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

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.

APPENDICES.

Chapter I.
EXPEDITIONS TO EXPLORE THE INTERIOR TO THE SOUTH AND SOUTH-EAST OF THE CAPITAL.
	PAGE
Preliminary Expeditions—The Limbang River—Stories connected with it—The Madalam—River flowing under a Pile of Rocks—Caverns—Batu Rikan—The River issuing from under the Mountain of Molu—Ascend the Precipices—No Water—Long Roots—No Soil—Second Expedition—A Flood—Dangerous Position—Wakeful Night—Beautiful Flowers—Palms and Rhododendrons—Old Kayan Encampment—Detached Rocks—Ascent of Molu—Two new Species of Nepenthes—Difficult Climbing—New Rhododendrons—Stopped by a Precipice—Sharp-edged Rocks—Descent—Limestone Rock—Cave—Heavy Rain—Swollen River—Quick Return—Prepare for a distant Expedition—Alarm of the Brunean Government—Warnings—Preparations—Boats—My Headman, Musa—A Travelled Dayak—Stories of Molu—Weapons—Merchandise	1
Chapter II.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL.
Start—Discovery of Bones and ancient Ornaments—At the Site of the Old City—At the Stone Fort—At Sarawak—The Trusan, or connecting Passage—Apathy of the Government [vi]and People—Sago—Method of preparing it for the Market—The Limbang River—The Inhabitants—Winding Stream—The Orang Kaya Upit of Kruei—Sampirs—Gadong Hill—Scenery—Molu—The Raman Palm—Delays—Cholera—Orang Kaya Napur—Panglima Prang—The Weather—State of the River—Origin of the Ponds—Native Geographical Information—The Upper Country—Cataract—Enchanted Mountain—Native Travelling—Dreams and Omen Birds—Religion of Pakatans—Cause of Head-hunting—The Wild Boar—Trouble in procuring Guides—Pengkalan Tarap—Desolation of the Country—Causes of it—Selling Children—Kayan Barbarity—Chinese at Batang Parak—Site of Burnt Villages—Posts of Houses—Two kinds of Sago Palm—Their Growth—Kayan Encampment—Cultivation—The River—Rocks—Salt Springs—Native Explanation—Anecdote—Time to halt—Birds—Rare, except in certain Districts—Monkeys—Alligators—The Man-eater—A Challenge accepted—Disappearance of the Siol Alligator—Combat with two in a Cave—Method of Capturing them in Siam—Laying Eggs in the Jungle—Ducks and Drakes—Malay Cookery—Very tasty—Blachang—How to make a Curry—Anecdotes of Bornean Rule—Attack on the Limpasong Village—Insurrection of the Aborigines—Forced Trade—Qualities necessary in a Malay Ruler—The great Mountain of Tilong—Discomfort of possessing a large Diamond—Diamonds found in Borneo	16
Chapter III.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.
Wet Morning—Wild Cattle—A Night Adventure—View of Molu Mountain—A Pebbly Flat—Moose Deer—Our Tents—Kayan—Their Attack—Desolation—Course they pursue to invade these Districts—Difficulties—Attack the Lepuasing Muruts—Fearful Retaliation—Attacks on the Villages of the Lower Limbang—Makota’s Treachery—His Cupidity—Surprise of Balat Ikan—Alarm Signal—Advance—Fresh Kayan Marks—Inundations—Unskilful Sportsmen—Difficult Rapids—The Sertab Hills—Enter [vii]the Limestone District—A New Kayan Hut—High Pork —Effect of Pebbles on the Rock—Agreeable Evening—Omen Birds—Japer’s Method of easing a sore Heart—The Punan Tribe—The Spy—The Alligator Omen—The Bird Omen—Attack the Village—Poisoned Arrows—Destruction of a Tribe—Effect of such Forays on the Country—The Ghosts on the Tapang Tree—Numerous Bees’ Nests—Sand Flies—Seribas Omen Bird—The Salindong—Kayan Resting-place—Traces of Captives taken—Precautions—Difficulties increase—Limestone Country—Severe Toil—Accidents avoided—Hauling the Boats—River narrows—A Fresh—Towing-ropes—Story of the Death of Orang Kaya Apo—Enter the Sandstone District again—Broader River—Snakes on Trees—The same Colour as the Boughs and Foliage—Biawaks or Guanas—A large One—Their Ways—The Fowls and the Cobra—Heavy Day’s Work—Future Plans—Two Ways of reaching Adang—The flying Foxes—Huge Frog—The Madihit—Leave our Boats—Handsome Trees—Appearance of the Country—Sand Flies—Preparations for the Overland Journey—Division of Food—Our famous Hunters—A Cache—The Chinese on the Madihit	49
Chapter IV.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.
Start on the Land Journey—Our Course—Ascend the Rawan Torrent—Attacked by Hornets—Native Remedy—Severe Effect of Sting—Disturbed by Ants—Japer left behind—Fresh Traces of Strangers in the Forest—Appearance of the Country—Water Snake killed—Our Adventure with One—The Swimming Cobra—Romantic but timely Meeting—Story of Pangeran Mumein and the Murut Concubine—Malay Revenge—Punishment of an Offender—Cause of the Borneans being converted to Mahomedanism—Capturing the Daughter of Johore—Independent Position of the Pablat Borneans—Reach the Wax-seekers’ Hut—Flesh of the Wild Boar—The Adang Muruts—Their Sumpitans—The Poison on the Arrows—Melted in hot Water—Weapons purchased, not made by them—Dress of the [viii]Muruts—Japer rejoins us—Continue our Journey with new Guide—Method of catching Fish—Effect of Loss of Blood by Leeches—Extraordinary Insect—The Freshwater Turtle—Its Description—Curious Fly—Poisoning the River—Getting short of Provisions—Galton’s Method of dividing Food—Adopt it—Improvidence of the Malays—Cry of the Wahwah—Rejoin the Limbang—Omen Bird—Prepare for Enemies—Quarrel among the Guides—Divide the Party—Hard Walking—The Otter—A Fight with my Dogs—Still beyond the Mountain—Find good Huts—The Stragglers—The last of the Food—Ascend the Mountains—Exhaustion of the Guides—The Remains of the Ham—Its Effects—Reach the Summit—Descend to the Farms—Meet the Adang Muruts—Hearty “Welcome—Names—Recent History of these Villagers—Kayan Attacks—Driven from the Limbang—The Geography of the Country—The Houses—Cold, and Fire-places—Arrival of my Followers—Sir James Brooke—The Friend of the Aborigines—His Fame had preceded me—How Reports spread—The Tigers’ Cave—Curious Story	80
Chapter V.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.
Women’s Ornaments—Adorning in Public—Confidence shown by a young Girl—Geography—Leech Bites—Tapioca—The Manipa Stream—The False and True Brayong—Nothing but Rice to be purchased—Wild Raspberries—Good Shots—The Rifle Carbine—Death of a Kite—Picking a Cocoa-nut—Curious Statement—A Village of Runaways—Proposed Slave Hunt—Disappointment—Appearance of the Women—Old Look of the Children—Devoid of Drapery—Preparing the Plantations—No Goods for Sale—Edible Bird’s-nest Cave—Difficulties in penetrating farther—Determine to return—Climate—New Route—Custom in Drinking similar to the Chinese—Anecdote of Irish Labourers—Change of Plans—Fashion of wearing Brass Wire—Start on a Tour among the Villages—The Burning Path—Village of Purté—Refreshing Drink—The Upper Trusan—Distant Ranges—Inviting and receiving Invitations—Fatal [ix]Midnight Revel—Tabari’s Village—Alarm of Orang Kaya Upit—Suspension Bridge—Inhabitants—Scheme of the Adangs to return to their old Districts—Deers’ Horns—Mourning—Difficult Walking—The Tiger’s Leap—Meet Si Puntara—No Real Enemies—Murud—The Gura Peak—The Main Muruts—Salt as well as Slave Dealers—Bearskin Jacket—White Marble—Uncertainty whence procured—Leaden Earrings—Unbecoming Custom—Lofty Mountains—Lawi Cloud-hidden—Muruts busy Farming—Two Harvests a Year—Agricultural Produce plentiful—Obtain a Goat—Dress of the Men—Bead Petticoats—Custom of burying on the Tops of the Lofty Hills—Desecration of Graves—Jars—Discovery of one in Brunei—Similar Millanau Customs	109
Chapter VI.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.
