they are ready to attack a wild boar ten times their size. And the wild boar of the East is a very formidable animal. I have seen one that measured forty inches high at the shoulder, with a head nearly two feet in length. Sir Henry Keppel also was present when this was shot, and he thought a small child could have sat within its jaws. Captain Hamilton of the 21st M. N. I., a very successful sportsman, killed one forty-two inches high. Native hunting with good dogs is easy work; the master loiters about gathering rattans, fruit, or other things of various uses to his limited wants, and the dogs beat the jungle for themselves, and when they have found a scent, give tongue, and soon run the animal to bay: the master knowing this by the peculiar bark, follows quickly and spears the game.

I have known as many as six or seven pigs killed before midday by Dayaks while walking along a beach: their dogs searching on the borders of the forest, bring the pigs to bay, but never really attack till the master comes with his spear to help them. The boars are very dangerous when wounded, as they turn furiously on the hunter, and unless he has the means of escape by climbing a tree, he would fare ill in spite of his sword and spear, if it were not for the assistance of his dogs. These creatures, though small, never give in unless severely wounded, and by attacking the hind legs, keep the pig continually turning round.

The Dayaks are very fond of pork, and fortunately it is so, or they would be much more easily persuaded to become Mahomedans. They have a sort of respect for the domestic pig, and an English gentleman was in disgrace at Lingga on account of allowing his dogs to hunt one that they met in the fruit-groves, which in any civilized country would have been considered wild. The European sportsman said in his defence, that he could not help clapping his hands when he heard his dogs give tongue in chase. Upon a hot day a deer is soon run down by them; in fact, hunters declare that they could easily catch them themselves in very dry weather, when the heat is extremely oppressive. The deer have regular bathing-places to which they resort, sometimes during the day, and at others by night.

There are, I believe, only two kinds of deer in Borneo, one Rusa Balum, and the other Rusa Lalang. The former frequents low swampy ground, and has double branched horns, averaging about eighteen inches in length. The Rusa Lalang is a small, plump, hill deer, with short horns, and having one fork branch near the roots.

The Dayaks say there is another kind; but after making many inquiries, it appears to be the same as Rusa Balum. Occasionally you meet with deer whose horns are completely encased in skin.

The natives snare them with rattan loops and nooses, fastened on a long rope. They are of different lengths, varying from twenty to fifty feet. A number of these attached to each other, and resting on the tops of forked sticks, they stretch across a point of land where they have previously ascertained that deer are lying. After they have arranged the snares, the party is divided, one division watching them, and the other landing on the point; barking dogs and yelling men rush up towards the snare, driving the game before them; the deer, though they sometimes lie very close, generally spring up immediately and dart off bewildered, rushing into the nooses, catching their necks or their fore legs in them; the men on the watch dash up and cut them down, or spear them before they can break through. They sometimes catch as many as twenty in one night, but generally only one or two; snaring may be carried on either in the light or dark.

The evening we set sail from the Batang Lupar, we had a discussion on Marsden’s theory of the land and sea breezes; one of our party denied the correctness of the authority whom we looked upon as not to be challenged in all that relates to the Eastern Archipelago. At midnight the land breeze commenced blowing, as the ocean does retain the heat longer than the land, and at midday the sea breeze set in, which carried us pleasantly onward, passing the mouths of the Seribas and Kalaka, to our anchorage in the noble river of Rejang. We did not triumph over our adversary, but recommended him to study Marsden more carefully. On the bar at the entrance of this river at dead low water, we had one cast which did not exceed three fathoms, but I do not think we were in the centre of the channel.

At the entrance of the Rejang is a small town of Milanaus, a people differing greatly from the Malays in manners and customs; some converted to Islamism are clothed like other Mahomedans, while those who still delight in pork dress like Dayaks, to which race they undoubtedly belong. Their houses are built on lofty posts, or rather whole trunks of trees are used for the purpose, to defend themselves against the Seribas.

It is stated that at the erection of the largest house, a deep hole was dug to receive the first post, which was then suspended over it; a slave girl was placed in the excavation, and at a signal the lashings were cut, and the enormous timber descended, crushing the girl to death. It was a sacrifice to the spirits. I once saw a more quiet imitation of the same ceremony. The chief of the Quop Dayaks was about to erect a flag-staff near his house: the excavation was made, and the timber secured, but a chicken only was thrown in and crushed by the descending flag-staff.

I made particular inquiries of Haji Abdulraman, and his followers, of Muka, whilst I was in Brunei last year. They said that the Milanaus of their town who remained unconverted to Islamism have within the last few years sacrificed slaves at the death of a respectable man, and buried them with the corpse, in order that they might be ready to attend their master in the other world. This conversation took place in the presence of the Sultan, who said he had often heard the report of such acts having been committed. One of the nobles present observed that such things were rare, but that he had known of a similar sacrifice taking place among the Bisayas of the River Kalias, opposite our colony of Labuan. He said a large hole was dug in the ground, in which was placed four slaves and the body of the dead chief. A small supply of provisions was added, when beams and boughs were thrown upon the grave, and earth heaped to a great height over the whole. A prepared bamboo was allowed to convey air to those confined, who were thus left to starve. These sacrifices can seldom occur, or we should have heard more of them. There were rumours, however, that at the death of the Kayan chief Tamawan, whom I met during my expedition to the Baram, slaves were devoted to destruction, that they might follow him in the future world.

In front of the houses were erected swings for the amusement of the young lads and the little children. One about forty feet in height was fastened to strong poles arranged as a triangle, and kept firm in their position by ropes like the shrouds of a ship. From the top hung a strong cane rope, with a large ring or hoop at the end. About thirty feet on one side was erected a sloping stage as a starting-point. Mounting on this, one of the boys with a string drew the hoop towards him, and making a spring into it, away he went. Other lads were ready, who successively sprung upon the ring or seized the rope, until there were five or six in a cluster, shouting, laughing, yelling and swinging. For the younger children smaller ones were erected, as it required courage and skill to play on the larger.

The Rejang is one of the finest rivers in Borneo, and extends far into the interior. We ascended it upwards of one hundred miles, and never had less than four fathoms. Mr. Steel, who lived many years at the Kanowit fort, told me that it continued navigable for about forty miles farther, then there were dangerous rapids, but above them the water again deepened. The Rejang has many mouths, but the principal are the one we entered, and another to the eastward of Cape Sirik, called Egan. Its tributaries below the rapids are the Sirikei, the Kanowit, and the Katibas, the last two very populous.

Above the junction, the Rejang is about a mile and a half broad, with islets scattered over it, but afterwards it contracts to about a thousand yards, and has a fine appearance. The scenery here is not varied by hill or dale; the land is low, but the banks were rendered interesting by the varied tints of the jungle; blossoms and young leaves were bursting out in every variety of colour, from the faintest green to the darkest brown.

The air was filled with a kind of may-fly in astonishing numbers; I have never seen anything like it before or since: they fell by myriads into the water, and afforded a feast to thousands of fish that rose with a dash to the surface, covering the river with tiny widening circles.

During our passage up we had an instance of the insecurity to which the head-hunters formerly reduced this country. We landed at a place called Munggu Ayer (water hill) to bathe; a party of our men insisted on keeping watch over us, as many people had lost their lives here. Being a good spot to procure water, boats are accustomed to take in their supplies at this well, and the Dayaks lurked in the neighbouring jungle to rush out on the unwary.

Anchored opposite the entrance of the Kanowit, where it was intended to build a fort to stop the exit of the fleets of Dayak boats that used to descend this river to attack the people of the Sago countries. Leaving the force thus engaged, I went and took up my residence in the village of the Kanowit Dayaks, built opposite the entrance of that stream. The Rejang is here about 600 or 700 yards broad.

The village consisted of two long houses, one measuring 200 feet, the other 475. They were built on posts about forty feet in height and some eighteen inches in diameter. The reason they give for making their posts so thick is this: that when the Kayans attack a village they drag one of their long tamuis or war boats ashore, and, turning it over, use it as a monstrous shield. About fifty bear it on their heads till they arrive at the ill-made palisades that surround the hamlets, which they have little difficulty in demolishing; they then get under the house, and endeavour to cut away the posts, being well protected from the villagers above by their extemporized shield. If the posts are thin, the assailants quickly gain the victory; if very thick, it gives the garrison time to defeat them by allowing heavy beams and stones to fall upon the boat, and even to bring their little brass wall pieces to bear upon it; the Kayans will fly if they suffer a slight loss.

The Kanowit Dayaks are a very different people from those who live on the river of the same name; the latter are all immigrants from the Seribas and Sakarang. The appearance of these people is very inferior; few of them have the fine healthy look of those I saw about Mr. Brereton’s fort; the women are remarkably plain, and scarcely possess what is so common in Borneo, a bright pair of eyes; ophthalmia is very prevalent among them, partly caused by their extracting their eyelashes. They have another custom which is equally inelegant; they draw down the lobes of their ears to their shoulders, by means of heavy lead earrings.

Some of the men are curiously tatooed; a kind of pattern covers their breast and shoulders, and sometimes extends to their knees, having much the appearance of scale-armour. Others have their chins ornamented to resemble beards, an appendage denied them by nature.

I have never before entered a village without noticing some interesting children, but I observed none here; though active enough, they looked unhealthy and dirty.

Belabun, the chief of this tribe, has had, from his position, a very extensive intercourse with men, particularly with the Kayans, who inhabit the upper portion of the river. One of our objects in visiting the country was to proceed to the interior to make friends with the numerous Kayan chiefs who live there; but the small-pox had, unfortunately, broken out among them, and the ascent of the river was forbidden, and all had fled into the forest. I much regretted this, as I never had another opportunity of ascending the Rejang. I will not introduce here the information we collected concerning the Kayans, as I intend giving an account of the visit I made shortly after to a branch of those people who lived on the Baram.

It is singular how the story of the men with tails has spread. I have heard of it in every part I have visited, but their country is always a few days’ journey farther off. The most circumstantial account I ever had was from a man who had traded much on the north-east coast of Borneo. He said he had seen and felt the tails, they were four inches long, and were very stiff, so that all the people sat on seats in which there was a hole made for this remarkable appendage to fit in.

Sherif Musahor, a chief of Arab descent, and one of the most violent men that ever tormented these countries, arriving from Siriki, came in to see us; he is a very heavy-looking fellow; at one time we were great friends, as we were equally fond of chess. It is not my object to enter into political affairs, but I may mention that having instigated the murder of two Englishmen he fled north, and after a variety of adventures found himself in 1861 at the head of a band of desperadoes at a place called Muka. Sir James Brooke had often been reported dead, and on his arrival at Sarawak the news spread like wildfire along the coast. Sherif Musahor, greatly disturbed, called before him a Madras trader and asked him, “Did you see the Rajah?”

“Yes.”

“Had he all his teeth perfect?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, you lie! when I saw him last he had a front tooth knocked out.”

The Madras man saw the fiery look of this desperate chief, but without losing his presence of mind for a moment, answered, “What, have you not heard that the Rajah bathed in the waters of the Nile, and that it has restored his youth again?”

His reply was satisfactory to all the Mahomedans present, who believe implicitly in every wonder told in the Arabian Nights.

One afternoon, it being a very warm day, we were reclining on our mats, when a burst of wailing and howling around us told that bad news had been received. One of the chiefs brothers had returned from the interior and brought the following intelligence: It appeared that about two years and a half ago, a younger brother longing to see the world, had started off to the sources of the Kapuas river, which ultimately falls into the sea at Pontianah, a Dutch settlement, taking with him thirteen young men; he travelled on till he reached a Kayan tribe with whom his people were friends, and stayed with them for a few months. One day their hosts started on a head-hunting expedition, and invited seven of their guests to accompany them: the latter never returned, having all been killed by the Kayans themselves. Why or wherefore it is impossible to tell, but it is supposed that having failed in their head-hunt, and being ashamed to return to their women without these trophies, they had fallen upon their guests. Their remaining companions being in a neighbouring village escaped. Belabun, anxious to have news of his brother, had sent the one who had just returned to look for him. He patiently tracked him, but meeting with the seven survivors, he learnt the fate of his brother; they returned overland, but the young chief, impatient to reach home, made a bark canoe, in which he reached the village.

Belabun and his people were greatly excited, and moved about the house in a restless and anxious manner, while the wailing of the female relatives was very distressing, particularly of the young girl whom the wanderer left as a bride.

It may appear incredible that even the wildest people should commit so treacherous a deed, but before the Kanowit was well guarded, a Sakarang chief from the interior, named Buah Raya, passed with fifty war boats and pulled up the Rejang. Arriving at a village of Pakatan Dayaks, his allies, he took the men as his guides to attack some Punans, who, however, escaped; mortified at this result he killed the guides, and on his return carried off all the women and children as captives. This was the chief who refused to enter an English church, saying “an old man might die through entering the white men’s tabernacle.” He would or could give no explanation of this observation.

These Kanowits follow the Millanau custom of sending much of a dead man’s property adrift in a frail canoe on the river: they talk of all his property, but this is confined to talk.

We heard so much of the deceased chief’s goods, which were to be thrown away, as it is considered they belong to the departed and not to those who remain, that we went to the place where they lay. We found a sort of four-sided bier erected, covered with various coloured cloths, and within it his bride widow lay moaning and wailing, surrounded by his favourite arms, his gongs, his ornaments, and all that he considered valuable. Among his treasures was the handle of a kris, representing the figure of Budha in the usual sitting posture, which they said had descended to them from their ancestors.

As I expected, these valuables were not sent adrift, but merely a few old things, that even sacrilegious strangers would scarcely think worth plundering.

A short time before the Rejang came under Sir James Brooke’s sway, a relation of Belabun died. Having no enemy near, he looked about for a victim. Seeing a Dayak of the Katibas passing down the river, he and a small party followed and overtook him just as he reached the junction; they persuaded him to come ashore, and then seized and killed him, taking his head home in triumph. As this murder took place before Sir James Brooke’s jurisdiction extended over the country, it was difficult to bring him to account, but on the relations coming to demand satisfaction, Captain Brooke insisted upon his paying the customary fine, which satisfied the Katibas.

The second chief of this village is Sikalei, who, when one of his children died, sallied out and killed the first man he met—they say it was one of his own tribe, but it was the custom to kill the first person, even if it were a brother: fortunately they now are brought under a Government which is strong enough to prevent such practices.

They are a very curious people; the men dress as Dayaks, the women as Malays; and the latter part their hair in the middle, while all the other races draw it back from the forehead. They appear to be much influenced in their customs by the surrounding people; the men tatoo like Kayans, the women not.

We saw a very curious war-dance; two men, one of a Rejang tribe, the other from a distant river, commenced a sham fight, with sword and shield; one of them was dressed as a Malay, the other as a Dayak. With slow side movements of their arms and legs, advancing and retreating, cutting and guarding to a measured step, and in regular time; then they changed to quick movements, stooping low till the shield completely covered them: with a hopping, dancing motion they kept giving and receiving blows till one of them fled; the other immediately followed, but cautiously, as the fugitive was supposed to plant spikes in the path. At last they again met, and after a fierce combat one was slain, and the victor with a slow dancing step approached the body and was supposed to cut off the head of his enemy; but, on looking at it attentively, he found he had killed a friend, and showed signs of much grief. With a measured tread, he again drew near the body and pretended to restore the head; he retired and advanced several times, shaking the various limbs of the friend’s body, when the slain sprang up as lively as ever, and the two wound up by a frantic dance.

I have mentioned the ceremonies that took place at the solemnization of peace between the Sakarangs and Balaus; here they were slightly different. A pig was placed between the representatives of two tribes, who, after calling down the vengeance of the spirits on those who broke the treaty, plunged their spears into the animal, and then exchanged weapons. Drawing their krises, they each bit the blade of the other’s, and so completed the affair. The sturdy chief of Kajulo declared he considered his word as more binding than any such ceremony.

In the neighbourhood of the Kanowit, and scattered about these countries, are the wandering tribes of Pakatan and Punan, which seldom build regular houses, but prefer running up temporary huts, and when they have exhausted the jungle around of wild beasts and other food, they move to a new spot. They are the great collectors of wax, edible birds’ nests, camphor and rattans. They are popularly said to be fairer than the other inhabitants of Borneo, as they are never exposed to the sun, living in the thickest part of the old forest. Those we have seen were certainly darker, but they themselves assert that their women are fairer. It is probable that exposure to the air has as much effect upon them as exposure to the sun. I have often met with their little huts in the forest and used them as night lodgings, but I have never come across these wild tribes. I have seen individual men, but never communities.

The Pakatans and Punans are the true manufacturers of the Sumpitan, or blow-pipe; and in their hands it is a formidable weapon. It is curious to examine this product of their skill; and we cannot but admire the accuracy with which the hole is drilled through a hard wood shaft some seven or eight feet long.

I had often heard of the deadly effect of the poison into which the arrow was dipped, but always disbelieved the bulk of the native stories, though I must believe in the evidence we have lately had. In 1859, the Kanowit tribe, instigated by Sherif Musahor, murdered two English gentlemen, and then fled into the interior. Mr. Johnson, who led the attack on them, tells me he lost thirty men by wounds from the poisoned arrows. He found the bodies of Dayaks who had gone out as skirmishers without a mark, beyond the simple puncture where a drop of blood rested on the wound. One man was struck near him; he instantly had the arrow extracted, the wound sucked, a glass of brandy administered, and the patient sent off to the boats about four miles distant. Two companions supported him, and they had strict orders not to allow him to sleep till he reached the landing-place: they made him keep awake, and he recovered. As it is common to destroy deer, wild boars and other creatures with these arrows, no doubt man also can be killed.

I will now give an account of the manners and customs of the Sea Dayaks.

CHAPTER II.
SOCIAL LIFE OF THE SEA DAYAKS.