Commence the return Journey—Kayan Embassy—Indian Corn—Confidence of the People—Ophthalmia—Old Jar—Gratitude rarely shown—Anecdote—Warning to Amateur Doctors—Bezoar Stones—Arrangements at Si Lopong’s—A Nightcap—Desertion of our Guides—Murut Music—Start for the Adang—Warned of Difficulties—Abundance of Rice—Cross the Adang Mountains—Active Girls—The Anœctochilus—Attack of Fever—Arrangements in case of its continuance—Loss of Chamber to Revolver—Reach the Adang—Legend—Construct four Rafts—Pleasant Movement—Trying Position of one of the Men—The first Rapid passed—Difficulties at the second—Bold Swimmer—A Whirlpool—Danger of Drowning—Our Raft tested—Abandoned—The rest wrecked—Pass the Umur—Reach the Limbang—Construct fresh Rafts—Uneasy Anticipations—Heavy Fresh—Fine Specimen of a Raft—Push off—Dangers and Troubles—The Rafts ungovernable—The Roaring of Waters—Overhanging Cliffs—The Cataract—Awe of the Men—Shoot the Cataract—Narrow Escape—Its Height—The Men recover their Voice—Ineffectual Attempts to stop the Raft—Caught in a Whirlpool—Safety—Arrival of the other Rafts—Dangers ahead—Walk—Abandon the [x]Rafts—State of Provisions—Nearly all consumed—Ahtan’s Secret Store—Rocks—Advance over the Kalio Hills—Sparing the Food—Exhausting climbing—“Jog on”—Feed on the Cabbages of the Bengkala Palm—Almost a Mutiny—Facing the Difficulty—Reach the Summit of the Paya Paya, or “very difficult” Hills—Night on the Summit—Our Tent—The last Fowl—Molu—The greatest Difficulties passed—Country more open—Follow the Banks of the River—Distress of the Men—Improvidence—Curious Sounds in the old Forests—Cry of the Argus Pheasant—Of the Jelatuk—Rending of a Mighty Tree—Danger from Decaying Trees—Cock-fights among the Argus Pheasants	131
Chapter VII.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Concluded.
Stopped for a Day—Five Start for Provisions—The Sick Men left behind join us—No Shoes—Weakness from want of Food—Leeches—Stop again—Collect Food—Anecdote of Female Orang Utan and Murut—Again construct Rafts—Present of a Cup full of Rice—Start on the Rafts—Abandon them—A Bear—The River—Immense Pebbly Flats—Long Walks—Traces of the Advance Party—Wild Fruit—Sour Oranges—Recognize a Hill—Fruit of the Jintawan, or India-rubber Plant—Find Remains of Bees’-nest—The British Flag—Reach the Madihit—Bad Conduct of the Advance Party—Food nearly all consumed—An unfeeling Father—Proposed Punishment—Ravages of the Bears—Anecdote of Ahtan—Return in the Boats—The Herd of Wild Cattle—Wound a Bull, but do not get it—A slight Supper—Start in a Sampir—Ahtan ill—The last of the Food—News from Brunei—Reach the Town—Arrival of the rest of the Party—Bornean travelling—Measure Distance by Fatigue—Slow Progress necessary—Active Murut—Average Rate of Advance—Great Mistakes made in the Estimates of Distance—Instances—Mr. Motley’s Account of his advance up the Limbang—Mr. De Crespigny’s Mistake in the Latitude of the River Damit and Position of the Mountain of Molu—Remarks on the Map—Causes of the continued Health of my Followers—The Tents—Mistake [xi]in trusting to Native Huts—Native Geographical Information tested—Found correct—Arrival of the Orang Kaya Upit—Tragical Death of Pangeran Mokata, the Shabandar—Two Years after—Sad Fate of a Party of Adang Muruts—Murder by Orang Kaya Gomba—Head-hunting—Heads valued, but none seen—Incident of meeting Head-hunters—No treacherous Designs—Inefficient Government—Desecration of the Graveyards—Chinese Secret Societies, or Hués—Ahtan joins one—Robbery of the Iron Chest from the Consulate—The Sultan’s Method of extorting a Confession—Obstinacy of Ahtan—Officers of the Secret Society—Chest restored—Prisoners released—The Hué broken up—Treatment of Prisoners—Musa and the Priest—Threats—Personal Regard for some of my Followers	154
Chapter VIII.
THE SULU ARCHIPELAGO.
FIRST VISIT.
Picturesque Islands—Balambañgan—An old English Settlement—Large Monkeys—Optical Illusions—Flights of Birds—The Curlew—The way we shot them in Sarawak—Game—Banguey—Mali Wali—Cleared Hills—Fine Water—Sweet-smelling Jasmine—Cagayan Sulu—Intercourse with the Inhabitants—Appearance of the Country—Lovely Scenery—Market—Inhabitants—Insolent Traders—The Crater Harbour—Wall of Evergreen—Inner Lake—Climb the Cliff—Scenery—Alligators numerous—Sulu—Appearance from the Ship—Sugh, the Capital—Mr. Wyndham—The Watering-place—Suspicious Natives—Fugitives from Balignini—Reports—A Market—The Mountaineers civil—Walk to the Palace—The Stockades—Armed Crowd—Audience Hall—Absurd Reports—The Sultan and his Nobles—Dress—Politeness of the Sultan—Return to the Ship—Datu Daniel—The Racecourse—Effect of Dutch Shot—Tulyan Bay—Alarm of Villagers—Sulu Government—Laws—Feuds—The Mahomedan and the Pork—Population—Fighting-men—Slave Market—Dignified carriage of the Nobles—Dress—The Balignini—Dutch Attack—Appearance of the Country—Good position of [xii]Island—Tulyan—Basilan—Numerous Islets—Samboañgan —Spanish Convict Settlement—Description of Country—Fort—Town—Shops—The Church—The Men—The Women—The Corner Shop—A Ball—Dancing difficult—Waltzes—Supplies at Saraboañgan—A lonely Grave	178
Chapter IX.
THE SULU ISLANDS.
SECOND VISIT.
Reach Sugh—Mr. Wyndham comes on board—His News—Commercial Rivalry—The Stockades—Visit the Audience Hall—Appearance of the Sultan—Visit Datu Daniel’s Stockaded House—Guns—Datu Daniel—Appearance of the principal Chamber—The Bed—Boxes—Property—General look of Discomfort—Spittoons—Dismounted Iron Guns—Taken from the English—Excitement in the Town—Hereditary Hatred of the Sulus to the Spaniards—Their Treaty with Spain—Sandakan Bay—Supplies—Variegated Wood—Salute—English popular—An Exception—Death of a Sulu Lady from Grief—The Rumah Bechara—A Ship taken—Interview with the Sultan—Rope—Character of Datus—The Balignini—Capture an English Ship—Captives brought to Sulu—Result of the Action of the Nemesis—The Lanuns—At Magindanau and Cape Unsang—A narrow Escape—Mate to Lord Cochrane—Capture of the Maria Frederica—Cold-blooded Murder of the Captain—Jilolo Prahus—Their Rencontre with Sir Edward Belcher—Pirates off the Arru Group—Sulu Justice—Appearance of the People—Attack on the Spanish Gunboats—Public Audience with the Sultan—Private Visit to the House of his Bride—The Women—Opium-smoking—Invitation to revisit Sulu—The Spanish Gunboats—Samboañgan—The Corner Shop—Sunday’s Amusements—Appearance of the Neighbourhood—A Breakfast in the Country—Long Walks—People comfortable—Story of the Loss and Re-capture of the Dolphin—The Dolphin sails for Maludu Bay—Quarrels—Surprised—Death of Mr. Burns and the Captain—Murder of a Woman—Injury to Trade—Datu Badrudin’s Monopolies—The Tungku Pirates—Visit the chief Town [xiii]of Maludu—Sherif Hasin’s Account of the Surprise of the Dolphin—The Re-capture of the Vessel by Sherif Yasin—Arrival at Benggaya—Dolphin delivered up—Visit the Village of Sherif Yasin—His Appearance—His Account of the Re-capture—His Position—Smoking over Powder—Delivery of the Cargo—Return to the Ship—Argus Pheasants—Meet with Baju Boats—Pearl Fishers—Retaliation—Fishing for Pearls—Mr. Edwardes’ Pearl—Story of the Datu, and his great good Fortune—The Mermaid Pearl—Present State of Piracy on the North-West Coast—Cruise of the Balignini in 1861—Ransom of Inchi Ngah—Names of present Haunts of the Balignini—A Mangrove Swamp—Present System of Balignini—Escape of a Native—The Lanuns—A Dayak’s Experience—A Slave Mart—Spanish Attack on Sugh—Severe Fight—Bravery of the Sulus—Capture of the Town—The Sulu Government retire to the Hills, and refuse to submit—A Teak Forest burnt—No Teak in Borneo—Elephants extinct in Sulu	200
Chapter X.
THE KINGDOM OF BORNEO PROPER.
Its Nominal Extent—Its Government—The Sultan—The Viziers—The Shabandar—The inferior Officers—Their Influence—“The Abode of Peace”—Poverty-stricken Gentlemen—Possessions of the Nobles—The Country parcelled out among them—Distant Dependencies becoming independent—Oppression of the surrounding Districts—Divisions among the Nobles—Poverty of the Nobles—Population of Brunei—System of Plunder—Sale of Children—Handsome Brass Guns—Their Fate—No Justice—Crime nominally punished—No Possibility of Improvement—Anecdotes—System of Local Self-government—The Parishes—Their Names, and the Occupation of their Inhabitants—Fishing—Shell Heaps—Asylum—Treatment of a Slave Girl—Political Parties—Religious Schism—An attempted Explanation—Followers of each Party—Difference of Length of Fast Month—Visiting the Graves of Ancestors—A pretty Custom—Search after Excitement—Story Tellers—Conjurors—Their Arts—Practice of Abortion—The Egg-cooking Trick—The [xiv]Sultan’s Palace—Its Inhabitants—His Wife and his Concubines—Their Treatment—Bold Lovers—Anecdote—Tragical Termination—The Women deceive their Lords—The Inverted Language—Education neglected—Sight of a Harim—Mutual Disappointment—Rajah’s pleasant Companions—Their Customs—Tenacious of Rank—Decay of Brunei—Exactions suffered by the Aborigines—The Kadayans—Tradition—Hill Men united—Commotion—Kadayans have great Influence—Lovely Country—Kadayans removed to Labuan—Short Description of that Colony—Excellent Position—Coal—Telegraphic Communication—Good Effect of our Colony—Trade Increasing—Pepper—Exports—Cotton—Fine Jungle—Method of Collecting the Camphor and the Gamboge in Siam—The Coal-fields—Revenue of the Sultan—Brunei Government no Power—Crime unpunished—A Bold Thief—Makota and the Fire—Nominal Punishments—Cutting off the Hand—The Fall of Ashes—Singing Fish—Curious Method of Catching Prawns—Tuba Fishing—Superstition—Money—Coinage of the Capital—Cloth—Iron—Gun-metal—Good Manufactures of Brass Ordnance—A 12-pounder—Similarity of Customs—The Sultan—The Heir to his Subjects—Makota and his Gold	244