Ceremonies at the Birth of a Child—Infanticide—Desire for Children—A Talkative and Sociable People—Great Concord in Families—Method of Settling Disputes—Marriage Ceremonies—Pride of Birth—Chastity—Punishment of Indiscreet Lovers—Bundling and Company-keeping—Love—Anecdotes—Separations—Division of Household Duties—Flirting—Divorce—Burials—Religion—Belief in a Supreme Being—Good and Evil Spirits—The Small-pox—Priests—Some Dress as Women—Mourning—Sacrifices—Human Sacrifices—Unlucky Omens—Reconciliation—Belief in a Future State—The other World—Dayaks Litigious—Head-feast—Head-hunting—Its Origin—Horrible Revenge—Small Inland Expeditions—Cat-like Warfare—Atrocious Case—Large Inland Expeditions—War-boats—Edible Clay—Necessity for a Head—Dayaks very Intelligent—Slaves—Objections to Eating certain Animals, or Killing others—Change of Names—Degrees of Affinity within which Marriages may take place—Sickness—Cholera—Manufactures—Agriculture—Method of taking Bees’ Nests—Lying Heaps—Passports—Ordeals—Language.

At the Birth of Children.—The Sea Dayaks naturally look upon this as a very ordinary event; occasionally guns are fired to celebrate it, but even that practice has almost fallen into disuse. However, a few months after the birth of the infant, the Sakarang Dayaks give a feast in its honour, which generally takes place before they commence preparing their land for the rice crop, and another after the harvest to “launch the child” on the world. During these feasts the manang, or priest, waves the odoriferous areca-blossom over the babe, and moves about the house chanting monotonous tunes. The festival lasts a day and a night. The Dayak women suffer very little at their confinements, and seldom remain quiet beyond a few days. They are very anxious to have children, but if they have a preference, it is for boys; and when the only child is a daughter, they often make a vow to fire guns and give a feast, should the next prove a son.

It is very singular, that though these Dayaks are exceedingly fond of their offspring, yet infanticide sometimes occurs among the Batang Lupars; arising, it is said, from a selfish feeling of affection. One man confessed to Mr. Johnson that he had put an infant to death, because all the children born to him previously had died just as they arrived at an age when he could fondly love them. He said he could not endure to think that it should occur to him again. But this must have been a rare instance, since they feel acutely the loss of their children, and wander about inconsolable, and mope, and often refuse to work for months. They do not bear misfortunes well; even the loss of houses by fire, or their crops from bad seasons, disheartens them to an extent that is surprising to those who have watched the conduct of the Seribas Dayaks. The piratical pursuits in which these latter delighted have certainly given great energy to their character; and they recover immediately from the effects of the destruction of their villages and of their property, and set to work to create more wealth.

The Sea Dayaks, as I have observed, generally prefer male children; and the more mischievous and boisterous they are when young the greater the delight they afford their parents. The observation, “He is very wicked,” is the greatest praise. They indulge them in everything, and at home give way to their caprices in an extraordinary manner. If the parents are affectionate to their children, the latter warmly return it. Instances have even occurred when, oppressed by sorrow at the reproaches of a father, a child has privately taken poison and destroyed himself.

Like other tribes in the same state of civilization, the Dayaks are fond of oratory; and while the elders are discoursing or delivering long speeches, the young lads look gravely on, never indulging in a laugh, which would be regarded as a serious offence.

The Dayaks are a very sociable people, and love to have their families around them; grandfathers spoil their grandchildren; and during the heavy work of the harvest, the very old ones stay at home surrounded by merry groups of young ones.

Strangers are generally very welcome; and it would be an annoying idea to enter into their heads that they were considered either mean or inhospitable. So the wayfarer is presented on his arrival with the best food in the house. Occasionally it is not very welcome to a European, as it too often consists of fish that emits a very high scent, or eggs of a very ancient date; but there is generally some fruit, or a little clean boiled rice. I was once presented with some preserved durian fruit, which stank so fearfully as to drive my friends completely out of the house. But the greatest luxury that can be presented to a native is always forthcoming, and that is the box of areca nuts, and the other chewing condiments.

Parents and children, brothers and sisters, very seldom quarrel; when they do so, it is from having married into a family with whom afterwards they may have disputes about land. One would imagine that was a subject not likely to create dissensions in a country like Borneo; but there are favourite farming grounds and boundaries are not very settled. It used to be the practice not to have recourse to arms on those occasions, but the two parties collecting their relatives and friends would fight with sticks for the coveted spot. Now, however, their disputes are brought to their chiefs, or the nearest English officer.

Marriage.—Among the Sibuyau Dayaks of Lundu, no ceremony attends a betrothment, but when the consent of the parents of the bride has been obtained, an early day is appointed for the marriage. As a general rule, the husband follows the wife, that is, lives with and works for the parents of the latter. On the wedding day, the bride and bridegroom are brought from opposite ends of the village to the spot where the ceremony is to be performed. They are made to sit on two bars of iron, that blessings as lasting, and health as vigorous, as the metal may attend the pair. A cigar and betel leaf prepared with the areca nut are next put into the hands of the bride and bridegroom. One of the priests then waves two fowls over the heads of the couple, and in a long address to the Supreme Being, calls down blessings upon the pair, and implores that peace and happiness may attend the union. After the heads of the affianced have been knocked against each other three or four times, the bridegroom puts the prepared siri leaf and the cigar into the mouth of the bride, while she does the same to him, whom she thus acknowledges as her husband. The fowls are then killed, and the blood caught in two cups, and from its colour the priest foretells the future happiness or misery of the newly married. The ceremony is closed by a feast, with dancing and noisy music.

It is worthy of remark that the respect paid by a son-in-law to the father of his wife is greater than that paid to his own father. He treats him with much ceremony, must never pronounce his name, nor must he take the liberty of eating off the same plate, or drinking out of the same cup, or even of lying down on the same mat.

Among the Balaus, or Sea Dayaks of Lingga, there is also no ceremony at a betrothment; in fact, Mr. Chambers informs me that the word is not known in their language. Indeed their manners preclude the necessity of any such formal arrangement.

Marriage itself is a very simple affair, and is not accompanied by any long rite. However, as it is different from that practised in Lundu, I will enter into particulars.

Two or three days previous to the ceremony, the mother of the bridegroom usually gives the bride’s relations a plate or a basin. The wedding takes place at the house of the girl, and the rite is called blah pinang, or the splitting of the prepared areca nut. It is divided into three portions, and the mother, after placing them in a little basket, and covering them over with a red cloth, sets them on a raised altar in front of the bride’s house. The respective friends of the families then meet in conclave and enjoy the native luxury of prepared areca nut; and it is now determined what shall be the fine paid in case the husband should separate from his wife after she shall be declared pregnant, or after she has borne a child. This is a very necessary precaution, as I shall have presently to show.

I may notice that among these Dayaks there is great pride of birth, and that parents will seldom consent to their daughter’s marrying a man of very inferior condition. Many lamentable occurrences have arisen from this, among other causes, which I will mention when treating of love. As a general rule, if the bride be an only daughter, or of higher rank, the husband joins her family—if he be of higher rank, or an only son, she follows him, and then she is conducted under a canopy of red cloth to the house of his parents. If they should be of equal condition and similarly circumstanced, they divide their time among their respective families, until they set up housekeeping on their own account.

There are three subjects of which I must now treat,—and they are the chastity of the women, love, and divorce. I find it difficult to reconcile the statements that I have to make; they are modest, and yet unchaste, love warmly and yet divorce easily, but are generally faithful to their husbands when married.

In looking over the notes I have collected, both of my own and those that I have received from my friends, I find them apparently irreconcilable; but I will endeavour to make them intelligible.

The Sibuyaus, though they do not consider the sexual intercourse of their young people as a positive crime, yet are careful of the honour of their daughters, as they attach an idea of great indecency to promiscuous connection. They are far advanced beyond their brethren in this respect, and are of opinion that an unmarried girl proving with child must be offensive to the superior powers, who, instead of always chastising the individual, punish the tribe by misfortunes happening to its members. They, therefore, on the discovery of the pregnancy fine the lovers, and sacrifice a pig to propitiate offended Heaven, and to avert that sickness or those misfortunes that might otherwise follow; and they inflict heavy mulcts for every one who may have suffered from any severe accident, or who may have been drowned within a month before the religious atonement was made; lighter fines are levied if a person be simply wounded.

As these pecuniary demands fall upon the families of both parties, great care is taken of the young girls, and seldom is it found necessary to sacrifice the pig. After marriage the women also are generally chaste, though cases of adultery are occasionally brought before the Orang Kayas.

Among the Dayaks on the Batang Lupar, however, unchastity is more common; but the favours of the women are generally confined to their own countrymen, and usually to one lover. Should the girl prove with child, it is an understanding between them that they marry, and men seldom, by denying, refuse to fulfil their engagements. Should, however, the girl be unable to name the father, she is exposed to the reproaches of her relatives, and many to escape them have taken poison. In respectable families they sacrifice a pig, and sprinkle the doors with its blood, to wash away the sin; and the erring maiden’s position is rendered so uncomfortable that she generally tries to get away from home.

In the account of the Land Dayaks, I will mention the manner in which the young lover approaches the curtains of his mistress. As this seldom ends in immorality, it may be likened to the Welch and Afghan bundling. The Sea Dayaks have the same practice of seeking the girls at night; and as the favoured lover is seldom refused entrance to the curtains, it may be compared to the system of company-keeping which obtains in many of our agricultural counties, where the brides have children a couple of months after marriage. The morality of the Sea Dayaks is, perhaps, superior to the Malays, but inferior to that of the Land Dayaks.