Chapter XI.
SARAWAK AND ITS DEPENDENCIES.
First Visit—Appearance of the Country—Scenery—Lovely Isles—Turtle—Method of securing their Eggs—Their Enemies—Fish—The Dugong—Method of capturing them—Graves of Englishmen at Po Point—First Evening in Borneo—A Welcome to the Rajah—Boats—Salute and Manning Yards—The Muaratabas Entrance—The River—The Town of Kuching—Sunset—Arrival—A noisy Procession—Extent of Sarawak—A well-watered Country—The Rejang—Extent of fertile Soil adapted to Sugar—Its Inhabitants—Different Races and Tribes—Population—Kuching, the Capital—Increase—Trade—Sago Districts—Cotton—Seed sent by the Cotton Supply Association—Imported Labour required—Increased Production—Inferior [xv]Cultivation—Soil adapted to most Tropical Productions— Water Communication—Minerals—Coal, Antimony, and Gold—Indications of other Minerals—Former Condition of the Country—Difficulties of Management—Forced Trade—Comfortable Position of the Dayaks—Influence of New System on the Malays—Distant Voyages—Remarkable Honesty—Anecdote—System of Government—An unteachable Chief—Sons of Patinggi Ali—Their good Conduct—Effect of associating the Natives in the Government—The System introduced into all the Dependencies—Effect of Sir James Brooke’s Government—Anecdote of an old Chief—Gradual Developments—Necessity for Support—The Chinese an Industrious and Saving Nation—Soundness in the System of Government—England with a Chinese Colony—Future of Borneo—Chinese amalgamate with Native Population—Female Emigration from China—Administration of Justice—The Sarawak Courts—Character of the Malays	280
Chapter XII.
THE CHINESE IN BORNEO.
Intercourse between China and the Northern Part of Borneo—References to the Chinese—Names of Places and Rivers—Sites of Gardens and Houses—One of the original Settlers—The Sultan’s Recollections—Chinese numerous in his Youth—Reasons for their Disappearing—Anecdote of a Murut Chief—Aborigines speaking Chinese—Mixed Breed—Good Husbands—Chinese at Batang Parak—At Madihit—Pepper Planters—Origin of the Borneans—Chinese Features observed also among the Aborigines—Careful Agriculture—A remnant of Chinese Teaching—Traditions of a Chinese Kingdom—Effect of Treaty with Brunei—Unsuccessful attempt to revive Pepper Planting—Chinese scattering on the North-west coast—A Spark of Enlightenment—Attempt to prevent Intercourse between the Chinese and Aborigines—Decay of Junk Trade—Cochin Chinese—Conduct of the Chinese—Papar—Anecdote—Fatal result of Insulting a Woman—Skirmish—Misrepresented in Labuan—Question of British Protection to the Chinese—Their [xvi]Insolence—Anecdote—Unpleasant Position—A Check—Difficulty of obtaining Information—Cause of former Disputes—Insurrection of the Chinese of Brunei—Sarawak—Early efforts of the Chinese to establish themselves there—Lawless Malays—A Murder—Retaliation—Defeat of the Chinese—Arrival of Sir James Brooke—Mixed Breed in Sambas—Form Self-governing Communities—Defeat of the Dutch Forces—Subjugation of the Chinese—The Pamangkat Agriculturists—Flight into Sarawak—Change in the appearance of the Country—Mission School—Visit the Interior—Kunsis, or Gold Companies—Appearance of the Country—Method of Gold-working—The Reservoir—The Ditch—The Sluice—Wasteful method of working—Abundance of Gold—Impetus—Failure of first Agricultural Schemes—A great Flood—Troublesome Gold-workers—Successful Scheme—Disturbance in Sambas—Flight of Chinese—Illiberal Regulation—Tour through the Chinese Settlements—Agriculture—Siniawan—Chinese Workings—Hot Spring—Gold at Piat in Quartz—Antimony Works—Extensive Reservoirs—Arrival of Chinese from Sambas—Denial by the Kunsi—Hard Work at the Gold Diggings—Scenery—Path to Sambas—Chinese Station—Numbers of the Chinese before the Insurrection	308
Chapter XIII.
THE CHINESE INSURRECTION.
Secret Societies—Extensive Intercourse—Smuggling—The Gold Company Fined—Punishment of Three of its Members—Arrogance of the Kunsi—A Police Case—Real Causes of the insurrection—An Emissary from the Tien Ti Secret Society—Reported Encouragement given by the Sultan of Sambas—Sambas Nobles speak Chinese—Their Nurses—The Nobles Conspiring—An Emissary arrives in Brunei—Proposal—Knowledge of the Intended Insurrection—Proposed Attack on the Consulate—The Tumanggong’s Threat—The Emissary before the Court—Letter from the Tien Ti Hué—Rumours of Intended Insurrection—Preparations and Inquiries—Commencement of the Revolt—Useless [xvii]Warnings—Surprise of the Government House— Danger of the Rajah—Cowardice of the Chinese—Escape—Swims the River—Death of Mr. Nicholets—Attacks on the other Houses—On the Stockade—Gallant Conduct of Mr. Crymble and the Malay Fortmen—Warm Reception of the Rebels—Death of a Madman—A Bravo Corporal—Escape of Mr. Crymble—His last Blow—Fortmen again behave well—Confusion in the Town—Peaceful Assurances—Attempt to organize a Defence—Panic-striken—Departure—Conduct of the People—Next Morning—Killed and Wounded—The Chinese in Power—The Court-house—A Check to Joy—Oath of Fidelity—Courage Shown by Abang Patah—A Blow struck—Second Descent of the Chinese—A Boat Action—Gallant Attack—Deaths—Anecdote—The Second Retreat—The Town in Flames—The Steamer—The Capital recovered—Pursuit of the Chinese—They retire to the Interior—Attacks of the Land Dayaks—Foray of the Chinese—Their Fort taken by the Datu Bandhar—Pursuit—Disorderly Retreat—Critical Position—Brave Girls—Pass the Frontier—The Men of the Kunsi—A Quarrel—Stripped of Plunder—Results of the Insurrection—Forces at the Disposal of the Sarawak Government—Conduct of the People—Disastrous to the Chinese—New System—Arrival of Armed Chinese from Sambas—Dutch and English Assistance—Revisit Sarawak—Change—Conduct of the Rajah—Its Effect on the People—Secret Society at Labuan—Dangers from the Secret Societies and their Defenders—Curious Incident—Thoughtful Care of the Rajah	336
Chapter XIV.
THE MISSIONS: ROMAN CATHOLIC AND PROTESTANT.
Arrival of the Roman Catholic Mission in Labuan—Signor Cuarteron its Head—Curious Reports—His real History—Finding the Treasure—Turns Priest—Ostensible Object of the Mission—Not attempted—Ease with which Captives could escape—No Inclination to do so—Turned Mahomedans—Return of Signor Cuarteron—Courtesy of the Brunei Government—Intentions of the Italian Priest—Model [xviii]Village—The Italian Priests—The Churches—Old Battery—Regret at the Withdrawal of the Roman Catholic Mission—Protestant Mission at Sarawak—Present Condition—Comparative Failure—Partial Success at Lingga and Lundu—Mr. Chalmers and the Land Dayaks—Causes of his Influence—Mistake in establishing the Mission at Kuching—The Reasons—Objectionable Position for Schools—Proper Position for the Mission—Suitable Spots—Waste of Funds in Boats and Plantations—Deplorable Secession of Missionaries—Reasons to account for it—Present Management faulty—Mr. Gomez in Lundu—Christian Dayaks warn the Government—Missionaries always welcome in Sarawak—Important political effect—The Church should be among the Dayaks—Suitable Men for Missionaries—What the Head of a Mission should be—What he too often is, and should not be—Five Recommendations to increase Efficiency—Unoccupied Room for a great Increase of the Number of Missionaries—Method of distributing them—Personal Character—Dayaks an interesting Race—A Tribe half Mahomedans half Pagans—Use of eating Pork—Districts unoccupied—Position of the Missionary in Sarawak—The Bornean Mission an important one	365