During one of my visits to the Sakarang I heard a story which is rather French in its termination. A young man proposed to a girl and was accepted by her, but her parents refused to give their consent, as he was of very inferior birth. Every means was tried to soften their hearts, but they were obstinate, and endeavoured to induce her to give up her lover and marry another. In their despair the lovers retired to the jungle, and swallowed the poisonous juice of the tuba plant: next morning they were found dead, with their cold and stiff arms entwined round each other. Cases are not of very rare occurrence among the Sakarang Dayaks, where disappointed love has sought solace in the grave.

Of the warmth of married affection, I have never heard a more striking instance than the following:—the story has been told before, but it is worth repeating. Ijau, a Balau chief, was bathing with his wife in the Lingga river, a place notorious for man-eating alligators, when Indra Lela, a Malay, passing in a boat remarked,—“I have just seen a very large animal swimming up the stream.” Upon hearing this, Ijau told his wife to go up the steps and he would follow; she got safely up, but he, stopping to wash his feet, was seized by the alligator, dragged into the middle of the stream, and disappeared from view. His wife hearing a cry turned round, and seeing her husband’s fate sprang into the river, shrieking,—“Take me also,” and dived down at the spot where she had seen the alligator sink with his prey. No persuasion could induce her to come out of the water: she swam about, diving in all the places most dreaded from being a resort of ferocious reptiles, seeking to die with her husband; at last her friends came down and forcibly removed her to their house.

About two miles below the town of Kuching, is a place called Tanah Putih. Here a man and his wife were working in a small canoe, when an alligator seized the latter by the thigh and bore her along the surface of the water, calling for that help, which her husband swimming after, in vain endeavoured to afford. The bold fellow with a kris in his mouth neared the reptile, but as soon as he was heard, the beast sank with his shrieking prey and ended a scene almost too painful for description. Two days afterwards the body, unmangled, was found hidden in some bushes, which partly confirms my previous remark, that alligators do not immediately swallow their prey.

Husbands and wives appear to pass their lives very agreeably together, which may partly be caused by the facility of divorce. Many men and women have been married seven or eight times before they find the partner with whom they desire to spend the rest of their lives. I saw a young girl of seventeen who had already had three husbands. These divorces take place at varied times, from a few days after marriage, to one or two years. However, after the birth of a child, they seldom seek to separate, and if they do the husband is fined, but not the wife. The work of the family is divided, though perhaps the female has most continued labour. The man builds and repairs the houses and boats, fells all the heavy timber at the farm, brings home the firewood, and very often nurses the baby. The wives are very domestic, and in their way carefully attend to household duties; they cook, clean the rice, feed the pigs and poultry, spin the yarn, weave the cloth, and make the clothes. A wife is also expected to be polite to visitors, to bring out her finest mats, and offer the interminable areca nut to her guests.

As the wife works hard, she is generally very strong and capable of taking her own part. She is very jealous of her husband, much more so than he is of her. If he be found flirting with another woman, the wife may inflict a severe thrashing on her, but only with sticks, while if the offending woman have a husband, he may do the same to the man. To escape these domestic broils, he generally starts off into the jungle, and pretends to or really does go head-hunting.

The causes of divorce are innumerable, but incompatibility of temper is perhaps the most common; when they are tired of each other they do not say so, but put the fault upon an unfavourable omen or a bad dream, either of which is allowed to be a legitimate cause of divorce. Should they, however, be still fond of each other, the sacrifice of a pig will effectually prevent any misfortune happening to them from neglecting to separate. Partners often divorce from pique, or from a petty quarrel, and are then allowed to come together again without any fresh marriage ceremony. Among the Balau Dayaks, it is necessary for the offended husband to send a ring to his wife, before the marriage can be considered as finally dissolved, without which, should they marry again, they would be liable to be punished for infidelity.

I may add, that as the wife does an equal share of work with her husband, at a divorce she is entitled to half the wealth created by their mutual labours.

Burials.—Among the Sea Dayaks, corpses are usually buried; although, should a man express a wish to share the privilege of the priests and be, like them, exposed on a raised platform, the relations are bound to comply with this request.

Immediately the breath has left the body, the female relations commence loud and melancholy laments; they wash the corpse, and dress it in its finest garments, and often, if a man, fully armed, and bear it forth to the great common hall, where it is surrounded by its friends to be mourned over. In some villages a hireling leads the lament, which is continued till the corpse leaves the house. Before this takes place, however, the body is rolled up in cloths and fine mats, kept together by pieces of bamboo tied on with rattans, and taken to the burial-ground. A fowl is then killed as a sacrifice to the spirit who guards the earth, and they commence digging the grave from two and a half to four and a half feet deep, according to the person’s rank; deeper than five feet would be unlawful. Whilst this operation is going on, others fell a large tree, and cutting off about six feet, split it in two, and then hollow them out with an adze. One part serves as the coffin, the other as the lid; the body is placed within, and the two are secured together by means of strips of pliable canes bound round them.

After the coffin is lowered into the grave, many things belonging to the deceased are cast in, together with rice, tobacco, and betel nut, as they believe they may prove useful in the other world, or as it is called by them Sabayan.

It was an old custom, but now perhaps falling somewhat into disuse, to place money, gold and silver ornaments, clothes, and various china and brass utensils in the grave; but these treasures were too great temptations to those Malays who were addicted to gambling; and the rifling of the place of interment has often given great and deserved offence to the relations. As it is almost impossible to discover the offenders, it is now the practice to break in pieces all the utensils placed in the grave, and to conceal as carefully as possible the valuable ornaments. The whole tribe of the Lundu Sibuyaus was thrown into a great state of excited indignation on finding that some Malays had opened the place of interment of the old Orang Kaya Tumanggong of Lundu, and stolen the valuable property. This was the chief who was so firm a friend of the Europeans, and whose name is so often mentioned in former works on Borneo.

The relatives and bearers of the corpse must return direct to the house from which they started before entering another, as it is unlawful or unlucky to stop, whatever may be the distance to be traversed.

They are often very particular about the dress in which they are to be buried. Many of the old Sakarang women have asked Mr. Johnson for handsome jackets to be used after their death for this purpose, saying that when they arrived in the other world, they would mention his name with respect and gratitude on account of the kindness shown to them in this.

The Dayaks who have fallen in battle are seldom interred, but a paling is put round them to keep away the pigs, and they are left there. Those who commit suicide are buried in different places from others, as it is supposed that they will not be allowed to mix in the seven-storied Sabayan with such of their fellow-countrymen as come by their death in a natural manner or from the influences of the spirits.

It is very satisfactory to be able to state that the Sea Dayaks have a clear idea of one Omnipotent Being who created and now rules over the world. They call him Batara; beneath him are many good and innumerable bad spirits, and the fear of the latter causes them to make greater offerings to them than to the good spirits. The awe with which many of them are named has induced a few, among others, Mr. Chambers, to imagine that their religion is a species of polytheism. But that is, I think, clearly a mistake: as well might a Mahomedan declare that Christians were Polytheists, because Roman Catholics believe in the interposition of the Virgin and of the saints, and because members of all sects fear the wiles of Satan. It is a common saying among the Dayaks, “With God’s blessing we shall have a good harvest next year.”

Mr. Gomez, who has lived nine years among the Sibuyaus, and Mr. Johnson, who has mixed with all sections of the Sea Dayaks still longer, take my view. There are evil spirits of various kinds who reside in the jungles, or the mountains, or the earth: all sicknesses, misfortunes, or death, proceed from them, while to Batara is attributed every blessing.

But when they make offerings, both are propitiated, and, as usual, the wicked have the larger share. The priests offer a long prayer, and supplicate them to depart from the afflicted house, or from the sick man. Of the seven platefuls of food, four are given to the evil spirits, and cast forth or exposed in the forests, while the others are offered to the good spirits, who are implored to protect and bless them. The food offered to the latter is not considered to be interdicted, but may be, and is always, eaten.

The Lingga Dayaks, besides Batara, have various good spirits—as Stampandei, who superintends the propagation of mankind; Pulang Ganah, who inhabits the earth and gives fertility to it, and to him are addressed the offerings at the feasts given whilst preparing the rice cultivation; Singallong Burong, the god of war, excites their utmost reverence, and to him are offered the head feasts. On those occasions, he comes down and hovers in the form of a kite over the house, and guns are fired and gongs are beaten in his honour: his brave followers married to his daughters appear in the form of their omen birds. No wonder he is honoured: he gives success in war, and delights in their acquisition of the heads of their enemies. Nattiang inhabits the summits of the hills, and is one of their demigods. The Linggas tell many stories of his exploits: the most famous was his expedition to the skies to recover his wife, who had been caught in a noose and hoisted up there by his old enemy, Apei Sabit Berkait. To dream of him is to receive the gift of bravery. Mr. Chambers would add much to our knowledge of these people if he would make a collection of their stories and ballads.

Among the Sakarangs the belief in one Supreme Being is clear, and they do not appear to have any inferior deities who approach him in attributes: they have demigods, good and bad spirits, but no sharer of God’s throne. They believe that the good and bad spirits have the power to prevent, or to enable them to succeed in any object they may have in view. They, therefore, make offerings to them, particularly when any of their family are suffering from illness.

When the small-pox was committing sad havoc among those villagers who would not allow themselves to be inoculated, they ran into the jungle in every direction, caring for no one but themselves, leaving the houses empty, and dwelling far away in the most silent spots, in parties of two and three, and sheltered only by a few leaves. When these calamities come upon them, they utterly lose all command over themselves, and become as most timid children. Those seized with the complaint are abandoned: all they do is to take care that a bundle of firewood, a cooking-pot, and some rice, are placed within their reach. On account of this practice, few recover, as in the delirium they roll on the ground and die.

When the fugitives become short of provisions, a few of the old men who have already had the complaint creep back to the houses at night and take a supply of rice. In the daytime they do not dare to stir or to speak above a whisper for fear the spirits should see or hear them. They do not call the small-pox by its name, but are in the habit of saying, “Has he yet left you?” at other times, they call it jungle leaves or fruit; and at other places the datu or the chief. Those tribes who inoculate suffer very little.

Their priests frequently use the names of the invisible spirits, and are supposed to be able to interpret their language, as well as to hold communion with them; and in ordinary times they pretend to work the cure of the sick by means of incantations, and after blinding the patient’s eyes, pretend by the aid of the spirits to draw the bones of fish or fowls out of their flesh. When the Dayaks are questioned as to their belief in these easily-exposed deceits, they say no; but the custom has descended to them from their ancestors, and they still pay these priests heavy sums to perform the ancient rites.

Though these priests are of course men, yet some pretend to be women, or rather dress as such, and like to be treated as females. In Lingga, however, out of thirty, only one has given up man’s attire. Many of the priests are the blind and maimed for life, who by following this profession are enabled to earn a livelihood.

If a Dayak lose his wife, he gives a feast, which is really an offering to the departed spirit. After the death of relatives, they seek for the heads of enemies, and until one is brought in they consider themselves to be in mourning, wearing no fine clothes, striking no gongs, nor is laughing or merry-making in the house allowed; but they have a steady desire to grieve for the one lost to them, and to seek a head of an enemy, as a means of consoling themselves for the death of the departed.

At the launching of a new boat, preparatory to head-hunting, the spirits presiding over it are appeased and fed, and the women collect in and about it, and chant monotonous tunes; invoking the heavenly spirits to grant their lovers and husbands success in finding heads, by which they may remove their mourning and obtain a plentiful supply of the luxuries and necessaries of life.

The principal sacrifice of the Sakarang Dayaks is killing a pig and examining its heart, which is supposed to foretell events with the utmost certainty. As an instance: should they find a dead animal on land prepared for a farm, according to their established custom, they should give it up, and commence a new one; but if the season for burning the jungle be passed, they endeavour to avert this loss by consulting the heart of a pig. The animal is sacrificed, and the greatest attention is given to the signs discovered upon his heart: if they be satisfactory, the farm land may be used; if not, it is completely abandoned.

After their great head feasts, they also examine the hearts of pigs, and their gray-headed leaders surround and look extremely grave over the bleeding spectacle which they one by one turn over with the point of a stick to examine the run and position of the veins; each as he does it offers some sapient remark; and the result generally is, that there are still numerous enemies, but far away: but however powerful these may be, they themselves are more powerful, and in the end will overcome them.

Not many years ago, Rentap, the pirate chief, who formerly resided in a stronghold on the summit of the Sadok mountain, took a Sakarang lad prisoner. Although one of his own race, he determined on putting him to death, remarking—“It has been our custom heretofore to examine the heart of a pig, but now we will examine a human one.” The unfortunate boy was dragged about for some time by the hair of his head, and then put to death and his heart examined.

It is reported that many years ago a Sibuyau chief sacrificed some prisoners on the graves of two of his sons, who, in the same expedition, had been killed by his enemies.

To hear the cry of a deer is at all times considered unlucky; and to prevent the sound reaching their ears during a marriage procession gongs and drums are loudly beaten. On the way to their farms, should the unlucky omen be heard, they will return home and do no work for a day.

It is a very curious custom also, that if two men who have been at deadly feud, meet in a house, they refuse to cast their eyes upon each other till a fowl has been killed and the blood sprinkled over them; and, as already fully described, when two tribes make peace, after solemn engagements are concluded, a pig is killed, the blood of which is supposed to cement the bond of friendship.

They believe in a future state—considering that the Simañgat, or spiritual part of man, lives for ever, that they awake shortly after death in Sabayan or the future abode, and that there they find those of their relatives and friends who have departed before them. The Sibuyaus divide their Sabayan into seven distinct stories, which are occupied by the souls of the departed according to their rank and position in life. The really wicked occupy the lowest; but, whether happy or miserable, they acknowledge ignorance.

The Dayaks are very litigious, and few would have the patience to investigate one of their cases. The amateur lawyers of a tribe are acute in inquiry, quick in making retorts, and gifted with wonderful memories, generally referring to precedents of the customs of their forefathers in the settlement of fresh cases.

A head feast consists in a general meeting of the tribe in the man’s house who gives the entertainment. He prepares for it two or three months before it takes place, collecting fish, fowls, eggs, plantains, and other fruits, and in manufacturing an intoxicating drink from rice. When all these things are ready, poles are cut of various lengths, one for each of the heads that may be there to be rejoiced over; there are also fantastically-shaped wooden birds, which undergo various evolutions in the house; and, after the feast is over, are placed on the top of the before-mentioned poles, with their heads turned in the direction of the enemies’ country. The people, dressed in their best clothes, collect in the house, and commence the feast by all the youthful portion of the community engaging in cock-fighting—real cock-fights, too often with very formidable steel spurs. They are very partial to this amusement, and will go far and pay much for a good bird, and will bet heavily on a well-known cock.

After some hours engaged in this amusement, they commence drinking and eating, a part of the ceremony which does not entice the European stranger, nor can the peculiar smell increase his appetite. It is an extraordinary accumulation of food: fowls roasted with their feathers on, and then torn joint from joint; eggs black from age, decayed fruit, rice of all colours and kinds, strong-smelling fish, almost approaching a state of rottenness; and their drink having the appearance and the thickness of curds, in which they mix pepper and other ingredients. It has a sickening effect upon them, and they swallow it more as a duty than because they relish it. Before they have added any extraneous matter it is not unpleasant, having something of the taste of spruce beer.

They have then several processions, each headed by chiefs marching with grave countenances, and followed by a youthful crowd. Their movements are not graceful while parading about a house, as they put their bodies into the stiffest postures. The women also, adorned with trappings and beads of every colour, walk up and down, scattering yellow rice about the house and on the heads of the men. The feast lasts three days and nights, and winds up by their becoming amicably intoxicated, always excepting the women, who do not drink, but take care of their drunken husbands and relatives. This feast is intended as an offering to Batara, on account of their success against enemies, and as a thanksgiving for a plentiful harvest. To fail in this testimony of gratitude would be grievous in their eyes. The Sea Dayaks follow the custom of Pamali, or taboo, and believe in omens.[1]

Head-hunting.—This practice has no doubt obtained among the Dayaks from the earliest times, and when carried on by the interior tribes very few lives were lost; but it much retarded the progress of the country, as it rendered life and property insecure. The Sakarang and Seribas, within the memory of living men, were a quiet, inoffensive people, paying taxes to their Malay chiefs, and suffering much from their oppressive practices,—even their children being seized and sold into slavery. When the Malay communities quarrelled they summoned their Dayak followers around them, and led them on expeditions against each other. This accustomed the aborigines to the sea; and being found hard-working and willing men, the Malays and Lanun pirates took them out in their marauding expeditions, dividing the plunder—the heads of the killed for the Dayaks, the goods and captives for themselves.

Gradually they began to feel their own strength and superiority of numbers. In their later expeditions the Malays have followed rather than led. The longing these Dayaks have acquired for head-hunting is surprising. They say, “The white men read books, we hunt for heads instead.” Until the Sarawak Government curbed their proceedings they were known to coast down as far as Pontianak, and occasionally they had been met forty miles out at sea in their rattan-tied boats, some of them seventy feet in length. In rough weather most of the crew jump overboard and hold on to the sides while the rest bale the boat out. They say, when this occurs in places suspected to be frequented by sharks, they each tie a bundle of the tuba plant round their ancles to drive the devouring fish away. The juice of the tuba is the one used to intoxicate fish.

About thirteen years ago, I heard the Natuna people give an account of a horrible transaction that took place in one of their islands. A party of Seribas Dayaks were cruising about among the little isles near, and had destroyed several women and many fishermen, when they were observed, towards evening, creeping into a deep and narrow inlet to remain during the night. The islanders quietly assembled and surprised their enemies, killing all but seven, who were taken prisoners—six men and one lad. The former they roasted over a slow fire, and they declared that the bold fellows died without uttering a cry of pain, but defying them to the last; the lad, who stood trembling by, uncertain of his fate, was sent back to the coast with a message to his countrymen, that if they ever came there again, they would be all treated in the same way. This fearful warning was sufficient to deter their seeking heads again in that direction.