I.	Shooting the Cataract.—Limbang River		Frontispiece
II.	The Trunan issuing from the Batu Barit Mountain	To face page	3
III.	Hauling past the Rapids	„	70
IV.	Murut Bridge.—Tabari’s Village	„	123
V.	Government House, Sarawak	„	280
VI.	Lundu Church	„	370
MAP.
I.	Map of the Limbang and Baram Rivers	To face page	1

Preliminary Expeditions—The Limbang River—Stories connected with it—The Madalam—River flowing under a Pile of Rocks—Caverns—Batu Rikan—The River issuing from under the Mountain of Molu—Ascend the Precipices—No Water—Long Roots—No Soil—Second Expedition—A Flood—Dangerous Position—Wakeful Night—Beautiful Flowers—Palms and Rhododendrons—Old Kayan Encampment—Detached Rocks—Ascent of Molu—Two new Species of Nepenthes—Difficult Climbing—New Rhododendrons—Stopped by a Precipice—Sharp-edged Rocks—Descent—Limestone Rock—Cave—Heavy Rain—Swollen River—Quick Return—Prepare for a distant Expedition—Alarm of the Brunean Government—Warnings—Preparations—Boats—My Headman Musa—A Travelled Dayak—Stories of Molu—Weapons—Merchandise.

In December, 1856, I made a short excursion up the Limbang River, and the wonders there told of its far interior strongly excited my curiosity. The natives were full of stories of the river forcing its way for miles under huge masses of rock, which formed a natural tunnel, called by the Malays “Batu berkejang,”[2] or stone-roofed; of a cataract formed by the whole river falling over a ledge of rocks for a depth of nine fathoms; of the smooth water beyond this which stretched for a seven days’ journey, flowing gently through a vast table-land; of the tame goats without masters which thronged this region—but I could find no one who had seen any of these wonders—in fact, few Malays had passed Suñgei Damit, a river about three days’ journey from the capital.

In the following September I went with a small party up the right-hand branch of the river, the Madalam, to endeavour to reach the lofty mountain of Molu, and found that one of the stories told by the natives had some foundation. We followed the Madalam till we reached the Trunan on the eighth day, up which we pushed, thinking it led to the base of the highest peak of Molu. We soon came upon limestone rock, and after a few miles were suddenly stopped by the river, I may say, disappearing. We found a rocky eminence before us, its sharp angles concealed by ferns and climbing plants falling in festoons around, and a luxuriant vegetation of trees, whose bark was coated with mosses, orchids, and other epiphytal plants. There was an arched cavern into which we pushed our boats; at first we failed to find the inlet through which the stream entered, but at last, looking down into the clear water, we saw two huge holes below—the passages from whence the river came. We went round to the southern side of the rock, and there we found the river coming purling along to this lofty wood-crowned mass of limestone, and then entering a spacious hall it was lost, descending, as it were, [3]to the passages before mentioned. There were various chambers with water floors, to the surface of which fine fish occasionally arose. This place is called Batu Rikan.

We stayed here a night, during which it rained heavily, making the stream that yesterday but washed our ancles, swell so that it was impossible to cross it. We therefore kept along the right bank, till we reached the spot where the whole river issued from the face of the precipice; it was a fine sight, this body of water running impetuously from this natural tunnel. On either side lofty trees arose, and above the precipice the green verdure spread in masses.

Our Bisayan guide, the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang, of the village of Blimbing, told us that during fine weather, we could penetrate a long distance under the mountain, though few had ever ventured to do so, on account of the very sudden way in which the water rises. Finding we could not cross the stream near the mountain, we skirted the precipice, which the Bisayas told us it was impossible to climb; but I determined on making the attempt, not crediting the truth of one of their objections that we should find no water on the mountain after the heavy rain which fell the previous night.

I led the way up the rock by a most difficult ascent, and after climbing these perpendicular precipices by means of the roots of trees, at length reached easier ground, but found the whole mountain a mass of honeycombed limestone rock, with trees scattered over the uneven surface, whose roots penetrated to an immense distance below. I endeavoured, by descending[4] into the deep fissures, to find some water, and in doing so, traced a root above two hundred feet; it then entered a narrow crevice, too small to admit me; the root was still larger than my arm.

As there is no real soil on the mountain, this fine vegetation must derive its support from the air, the moisture in the thick moss, and the rotting leaves which sometimes lay in tangled damp masses, almost decayed into a black mould. We climbed about a thousand feet, but found no streams or pools, and were therefore compelled to descend. On our return to the Capital, we had the misfortune to lose my boat on a snag, and had a three days’ walk in the jungle through difficult sandstone mountains, and then we constructed a raft and floated down the river, till we met the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang, whom I had sent for relieving boats.

In February, 1858, Mr. Low and I again attempted the ascent of Molu, taking the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang as our guide, though neither he nor any one else knew more of the mountain than they had gathered during my former journey.

On the sixth day we reached the entrance of the Madalam without difficulty, and brought up for the night on a bank of gravel and pebbles, where there were traces of coal among the hard gray sandstone nodules, and broken quartz. All the country we had hitherto seen belongs to the Labuan coal measures, and the dip is steep, about 45°, and is to the east of north.

In the evening, heavy rain came on, when the river began to rise rapidly, and rush by us with a strong current. The men had pitched their tents on the[5] pebbly bank, while we stayed in the boats; we had had a heavy day’s work, and our followers were so fatigued that they fell asleep immediately. The rain continued pouring down. About two hours after sunset I heard a shout, and found the water was overflowing the tents, and rushing down the opposite side of the river like a mill sluice, carrying along with it huge trunks of trees. With extreme difficulty we awoke the men, and it was a work of greater difficulty to keep them from getting into the boats before they were properly secured. I jumped out, and soon discovered the reason; the water coming from the lofty heights of Molu was icy cold; my teeth chattered so that I could scarcely give an order, and the river rose so fast, that very soon it was impossible to remain on the bank.

We none of us slept that night, our boats swayed to and fro in the angry waters which now rushed impetuously over the point, and knowing that we had but a small rope holding us, we feared every moment to see it part and find our boats dashed over a neighbouring fall. In the morning we observed by rough measurement that the water had risen twenty-four feet. As the river continued too rapid to be contended against, we employed next day in manufacturing strong rattan ropes. It took us five days more to reach our camping-ground at the foot of the mountain, a journey which in ordinary times might have been done in two.

We passed during our advance up the Madalam many curious and beautiful plants; among others, a very elegant little palm, with finely-divided pinnated[6] leaves, and a stem about a foot high; it grew in tufts on the banks, within the influence of the rise of the waters. Mr. Low found also a beautiful climber with white flowers, in bunches, on the axils of the leaves, with a very fragrant scent; and also a curious rhododendron, with terminal single pale yellow flowers an inch and a half across on pendent branching stems, epiphytal in moss on many of the trees overhanging the water; but what I admired most was a rhododendron with large bunches of straw-coloured blossoms. It grew on the trees, and the flower, as it gracefully bent over us, looked both showy and beautiful. Here, too, Mr. Low discovered three new species of the areca palm, and was enabled to secure the seeds of two: one of them had a curious mottled foliage, another had a dark green stem, with white sheaths to the leaves, which were most delicately fashioned, the leaflets being linear, and not more than an eighth of an inch broad. I may further notice that at the mouth of the Limbang River grows in the marshes a beautiful fan-palm, which at a distance might, from its size, be mistaken for a fine cocoa-nut tree.

We reached the Batu Rikan in safety, and passed round it, through a small rivulet, improved into a sort of canal by the Kayans, above which we brought up at an old Kayan encampment on the left. We had here a good view of the range, which is a mass of limestone, and the ascent to the summit is at an angle of 70°; impossible to ascend over any other kind of rock than limestone, the water-worn surfaces of which usually present so many prominent points as to render these precipices practicable. The mountain appears[7] to be covered with vegetation to the precipitous summit, and even on the almost bare rocks shrubs could be seen clinging to the crevices.

Round the base of the mountain are detached masses of limestone, much water-worn, with caverns and natural tunnels, with the ground around covered by the tracks of pigs and deer. At the base of the mountain the soil is a yellow loam, with many water-worn sandstone pebbles on its surface.

I do not intend dwelling on this expedition, as I only kept an account of the geographical features of the country, though Mr. Low has kindly placed his interesting journal at my disposal to refresh my memory. I will, however, briefly indicate the character of the mountain.

We left our encampment and struck through the jungle to a spot that a previous examination made me consider the easiest way to pass the precipices. The rocks looked like broken masses which had fallen from above, presenting sharp points and edges dangerous to our unshod men. It was climbing, not walking, our hands being as much used as our feet. We ascended about 800 feet, when we found ourselves on a sharp edge with a valley beyond, and then descended about forty feet by means of roots, and after a painful advance made preparations to pass the night there, as our men were lagging. We could, however, nowhere find a smooth place broad enough to set up our tents; so threw poles across the rocks and heaped boughs and leaves on them, and on sticks above spread our piled cotton tents.

We advanced next day over rather easier ground,[8] and found more vegetable mould between the rocks; the trees were large, and among them I had seen on the previous day troops of reddish monkeys, equal in size to the small kind of orang-utan. We could find no water except such as could be obtained from squeezing the moss, or from the pitchers of two new kinds of nepenthes. It was on the third day that Mr. Low came upon them, after passing a deep gorge, and up a steep and fatiguing ascent over craggy cliffs, everything being covered with long wet moss. There were two kinds; the specimens, unfortunately, were lost by the men:—the first was shaped something like a claret jug, with a quadrilateral stem, and was of a pale green, except on the inside of the pitcher, which was purplish—the pitchers themselves were about ten inches long, and did not show the lower part in perfection except when full-grown. The next kind was growing half buried beneath the moss, and creeping closely along the stems of trees; its pitchers had a very peculiar mouth, with an edge like a frill. Its stem was rough with brown hairs, the leaves broad and short, and it was distinguished from all others we had yet seen, by the leaves, which are close above one another, giving off always to the right and left, and not on all sides of the stem as in the other species; they lie also very close; its stem was at most three feet long; the pitcher was about nine inches in length, not including the lid.

Mr. Low, the Orang Kaya, and myself, led our party, but the ascent was getting worse every yard. We worked our way over the most dangerous places, where a false step would have broken our necks or[9] limbs, or have cut us to pieces on the sharp rocks; as we advanced, precipices and broad deep fissures became more frequent, one of the latter we crossed on a small tree four inches in diameter, which the Orang Kaya felled for the purpose. It bent beneath us, and was so uncertain a footing, that I was thankful to have passed it, as the deep chasm below was filled with jagged rocks. The Malay description of it is true—“sharp axes below, and pointed needles above, such is the mountain of Molu.”

It is curious that although we were only 3,500 feet above the level of the sea, this region resembled what is found on Kina Balu at from 5,000 to 8,000 feet, where shrubs with beautiful flowers abound.

Mr. Low discovered two very interesting little rhododendrons here. They were epiphytal, of a character different from any he had seen elsewhere; they had short brown lanceolate leaves, almost an inch long, in whorls of four or five, on branching brownish stems. Their flowers were terminal and solitary, and about an inch and a half long; one was whitish, the other a pinkish purple, and both were remarkably pretty.

I was leading the way, when I saw a precipice before me which appeared to be impassable; it ran across the spur we were ascending, and extended to the ravines on either side. At last we noticed a narrow fissure, and by supporting myself on the sharp points of rocks, and steadying myself by a small root, I reached to within six feet of the top. To get up the rest of the way was not very difficult, but to get down again appeared unpleasant, and beyond rose a[10] succession of precipices. As the side of the mountain was at an angle of 70°, it was easy to see a long way ahead of us. As I stood balancing myself, it struck me as an impossibility to take loaded men up such places, so I hailed Mr. Low, who was already commencing the ascent of the precipice, to stop till I came down to consult. Two of my most active men, Musa and another, volunteered to go ahead and explore, and we waited for them at the foot of the precipice, and took observations.

It is almost impossible to conceive the difficulty of ascending this mountain. While we were waiting here, a comparatively smooth spot, we could find no place broad enough for the stand of the barometer, but were obliged to construct a framework of sticks. No ledge was more than six inches broad, and Mr. Low made me nervous by walking out on some not an inch wide whilst in search of flowers or shells. In fact, at one place my shoe was cut through, and three of our men had already been sent back with severe wounds, whilst several of those left were much injured.

Musa at last joined us with the intelligence that about one hundred yards beyond there was a precipice, which he and his companion had found it impossible to pass; so, very unwillingly, we turned our faces homeward.

Descending was more dangerous than ascending, and Mr. Low got two severe falls, as his eyes were not always on the next spot to place his foot, but wandering about in search of plants. I escaped better, as my thoughts were engrossed by the difficulties[11] and dangers of the path. It is curious that when these sharp rocks were struck they gave out a clear ringing, almost metallic, sound; there is no appearance of stratification: the rocks are of a fine-grained limestone, and some, when broken, presented a pinkish, others a whitish or grayish blue colour.

We noticed during our ascent a cave in the limestone rock about forty feet high, and the roots of the trees growing on the rock above came down perpendicularly and passed into the fissures in the stones that formed the floor. Their upper parts were encrusted with carbonate of lime in the form of stalactites. Water was continually dripping from the roof of the cave, and in one place had collected in a little basin, the only time we saw any pure water on the mountain.

The following day we reached our tents and enjoyed a good dinner, after four days on biscuits and plain boiled rice. In the evening there came on a thunderstorm, and the rain fell in a manner I have never before known even in Borneo; it appeared to be coming down in tubsfull instead of drops.