Parties of two and three sometimes went away for months on an inland incursion, taking nothing with them but salt wrapped up in their waist-cloths, with which they seasoned the young shoots, and leaves, and palm cabbages, found in the forests; and when they returned home, they were as thin as scarecrows. It is this kind of cat-like warfare which causes them to be formidable enemies both to the Chinese and the Malays, who never feel themselves safe from a Dayak enemy. They have been known to keep watch in a well up to their chins in water, with a covering of a few leaves over their heads to endeavour to cut off the first person who might come to draw water. At night they would drift down on a log, and cut the rattan cable of trading prahus, while others of their party would keep watch on the bank, knowing well where the stream would take the boat ashore; and when aground they kill the men and plunder the goods.

An atrocious case happened many years ago up the Batang Lupar, where a young man started on an expedition by himself to seek for a head from a neighbouring tribe. In a few days he came back with the desired prize. His relatives questioned him how it was he had been away so few days, as they had never been able to do the same journey in double the time. He replied gravely that the spirits of the woods had assisted him.

About a month afterwards a headless trunk was discovered near one of their farms, and on inquiry being made, it was found to be the body of an old woman of their own tribe, not very distantly related to the young fellow himself. He was only fined by the chief of the tribe, and the head taken from him and buried.

If a large party intended starting under a leader of any note, they waited till he had first built a hut not far from the village, and listened for an omen from the cry of the birds. As soon as a good one was heard, they started; and when a certain distance from home, stopped and held a consultation, in which they decided on the mode of attack, and how the heads, captives, and plunder should be divided. Large rivers intervening did not deter them, as they could always build boats, tying them together with rattans, each being capable of holding about thirty men. On their return they hid the planks in the jungle, to be used on a future occasion.

Their war boats are well constructed and good models, and very fast; some will hold as many as sixty or seventy men, with two months’ provisions. The keel is flat, with a curve or sheer of hard wood. A long one does not exceed six fathoms, and upon it they will build a boat of eleven fathoms over all. The extra length of planks, which overlap, is brought up with a sheer. They caulk the seams with a bark which is plentiful in the jungle. No other fastenings but rattans are used.

They paint their boats red and white,—the former is generally an ochre, but occasionally they use a kind of red seed pounded; the white is simply lime, made from sea shells. In their boat expeditions they always take a supply of red ochre to eat, in case of becoming short of other provisions; and we once found in some deserted Seribas’ prahus many packets of a white oleaginous clay used for the same purpose. The bark they employ for caulking is very tough, and beaten out, serves to make useful and comfortable coverlets, as well as waist-cloths and head-dresses.

I have mentioned that the possession of a head is necessary to enable the Dayaks to leave off mourning. I once met the Orang Kaya Pamancha of Seribas, the most influential chief in the country. He was dressed in nothing but a dirty rag round his loins, and thus he intended to remain until the mourning for his wife ceased by securing a head. Until this happens they cannot marry again, or appease the spirit of the departed, which continues to haunt the house and make its presence known by certain ghostly rappings. They endeavour to mollify its anger by the nearest relative throwing a packet of rice to it under the house every day, until the spirit is laid to rest by their being able to celebrate a head feast: then the Dayaks forget their dead, and the ghosts of the dead forget them. When passing a burial-ground, however, they throw on it something they consider acceptable to the departed.

In writing about head-hunting, I should more frequently employ the past tense, as all those portions of these tribes, which have been brought under English influence, are rapidly losing these customs; and could any profitable agricultural industry be introduced among them, they would soon expend their energies in money-making.

The Dayaks are exceedingly quick in commercial transactions; and most of them who did not know the value of a piece of money six years ago are now active traders. They are said to be more acute than Malays, so that even the Chinese find they cannot cheat them after the first year. They are hoarding, though liberal according to custom; but generally they are much disposed to be avaricious and closefisted. The Malays sometimes make good bargains with them by using soft and flattering language, but the Dayaks often repent of being so wheedled, and will claim justice before the courts.

The Sea Dayaks, contrary to ancient custom, have the habit of keeping a few slaves, and are generally kind masters; but the system has been a very bad one, as many unfortunate people have become so in consequence of the debts or the crimes of their parents or grand-parents. It is scarcely right to give the name of slaves to these people, as on the payment of the original debt or fine they become free.

They have no graven images, nor do they practise any outward or visible signs of idolatry, nor have they any mode of religious worship further than a solemn attention to superstitious practices and observances. Several Dayaks have an objection to eating the flesh of pigs, deer, and other animals; but it is because they are afraid of getting certain complaints, as skin diseases, and the custom becomes hereditary, as many families are subject to them; or it arises from the fear of going mad; or as some married women tremble to touch deer’s flesh previously to the birth of their firstborn; or because they have received warning in dreams not to touch a particular kind of food. Their religious opinions do not forbid them to eat any kind of animals.

The Sea Dayaks, however, would not intentionally kill a cobra, one species of the lizard, or owls, or any of their birds of omen. There are, also, certain animals and other birds which many families abstain from injuring; in some cases, owing to a dream; in others, to help traditionally received from them by an ancestor. In others, it is forbidden to kill a civet cat, an orang-utan, or an alligator; and they give such reasons as the following:—“One of my ancestors, a clever man, cured a sick alligator, and then they made an agreement that neither should injure the other.” Another said, when his great-grandfather first settled at the hill of Banting, the orang-utan abounded there. Their enemies once came to attack the place, but were repulsed by the assistance of the orang-utans, who crowded to the edge of the fruit groves to glare on the strangers, and were probably mistaken for men. As a reason for not destroying the cobra, they say, “It has always been forbidden, those who dream of them are lucky, and often do the great spirits put on the forms of snakes.”

They sometimes change their names after severe sickness, when their priests recommend it on the restoration of health. And, also, in the event of a slave becoming free, his late master gives a feast upon the occasion of manumitting him, and proclaims his freedom in public. They often present a spear upon the occasion, the meaning of which is that, if he be again claimed as a slave, the spear may be used to put to death his former master.

It is contrary to custom for a man to marry a first cousin, as they look upon them as sisters. No marriage is allowed with aunt or niece, and some objection is made in a few of the communities to a man marrying a deceased wife’s sister, or a woman taking her husband’s brother; but these customs are not always followed, and I have heard of uncles marrying nieces, and a marriage with a deceased wife’s sister is also permitted, provided her parents approve of the man; and it is then often encouraged by them in order to bring up the children as one family.

Their priests have little or no knowledge of medicine, but trust, in most cases, to their occult sciences. In ordinary sickness the relatives are attentive, but not so, as I have said, when there is a sweeping epidemic, as small-pox; in such cases they think it to be useless striving against so formidable a spirit. When cholera was in the country, the Dayaks lost comparatively few, as they healed those taken with it by rubbing and warmth; but the Malays appeared to have done everything they should not have done—drinking, when in health, nothing but hot water, taking no exercise, and only eating a little rice; the consequence was they were too weak to strive against the complaint when seized. The most successful system practised by the natives appears to be to rub the stomach and limbs with cajput oil (kayu putih oil), and administer a strong dose of spirits immediately the first symptoms are perceived. It is said a few drops of the oil are also given with success. When the cholera, after committing great ravages in the capital, appeared among the Muruts and Bisayas of Limbang, they all fled from their villages, retiring to the hills and the depths of the forest; their loss was very slight.

The women manufacture a coarse cloth; making and dyeing their own yarn, beating out the cotton with small sticks, and, by means of a spinning-wheel, running it off very quickly. The yarn is not so fine as what they can buy of English manufacture, but it is stronger, and keeps its colour remarkably well; and no cloth wears better than Dayak cloth.

Their agricultural pursuits are limited in number, and with little labour the soil yields sufficient crops to supply their wants. They plant rice once a year; those who live on dry and high land have also cotton and tobacco. They grow enough sugar-cane for their own eating, not for making sugar; and they are so eager for gain, that it would not be difficult to induce them to plant crops requiring only ordinary superintendence. They sow the cotton-seed after the rice harvest. Their agricultural instruments are strong swords, made by themselves from imported iron, used for cutting grass or young jungle; and a kind of small axe and adze in one, by turning the iron in its socket. This instrument they use in shaping out planks for boats, and for felling the larger trees; and, in their hands, it brings down the timber as fast as an English axe would in the hands of a backwoodsman. One method they adopt for getting rid of old jungle is this:—first of all, they clear away the underwood and the branches near the ground, then with their axes they cut the larger trees more than half through; at last, choosing some giant of the forest, they fell it completely: in its fall it drags all the others after it, as they are connected together by twining creepers of great size and strength. It is a dangerous practice, and requires care to avoid the wide-spread fall, that comes to the earth with an awful crash.

They obtain bees’-wax from the nests built on the tapang tree, and climb the loftiest heights in search of it, upon small sticks, which they drive as they advance up the noble stem that rises above a hundred feet free of branches, and whose girth varies from fifteen to five-and-twenty feet. Once these pegs are driven in, their outer ends are connected by a stout rattan, which, with the tree, forms a kind of ladder.