We attempted next day to go and examine the Batu Rikan, but the rush of waters prevented our approaching it; in fact, the roar of the river, as it dashed into the caves and whirled its spray into the air, made us take precautions not to be swept into the boiling cauldron.

Our return was easy, as the river had risen enough to cover all the rapids, so that their presence was only marked by the increased velocity of the water; but when we joined the Limbang it became more sluggish,[12] and after Sungei Damit its speed had lessened from five knots to one knot per hour.

These preliminary expeditions accomplished, having heard that I could procure Murut guides, I determined to explore the main stream of the Limbang, which evidently penetrated a long distance into the interior. The ostensible object of the expedition was to reach those Muruts who formerly lived upon the Adang, one of the tributaries of the Limbang, but had now been driven away beyond the mountains by repeated attacks of the Kayans. This was very vague information, but it was the best I could procure.

The Bornean Government, on hearing of my intention to start, was filled with uneasiness, and earnestly requested me to forego my intention. The Sultan and Pañgeran Tumanggong were especially anxious, as they feared some accident would happen; they talked of the head-hunting Kayans, the wandering Pakatans with their poisoned arrows, the interior filled with strange aborigines who had never seen a white man or even a Malay, and the dangers of the river that imperilled our boats, and the wanderings in the jungle that threatened starvation. The last two were especially dwelt upon, as they reminded me of my former misadventure in returning from Molu. They little thought that their descriptions of the interior (from hearsay) only added to my desire to be away exploring. I knew that all the threatened dangers really existed, but I determined to take every precaution, and trust the rest to that fortune which had ever befriended me in my former journeys.

It being uncertain how long I might be away, it[13] was necessary to take a large supply of food and ammunition. We prepared two boats, and both were heavily laden; the first was a garei, a long canoe with raised sides and regular timbers, forty-five feet by five, flat-bottomed, not drawing above eighteen inches, with all her crew and stores on board. She was commanded by a man I have often had occasion to mention, Musa, a native of the Philippines, not above five feet one inch in height, but sturdily and strongly built. The crew consisted of ten men, half of whom were tried followers. An accompanying tender, containing six men, was only suited for smooth water, being totally unfitted for the rapids we should find in the interior, but it was our intention to change it when we reached the Murut villages.

In this boat was Japer, the most remarkable man of the whole party. I met him at the village of Blimbing during my first attempt to ascend Molu, and he was full of stories. I learned that he belonged originally to the wandering Pakatans, but had been converted to Islamism. He appeared to have been quite a traveller, having visited Penang, Malaka, Batavia, and Sarawak. He was familiar with the English conquest of Java, and talked fluently of Lord Minto. I had been so accustomed to look upon the great French war as a thing of the past, that I could scarcely bring myself to believe that this man could have seen Lord Minto at Malaka or Penang in 1811, but considering he was at least sixty-three when I first saw him in 1857, there was really nothing surprising in it.

He also abounded with accounts of Molu; having been at its base several times, though he had never attempted to ascend it. But he told us stories of the dwarfs who inhabited the caves, of big eggs which ten men could not lift; but what particularly fixed the attention of his native audience was the account of a sight witnessed by a Tutong man. He said that one day he was seeking edible nests in holes round the base of the mountain, when, being tired, he fell asleep in a cleft in the side of a large cavern. He was awoke by lights flashing in his eyes, and peering from his hiding-place, saw a long procession of supernatural beings pass slowly by him, each carrying a torch, and there was one to whom they all paid respect. He was too frightened to remember the particulars, but he thinks they were dressed in flowing robes.

Some of my men were in hopes these fearful stories would have deterred me from my design to explore the mountain; but on my offering a reward to any one who would take me to the cave where these wonderful sights were seen, they saw ghosts did not daunt white men.

I took with me, also, my Chinese boy, Ahtan, to cook and wait upon me; he had behaved so well during our Kina Balu expeditions that I liked him to follow me.

As we might meet enemies we prepared a good stock of arms and ammunition. I took two double-barrels, one rifle, and one smooth bore—for general service in Borneo the latter is the best weapon of all—a single-barrelled rifle, an Adams’s revolving carbine,[15] and a revolving pistol; for the men four long carbines, and a dozen flint muskets; the last we found much too heavy for carrying through the forests, and too cumbersome for boats.

Not knowing what kind of people we might meet, I embarked merchandise of many kinds—hatchets, cloths (yellow, black, red, and white), looking-glasses, agate and common beads; in fact, four times as much as was necessary. My instruments, tents, and baggage, were both weighty and occupied much room, so that when the crew entered the boat, with five-and-twenty days’ provisions on board, its gunwales were not many inches above the water.

Start—Discovery of Bones and ancient Ornaments—At the Site of the Old City—At the Stone Fort—At Sarawak—The Trusan, or connecting Passage—Apathy of the Government and People—Sago—Method of preparing it for the Market—The Limbang River—The Inhabitants—Winding Stream—The Orang Kaya Upit of Kruei—Sampirs—Gadong Hill—Scenery—Molu—The Raman Palm—Delays—Cholera—Orang Kaya Napur—Panglima Prang—The Weather—State of the River—Origin of the Ponds—Native Geographical Information—The Upper Country—Cataract—Enchanted Mountain—Native Travelling—Dreams and Omen Birds—Religion of Pakatans—Cause of Head-hunting—The Wild Boar—Trouble in procuring Guides—Pengkalan Tarap—Desolation of the Country—Causes of it—Selling Children—Kayan Barbarity—Chinese at Batang Parak—Site of Burnt Villages—Posts of Houses—Two kinds of Sago Palm—Their Growth—Kayan Encampment—Cultivation—The River—Rocks—Salt Springs—Native Explanation—Anecdote—Time to halt—Birds—Rare, except in certain Districts—Monkeys—Alligators—The Man-eater—A Challenge accepted—Disappearance of the Siol Alligator—Combat with two in a Cave—Method of Capturing them in Siam—Laying Eggs in the Jungle—Ducks and Drakes—Malay Cookery—Very tasty—Bachang—How to make a Curry—Anecdotes of Bornean Rule—Attack on the Limpasong Village—Insurrection of the Aborigines—Forced Trade—Qualities necessary in a Malay Ruler—The great Mountain of Tilong—Discomfort of possessing a large Diamond—Diamonds found in Borneo.

August 25th, 1858.—We started, and as we pulled through the town in the early morn crowds came to their doors to have a look at what they no doubt considered as a doomed party.

Our route, after leaving the houses, was up the Brunei river, till we reached a Trusan, or passage,[1] connecting it with the Limbang. We soon left the pretty scenery near the capital, and exchanged for it low banks, with mangrove swamp, occasionally varied by undulating dry land. After a two hours’ pull, we passed the graves of some rajahs on the left-hand bank; near them, it is reported, a great many bones are found scattered about; the natives say it was the site of a battle-field; gold ornaments are also occasionally discovered, but slightly covered with soil; it is very probable that a village once stood here.

These discoveries of ancient ornaments are events of not unfrequent occurrence. Some seven years ago a man was prawn-fishing with a casting-net, about two miles below the consulate, when he found some gold buttons entangled among the prawns; he instantly marked the place, and dived, and found several articles; the news spread like wildfire, and hundreds flocked to the spot; the mud was dug over in the neighbourhood to the depth of several feet, and the river raked with great care; it is reported that a large amount was found. I afterwards examined the spot; it proved to be the site of the ancient city of Burnei, of which Pigafetta speaks; it is now called Kota Batu, or the stone fort, on account of the foundations of some buildings that have been uncovered there. I must confess to great disappointment when I visited them; these ancient remains consisted of nothing but[18] loose stones thrown into a long ditch about eighteen feet wide.

Great quantities of gold ornaments have likewise been discovered at the Santubong entrance of the Sarawak river; this was likewise the site of an old town. I tried on my last visit to find some to examine the workmanship, but most had been melted up, and the specimens purchased by Sir James Brooke were lost during the Chinese insurrection of 1857.