It requires cool and deliberate courage to take a bee-hive at so great an elevation, where, in case of being attacked by the bees, the almost naked man would fall and be dashed to atoms. They depend upon the flambeaux they carry up with them, as, when the man disturbs the hive, the sparks falling from it cause, it is said, the bees to fly down in chase of them, instead of attacking their real enemy, who then takes the hive and lowers it down by a rattan string. The bees escape unhurt. This plan does not appear to be as safe as that pursued by the Pakatan Dayaks, who kindle a large fire under the trees, and, throwing green branches upon it, raise so stifling a smoke that the bees rush forth, and the man ascending takes their nest in safety. Both these operations are generally conducted at night, although the second might be, I imagine, practised in safety during the day.

There is a custom existing among the Dayaks of the Batang Lupar which I have not heard of elsewhere. Beside one of the paths in the Undup district there are several heaps of sticks; and in other places, of stones, called “tambun bula,” or lying heaps. Each heap is in remembrance of some man who has told a stupendous lie, or disgracefully failed in carrying out an engagement; and every passer-by takes a stick or a stone to add to the accumulation, saying, at the time he does it, “For So-and-so’s lying heap.” It goes on for generations, until they sometimes forget who it was that told the lie; but, notwithstanding that, they continue throwing the stone.

At another place, near many cross roads, there is a tree on which are hung innumerable pieces of rag; each person passing tears a little bit of cloth from his costume and sticks it there. They have forgotten the origin of this practice, but fear for their health if they neglect it. One Dayak observed, “It is like that custom of some European nations giving passports to those who enter or leave their country.” If this be a true explanation, it is, perhaps, to give the spirits of the woods notice who have passed that way, and the Dayak’s observation shows how quick they are, and how well they remember what they have heard.

They practise various ordeals; among others, two pieces of native salt, of equal weight, are placed in water; that appertaining to the guilty party melts immediately; the other, they affirm, keeps its form; but, in fact, the one that disappears first proves the owner to be in the wrong. Another is with two land shells, which are put on a plate and lime-juice squeezed upon them, and the one that moves first shows the guilt or innocence of the owner, according as they have settled previously whether motion or rest is to prove the case. They talk of another, where the hand is dipped into boiling water or oil, and innocence is proved by no injury resulting. The favourite ordeal, however, is the dipping the head under water, and the first who puts up his face to breathe loses the case.

I need only observe, concerning their language, that the Sibuyaus, the Balaus, the Undups, the Batang Lupars, the Sakarangs, Seribas, and those inhabitants of the Rejang living on the Kanowit and Katibas branches, all speak the same language, with no greater modifications than exist between the English spoken in London and Somersetshire. They are, in fact, but divisions of the same tribe; and the differences that are gradually growing up between them principally arise from those who frequent the towns and engage in trade, using much Malay in their conversations, and allowing their own words to fall into disuse. The agricultural inhabitants of the farther interior are much more slowly influenced.

CHAPTER III.
THE KAYANS OF BARAM.

Unaccountable Panic—Man Overboard—Fishing—Coast Scenery—Baram Point—Floating Drift—Pretty Coast to Labuan—Thunder and Lightning Bay—Bar of the Brunei—River Scenery—The Capital—Little Children in Canoes—Floating Market—Kayan Attack—The Present Sultan’s Story—Fire-arms—Devastation of the Interior—Customs of the Kayans—Upas Tree—View of the Capital—The Fountains—The Baram—Kayan Stratagem—Wild Cattle—Banks of the River—Gading Hill—Ivory—Elephants on North-east Coast—Hunting—Startling Appearance—Town of Langusin—Salutes—First Interview—Graves—Wandering Kanowits—Appearance of the Kayans—Visit Singauding—Religion—Houses—Huge Slabs—Skulls—Women tatooed—Mats—Visit the Chiefs—Drinking Chorus—Extempore Song—Head-hunting—Effect of Spirits—Sacrifice—Ceremony of Brotherhood—Effect of Newly-cleared Jungle—War Dance—Firewood—Customs—Origin of Baram Kayans—Vocabulary—Trade—Birds’ Nests—Destruction of Wealth—Manners and Customs—Iron—Visit Edible Birds’ Nest Caves—The Caves—Narrow Escape—Two Kinds of Swallows—Neat House—Visit of Singauding—Visit to Si Obong—Her Dress—Hip-lace—Her Employments—Farewell Visit—Fireworks—Smelting Iron—Accident—Departure—Kayans Cannibals—Anecdotes—Former Method of Trading—Unwelcome Visitors.

In April, 1851, the steamer Pluto, Acting Commander Brett, arrived in Sarawak with directions to take me on an official visit to Brunei and Baram. Sarawak was at that time suffering from one of those unaccountable panics which sometimes seize on both large and small communities. The report was that a French fleet was outside preparing to attack the place. People packed up their valuables, and some even carried them off to the forest. The only way we could account for it was the news of the recent destruction of the capital of Sulu by the Spaniards having by this time spread over the Archipelago, and been distorted in various ways.

Starting from Sarawak, we steered our course to the island of Labuan. One evening on a bright, starlight night, we were all sitting on the bridge of the vessel, when we were startled by the cry of a “man overboard.” To stop the steamer, pull the trigger that disengaged the flaming life-buoy, and to let down the boats, did not take many minutes, and they soon pushed off from the sides. While we stood on the deck with strained attention, a sharp cry was heard; then there was a dead silence, followed immediately by the sound of the oars in the rowlocks as the men gave way towards the life-buoy that was seen floating astern like a bright torch dancing on the waves. We thought we heard another fainter cry, but the mind in great tension will imagine these things. We could distinguish amid the sound of splashing water the distant shouts of the men as the crews hailed each other, but no answer was given to our captain’s eager inquiries, as the rustling of the wind in our rigging, and those varied sounds that ever will arise around a ship laying to, drowned his voice. The anxiety of all was intense as the boats pulled back, and a sickening feeling came over us all when we found that their search had been unavailing. Either strength had failed the man, or a shark had seized him before he could reach the life-buoy. The passionate grief of the son of the drowned Portuguese now struck painfully on our ears, and I was not sorry to gain the refuge of the inner cabin.

In sailing along this coast fine fish and small sharks are often caught by hook and line trailing out far behind the vessels. The Tañgiri fish is perhaps the finest: the usual size obtained varies from three to five feet, and it has something of the look of a salmon, without its richness of flavour. We have caught also many young sharks, but all under five feet; in fact, anything larger would carry away the bait, hook, and all. Young shark is often eaten, both by Malays and Chinese. I have tasted it, and thought it very coarse; but at sea even that change is palatable.

The coast line between Sarawak and Baram point is the least beautiful of the north-west coast. Scarcely any but hills far in the interior are seen, and the land is either flat or gently undulating hill and dale, but with few distinctive features. However, in the depth of the great bay that lies between Points Sirik and Baram, near the river of Bintulu, there are some fine mountains; and once, during a very clear day, I thought I saw a far distant peak, which might be that of Tilong, according to native report, higher than Kina Balu. Bintulu is now the northern boundary of the territories of Sarawak.

Although I have said the appearance of this coast is not picturesque, yet in the eye of one who looks to the commercial and agricultural advantages, it is satisfactory. Broad plains of alluvial soil, as rich, perhaps, as any in the world, and a fine succession of swelling hill and dale afford some compensation to one who, as I do, looks upon this coast as capable of as much development as a similar space in Java.

Between Bintulu and Baram there are two remarkable serrated mountains—Siluñgan and Lambir; but in this ninety miles of coast one small village only is to be found, and unless you penetrate far into the interior, there are but a few wandering Punans and others who inhabit it.

Baram is a dangerous point to ships, as it lies low and the sea shoals rapidly. Here in the rainy season the fresh water rushes out with so much force, as to carry it unmixed four or five miles from land, where native prahus often take in their supplies. Large trunks of trees are continually floating about, which are brought down from the interior, and are very dangerous to small vessels, and many a Malay trader has owed to them his ruin. Off Sirik Point a prahu struck and immediately sunk. Her captain reported a rock, but as the coast near was simply alluvial deposit, and the fishermen who frequent this spot have never found it, it is generally thought that he suffered from a submerged tree.

I was once a passenger on board a frigate while she sailed by this point. We were sitting below, and heard her distinctly strike, and a grating sound as of crushed coral was audible. “On shore again,” was the general observation: we went on deck, to find her running before the wind at ten knots an hour. We had, I believe, simply passed over one of these huge trunks. I have mentioned elsewhere the mass of floating weeds and trees that continually gyrates in a circle about fifteen miles off this point.

Although my object was to visit the Baram river, yet I was obliged to pass on to Labuan and Brunei to obtain interpreters and guides. As we approached our little English colony we found our coal was all used, and we could scarcely reach the harbour, although we burnt a horse-box and everything available on board.

The coast line between Baram and Brunei is very pretty. As we approach the capital, the interminable jungle gives way to grassy hills, with a park-like distribution of timber. Curling wreaths of smoke rising from the shaded valleys, told us that the inhabitants were numerous. In the far distance we could see the great mountain of Molu, the loftiest known, except Kina Balu: the latter was visible to-day, although about 120 miles off; it looked like a huge table mountain rising from the sea, all intervening ground being lost in the distance.

We reached Labuan the day before the Queen’s birthday, in time to be present at the official dinner given by Governor Scott. I shall take another opportunity to notice this island.

We heard on our arrival that Mr. Low, the Colonial treasurer, had made an attempt to reach the summit of Kina Balu. It was generally said he had failed; but many years after, I was able to prove that he had reached to within a few hundred feet of the very highest peaks.

After some days’ stay to coal, we started for the capital, which lies about thirty-three miles to the S.S.W. The bay opposite Labuan is one of the most striking on the coast. The mountains commence within a few miles of the shore, and tower in successive ranges to Brayong, and Si Guntang, about 8,000 feet in height.

By naval men this is called Thunder-and-Lightning Bay, and it well deserves the name, as scarcely a day passes without some heavy squall sweeping down from the mountains, while the brightest lightning flashes, and the thunder rolls and re-echoes among the hills.

The entrance to the inner bay, into which so many rivers pour their waters, is five fathoms, and with a little care as to the known marks, of easy entrance. To the right is the low island of Muara, reputed deadly; but I have stayed there many times, and none of my people suffered. Keeping along the southern shore of the island, the channel is reached, and as we approach the true entrance of the Brunei river the scenery becomes lovely.

To the right is the island of Iñgaran, with its remains of Spanish batteries; to the left, picturesque Chermin. No ship of any size can enter the river, as eight feet at low water, and fourteen at high, is what the bar affords, which is also rendered more difficult by a long artificial dam of stones thrown across the stream in former times to prevent the approach of hostile squadrons. The water, however, has forced an angular passage to the right, through which vessels are obliged to pass. It is one of the worst rivers for commercial purposes in Borneo.

Beautiful hills rise sharply from the banks; some are wooded, with clumps of lofty palms pushing their way up through the jungle, while others are cleared, presenting swelling grassy summits and green slopes. Before us the honoured hill of Sei rises, and forms, as it were, an abrupt termination of the river. The Borneans take a pride in this hill that overshadows their town, although its elevation is but 700 feet.

Turning sharply to the right, we saw the first houses of the capital of Borneo, by the natives called Dar’u’salam, or the Abode of Peace, and which has been truly described as the “Venice of hovels.” The salt-water creek or river here expands to a small lake, and on mud-banks are the houses, built on the slenderest of piles—mere palms, that rot in three years. Slow, sluggish, and muddy, the water passes underneath, to leave, at ebb tide, exposed banks emitting the most offensive effluvia, which turns the gold and silver of uniforms to the colour of dirt.

As soon as we had anchored, the steamer was surrounded by a crowd of canoes, some so small as scarcely to float a child of five years of age—in fact, but a hollowed log. Mothers do not fear to trust their children in them, as they swim like fishes. It is a saying in Siam, that their children can do three things at a tender age—swim, smoke, and suck. I once saw a child at the breast, but with one eye fixed on his brothers paddling in the water; presently it gave a crow of delight, and leaving its mother’s arms, sprang into the river to enjoy the fun. He was not more than three years old.

The whole town appeared to be interested in our arrival, for, as we passed up the broad and deep river between the lines of houses, crowds of men, women, and children thronged the verandahs.

The floating market mentioned by Forrest was there also—several hundred canoes, each containing one or two women, covered over with mat hats a yard in diameter, floated up and down about the town, pulling through the water lanes and resting for a while in the slack tide at the back of the houses. These women, generally ill-favoured old slaves, frequent this migratory assemblage every day, and buy and sell fowls, vegetables, fish, and fruit.

The supply of food for this population of five-and-twenty thousand requires some arrangement: so every morning a market is held at various points, where the hill people assemble and exchange their agricultural produce for salt, fish, iron, and clothes. The old women are diligent frequenters of these places, and buy here to retail in the capital.

I have often come across these extemporized markets: some held under groves of fruit-trees; others on grassy fields, but, by choice or accident, always in a lovely spot.

We had not long been anchored when the Sultan and ministers sent messengers on board, to inquire the news and invite me to a meeting. They are very anxious about the result of my visit to the Kayans, as there is little doubt that this slave-acquiring and head-hunting people are destroying the interior population.

To-day they had received news that three long war-boats of their enemies had been dragged over into the waters of the upper Limbang; that they had attacked a party of the Sultan’s Murut subjects, and killed six, after which they had immediately returned to their own country. It is evident that the Borneans are in great fear of the ultimate result of these forays. The old Sultan being ill, I did not see him, but spent the evening with Pañgeran Mumein, the prime minister (and present Sultan). He is an amiable man, and bears a better character than the rest; his great fault is grasping. He is always telling the story of his fight with the Kayans, which exemplifies how easily these men were defeated by the use of musketry. Some years since, Pañgeran Mumein hearing that the district of Tamburong was invaded by the people of Baram, collected his followers and guns, and proceeded thither. When they came in sight of the Kayans crowded round a village, the Malays became alarmed, and wished to retreat; but their leader sprang forward and fired a brass swivel at the enemy; it fortunately took effect on one, and the crowd dispersed. Recovering from their fright, the Borneans fired volley after volley into the jungle, and celebrated their victory by loud beatings of gongs and drums. The Kayans, still more frightened, fled in all directions.

Pañgeran Mumein justly observed, that as long as the Kayans were unacquainted with the use of fire-arms, it was easy to defend the country; but that now the Bornean traders were supplying them with brass swivels and double-barrel guns, he thought that the ruin of Brunei was at hand. But the fact is, that though the Kayans are now less frightened at the noise of heavy guns and muskets than they were, they seldom employ them in their expeditions in the jungle, as they cannot keep them in working order.

With the assistance of his followers’ memories, Mumein repeated the names of forty villages that had been destroyed within the last ten years, and the majority of the inhabitants captured or killed.

Several of the respectable Malay traders of the place have agreed to go with me as guides and interpreters; among the rest are Gadore, Abdul Ajak, and Bakir, the principal dealers with Baram. Bakir had but just arrived from that country, and he says that the Kayans are anxiously awaiting my arrival, having heard that I was ready for the steamer. As he appears a very intelligent fellow, I will note down some of the information he gave me about the people. Their customs appear much the same as those of the Sea Dayaks: he began, oddly enough, with their funerals. When a man dies, they wrap him up in cloths and place him in a kind of box on top of four upright poles, and leave him there with some of his worldly goods—in the case of chiefs, a very large amount. Their marriages are simple. When two young people take a fancy to each other, their intercourse is unrestrained: should the girl prove with child, a marriage takes place; their great anxiety for children makes them take this precaution against sterility.

We pulled in the evening to visit the fine upas-tree growing at the end of the reach below the town. We landed at a Mahomedan burying-place, and there met a Malay, who warned us not to approach this deadly tree, but we smilingly thanked him and continued our course, forcing our way through the tangled bushes at its base: it has a noble stem, some five-and-thirty feet without a branch, and eighteen feet in circumference; the colour of its bark is a light brown. The tree is a very handsome and spreading one, and its bright rich green contrasted well with the dark foliage beyond.

T. Picken lith.

Day & Son, Lith^rs. to the Queen.

Published by Smith Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London.

THE CITY OF BRUNEI—SUNSET.

Leaving the burying-ground, we fell down the river a hundred yards, and then walked up a path leading over the hills, where a dip rendered the passage easier. Arriving at the summit, we saw the town spread out, map-like, before us, and it is one of the loveliest scenes I have ever witnessed. The sun was just setting amid a broken heap of clouds, and threw its dimmed rays on everything around. The river, slowly meandering through the town and country, flowed past our feet, its rippled waters faintly tinged with purple; while around, till hidden by the now rapidly-approaching darkness, we could perceive a succession of hills, gilded here and there, and generally clothed with trees to the very summit; but, that the eye might not be wearied, many an eminence was grass-covered. A cool breeze blew gently down the river, and was pleasantly refreshing after the hot day.

Before darkness had quite enveloped us, we visited those little grottos whence the Borneans obtain their supplies of drinking water. Rills are led through bamboo-pipes, and brought conveniently to fill the jars that crowd the numerous boats, each waiting its turn. Brunei water is famous; it runs through a sandstone district, and is very clear and tasteless. One of these places is called to this day “The Factor’s Fountain,” and brings back to one’s mind the time, when the East India Company had a factory here and traded in pepper.

Having collected our Bornean guides, who vainly endeavoured to load the steamer with their trading goods, we bade adieu to the authorities and started for Labuan. We stayed there but a few hours, and then steamed away for the Baram.

Next morning we arrived off the mouth, and, by not steering towards land till the northern point of the river bore due east, came in with one-and-a-half fathom water. The natives say there is a deeper channel to be found by keeping close in to the northern shore, but it has not yet been completely surveyed. A fresh breeze was blowing, which curled the waves and dashed them in breakers on the sandbank; so that our passage was made in a sea of foam. This obstruction renders the river comparatively useless, and is greatly to be regretted, as immediately the bar is passed the water deepens to four and five fathoms; occasionally we found no bottom with a ten-fathom line.

At the mouth, the width of the Baram is about half a mile; it gradually narrows, and then varies in breadth from 300 to 500 yards. Casuarians line the entrance, then nipa palms, and the usual jungle pressing closely to the water’s edge. A few miles more, and patches of rich, short grass ornament the banks, increasing in number as we advanced. The jungle presented few varied tints, but pretty creepers and white and red flowers occasionally showed themselves among the dark leaves.