Half an hour afterwards we reached the Trusan, and entered it on our way to the Limbang; it took us two hours and a half to get through; the banks are low, at first mangrove, then slight openings showing small padi fields, then sago with lofty fruit-trees in the background. Nothing better exemplifies the character of this people and government than the Trusan we were passing through; in a straight line the distance cannot be three miles, yet nothing is done even to clear it of the obstruction of fallen trees, overhanging branches, and sharp turnings; occasionally it is not above six feet wide; hundreds pass through it every day; and though they have often to wait hours till the tide has risen sufficiently to float them over the obstructions, they will not combine to clear it: fifty men in a week could render it passable for large boats at half-tide, but there is no government for useful purposes, and no combination among the people.

We were very glad to get clear of this Trusan, and enter into an open space, a sort of long narrow lake connected with the main river by diminutive passages, enclosing the island of Pandam, a dense mass of sagotrees.[19] Here there is some sign of life, many houses are scattered on the banks whose inhabitants are busy preparing the pith of the palm for transmission to the capital. We saw them to-day going through every stage, some were felling the tree, others clearing it of all its leaves and branches and dragging it to the water’s edge; rafts of prepared palms were floating down alone, but with certain marks to distinguish the owners. We landed at one spot and inquired the reason of this unusual bustle; the price had risen, and every one was anxious to take advantage of the market.

We had around us about a dozen men working; the trees, some of them fifty feet in length by two and a half in diameter, were first cut in sections of about a fathom, then split in two; the pith was scooped out, or rather chopped out with a scoop, as it was very hard and required great exertion to get it out; the women and children carried it to the river’s banks to a prepared framework, and threw the rough sago on a platform of split bamboos: here a man stood who, after wetting the stuff with pails’ full of water, trod out the flour into a receptacle below. It seemed a very wasteful process. The coarse sago is put into leaf cases and sold to the Chinese, who turn it into the flour and pearl of commerce.

Leaving the island of Pandam we joined the main stream, which was here about a hundred yards wide; the banks as we advanced presented the same features, low, with occasional hills to be seen, cultivation very rough and careless; the sago and rice the most valuable; the gardens were but poorly looked[20] after, the chief attention being given to the banana. Occasionally there are very extensive groves of fruit-trees, but even these are choked with brushwood. Tame buffaloes are very numerous on the lower part of this river; we also saw a few cows, but until lately little attention was given to breeding them; now, however, that a steady demand has arisen in Labuan, many of the natives have been induced to collect herds.

After passing the Trusan no more Malay houses are to be seen; the inhabitants being the aborigines, the Bisayas, Muruts, and a few Kadayans; their villages occupy nearly every reach. A glance at the map will show what a winding course this river takes; the soil being alluvial offers no obstruction to its changing its direction, and there are many signs of its having altered its bed.

We pulled on to the village of Kruei (Argus pheasant), the residence of Orang Kaya Upit, a son of one of the Adang people, who had promised to accompany us. I had with me a chop or firman from the Sultan, in order to render my procuring guides a work of less difficulty, but, though not refusing, the Orang Kaya was unwilling to start immediately. It would have been very unreasonable of me to have expected a man to be ready at a day’s notice, but this Orang Kaya had settled for some months to accompany me. I agreed to stay a day, as I wished to procure a couple of light boats; in the evening a messenger arrived from the Sultan with orders for every assistance to be given me.[2]

26th.—As this was a day of enforced delay I determined to divide my men; some, under Musa, I sent away to purchase or borrow boats, called here sampirs; they are long and narrow, being simply a canoe, with a plank on either side tied on with rattans and then roughly caulked; they have a front and stem piece fastened in the same way; they are not strong, but are light and very suited to up-country work, varying in length from thirty to sixty feet, and in breadth from one and a half to three feet: as might be expected, they are any thing but stiff.

While Musa was away on this duty, I pulled back to the Gadong hills to take bearings. I was disappointed in not being able to distinguish Molu, but I had some good views of other mountain ranges. The appearance of the country from this elevation (682 feet) was very pretty; to the east of us were alternate diminutive plains and low hills, with rice fields whose bright green contrasted well with the sombre brushwood; farmhouses were scattered here and there; to the west it was but a confused mass of hills and valleys. The course of the river is clearly visible, with its extraordinary windings and its patches of cultivation scattered along its banks; even here in the neighbourhood of the capital two-thirds of the land is still jungle or brushwood.

Towards evening Musa returned, and I was glad to find that he had arranged to buy a sampir and borrow two more, and to leave our canoe behind.

27th.—This morning the peak of Molu was visible, and I immediately went ashore to get a good bearing, as the boat rocked too much to allow me to do it[22] aboard. I find it 9° E. of S. The Adang Muruts give the name of Batu Barit to the mountain, or to one peak of it; Barit is the same as the Malay “berlukis,” ornamented; they say they call it by that name on account of some tracings observed on the rocks, probably fanciful, or from the stone being discoloured in various parts of the precipices. They talk also of a very large palm, the Riman, that grows in great plenty at the foot of the mountain; this yields in abundance a very superior kind of sago, but; baniak, “much,” has a very different signification in their mouths, it may mean a few trees scattered about, or a forest of palms.

Yesterday the Orang Kaya Upit went in search of the Merasam people, who had agreed to accompany the expedition; they are full of delays, but talk of following to-morrow: I shall push on to look for other guides in case these fail us; every day’s delay lessens our stock of food; I have tried to procure some rice in these villages, but nothing is to be had. In fact, they will seldom sell me any food, as the Borneans would make that an excuse to squeeze more out of them after my departure. The Orang Kaya has begged for one of my sampirs, and as it is on my business he is going, the request is but reasonable, so I have given him one, and also some cloth to procure provisions.

We pushed on at 9 A.M., and as we advanced we found all the villages deserted on account of the cholera; the visitation was nearly over, but the Muruts were too alarmed to return to their houses; as no one was to be found at Bidang, the residence of[23] the Orang Kaya Napur, an Adang man, we continued our course to Danau, where it was said we should find him; but on arriving, we heard that he was some distance inland; I therefore sent old Japer to look for him.

5 P.M.—Here is the Orang Kaya Napur, but there is evidently no getting him to accompany us; he has many reasons for not going, some of them good ones; among others, he is planting his rice farm. I explained I only wanted a guide, not a train of followers. Towards evening my old friend Orang Kaya Panglima Prang, of the village of Blimbing, came to see me; he followed me to Molu in both of my former expeditions, and is half inclined to come now, but as he does not know the country beyond six days’ pull, he would not be very useful. He has deserted Blimbing, having too few followers to hold his own even against a small Kayan expedition, and so now he lives here until the Pañgeran Tumanggong can afford him some support, not very likely to be given at present. The cholera has attacked all the villages, but does not seem to have carried off many; the fright was great, and still continues, so that most of the people are yet living in the woods. All those who do not expect to be connected with my expedition, say that this is the proper season, and that the rain is exceptional, while the others whom I want to accompany me, assure me that by waiting two months I shall have fine weather. It certainly looks rainy, but we must do our best even if freshes do come down, and we may yet reach Adang by perseverance. This place is called Danau, on account of a diminutive[24] lake, or large pond, that lies at the back of the village; the entrance, now dry, is at the end of the reach ahead.

28th.—Last night a heavy squall, which appeared to spring from the south-east, but soon veered round to the south-west, made me fear a fresh in the morning, but (7 a.m.) as yet it has not come down upon us. There is much matter held in suspension by the water, as every glass of it we take from the river proves; this, however, appears its normal state, as I have seen it the same at different seasons, as in October, November, December, May, and now, August; not exactly the same, as the water after heavy freshlets is muddy. The banks appear to be generally formed of alluvial deposits; occasionally only have I observed hard banks of clay, and nowhere are there rocks, except where a hill abuts on the river. At the entrance of the Limbang there are many alluvial deposits, and two low islands called Pulau Bharu, or the new islands, are said by the natives to have been formed within the memory of their old men; they are but little raised above high-water mark, and are excellent rice grounds.

A glance at the map will show the serpentine course of the Limbang, and how the river is eating into its banks; in several places they are nearly worn through. I imagine (and examination almost confirms it) that the origin of the numerous ponds to be found a short distance from the banks arises from the alteration of the river’s bed. There is in the Sarawak river a short cut between two reaches, which appears within a few years likely to become the main stream—nature[25] assisted by man: sandbanks are already forming, which yearly tend to increase the force of the current through the short passage, and will doubtless ultimately close up the old channel, leaving a lake of a couple of miles in length on the right bank.

I may here notice, in order to test the value of native geographical information, the various accounts I have received of the journey before us. Casting aside the stories of its being one, two, or three months’ distance, I will simply enter what I have reduced to something like reason. They say from Blimbing to Madalam is two days’ pull; to Salindong, two; to Madihit, two; to Busoi or Saledan, three; to Adang, seven, or sixteen days from the last inhabited village (since abandoned) to the Adang landing-place: from that to the houses, from one to six days.

I do not understand the great discrepancy in the land journey, except that the Adangs have removed farther inland. It is certainly a voyage of discovery, but my only anxiety is with respect to the provisions. From the amount of water that was in the river above Madalam, I cannot think it so far. Busoi appears to mean a cataract, and there, they say, the river falls over rocks, and the boats have to be dragged along the shore for a distance which varies with the stories from fifty yards to a mile. Enormous overhanging rocks occur at the cataract, almost shutting in the river, but above it the water is smooth, and the pulling easy for seven days; this is not very likely. The river is said to abound in fine fish. The story of the wild goats is beginning to fade away, and is replaced[26] by tame ones in the possession of the Muruts. One of the greatest curiosities, the natives say, is the formation of two mountains, which rise from the plain in lofty peaks of the shape of needles; they have never been to them, but have seen them from a distance; they are the pillars of the gate of some enchanted palace, and I heard it whispered to one of my men that all were not privileged to see even these pillars; it requires some incantation; so that there is a chance of the needle mountains vanishing into thin air.

I may remark that when the natives speak of the journey sometimes occupying two or three months, they mean for a Murut party. The reason is that they start with, perhaps, two days’ provisions, and trust to hunting for their food. If they find a spot where game is plentiful, they stay there till it is exhausted; if the jungle produce no sport, they live on the cabbages taken from the palms, on the edible fern, on snakes, or anything, in fact, that they can find. If they come across bees’ nests, they stop to secure the wax and honey. Time is of no value to them, as they generally start after the harvest, and many parties are said to have taken six months.

It is curious to hear the Islam-converted old Pakatan Japer talk. He says dreams were sent by God to be a teaching and a warning to us; when he is going up a river on an expedition, if he dream of his wife or of his children, or of ascending a river, it is good; if of descending a river, or of fire, or of anything disagreeable, he is sure to meet an enemy or some misfortune. If his añgei, or omen bird, cry to[27] the right, it is good luck; his cried to the right when he left Kanowit eight years ago, and he has not had a misfortune since. I asked him how it came to pass then that his house was plundered and burnt down by the Kayans last year; he was silenced for a moment, and having waited till the men had had their laugh, he said his people considered it a punishment for living among the bad Tabuns;[3] however, the Pakatans have avenged him by burning down a Kayan village.

It is two p.m., and no sign of Orang Kaya Upit yet; this delay is very provoking, as we can get no provisions here. Last night, at six, I sent a party with Orang Kaya Napur down the river to find Kadayan, an Adang man, and try and induce him to follow us; he promises to come in the morning. We had a long talk last night about various matters. Old Japer was telling us of the belief of the wild tribes. Having been converted, however, he laughs at the follies of his countrymen, and therefore spoils his narration. His conversion, however, is but skin deep. He says they believe in antus, or spirits, one of whom is far greater than the rest; he it was who “made the woods, the mountains, and the streams, and is above all and over all.” The Pakatans call him Guha, the Kayans, Totaduñgan.

He denies that head-hunting is a religious ceremony among them; it is merely to show their bravery and manliness, that it may be said so and so has obtained heads; when they quarrel, it[28] is a constant phrase, “How many heads did your father or grandfather get?” If less than his own number, “Well, then, you have no occasion to be proud!” That the possession of heads gives them great consideration as warriors and men of wealth; the skulls being prized as the most valuable of goods. “Alas! when I was a Kapir (infidel) I took more than forty heads,” hypocritical sorrow, but real pride, in his tone. He adds that hunting is the greatest pleasure of the wild tribes, and that the wild boar is exceedingly fierce, and makes a good fight; it requires much skill to conquer him. “It is a delight for me to look back on my hunting days.” The China trader that lives at the Pangkalan Tarap came and promised his assistance in getting sago, which we must use as a substitute for rice.

29th.—A little rain last night, and a dirty-looking morning. No Orang Kaya Upit. We are now opposite the Chinaman’s house. I shall push on to-morrow morning, guide or no guide, and trust to their following us.

2 p.m.—Kadayan and a companion have come, and promise to be guides, but as they have to return to their houses, I have no confidence that they will follow, but only cause us fresh delays; however, as I have obtained a pikul[4] of raw sago, and seven gantangs[5] of beans, I can better afford to wait. They put every difficulty in the way, and lie like troopers as to the distance, declaring it to be a journey of six months for us who take food; they say, also, that they are in debt at Adang, and in debt here. I have[29] given each a piece of blachu,[6] to buy food for their families; and I have sent a crew away to try and borrow a couple of sampirs.

30th.—This morning the lazy Orang Kaya Upit joined us with three men; their omen bird, they said, had uttered a warning cry, and they had been unable to join me before, an excuse to which I am now somewhat used.

I am going to try and perform the journey in my own garei, as I can find no more sampirs at these villages to buy or borrow, and with a little extra trouble she will do, and be twice as comfortable for me. Were we to be utterly stopt, the men say we can make some bark canoes for those that cannot get into the sampirs.

Pangkalan Tarap is becoming an important village, as by orders of the Pañgeran Tumanggong the people are collecting there to show a better fight to the Kayans, and now number “two hundred men who can hold a shield.” The detached house system, so progressive with security, does not answer in a country exposed to periodical incursions. It is lamentable to see this fine district, once well cultivated, now returning to brushwood; formerly, when the population extended a hundred miles beyond the last village at present inhabited, the supply of provisions was ample for Brunei; now that the Muruts are decreasing, while Brunei is perhaps as numerous as ever, the demands made are too great even for native forbearance, and in disgust they are gradually abandoning all garden cultivation; already brushwood is taking the place of bananas[30] and yams; few of either can now be had. The people say it is useless for them to plant for others to eat the whole produce.

The aborigines must gradually disappear from this river if the same process continues, as with food becoming daily scarcer, the area of cultivation continually lessened, as they fear to move far from their houses except in large armed parties, on account of the head-hunting Kayans, their powers of natural increase must be stopped; add to this their losses from cholera, small-pox, and the enemy, and we have sufficient data to speculate on their eventual extermination from the Limbang. They are gradually retreating down the river; twenty miles of bank have been abandoned during the last two years.

Nor must it be omitted, that as the nobles are yearly less enabled to obtain supplies from them, they are selling their children by dozens into slavery, which enables Brunei to keep up its population. Directly they arrive there, they are circumcised, and from that moment care no more for their tribes, whom they despise as infidels, and they then may be said to have joined the ranks of the oppressors. No lad could well refuse to turn Mahomedan; he would be teased to death by his companions, and if he long retained any affection for his family, he would be ashamed to show it. Generally they are taken away young, and the girls added to the numerous concubines of the rajahs: after a year or two they get tired of them, and give them in marriage to their followers.

At the back of this village is a large pond, and beyond there is another of far greater extent, which[31] they consider a great protection against surprise. I am nursing my feet, much knocked about in ascending Kina Balu, so do not land to examine. Obtained two pikuls more of sago.

We are pulling up quietly; passed Pangkalan Jawa. The Limbuak peak bears about W. by S. At the back of the houses, at the foot of the Ladan range, Orang Kaya Kiei and his family were cut off in a farmhouse by the Kayans last February. The Kayans set fire to the rice stalks under the house, and as the family rushed out they were killed; a few, who either saw the fall of their companions, or were bewildered by the smoke, stayed in the house and were burnt to death; ten women and children lost their lives. The mode of death is conjectured from finding seven headless trunks at the doorway, and four bodies charred, without losing their heads. The summit of the Ladan range presents many instances of extensive landslips. Stayed for bearings at Tampasong. I find but few changes will be necessary in my previous map, in fact, except in the position of the ranges, which I am carefully taking, it will not be essentially improved as far as refers to the direction of the reaches; but as to their length, I think many we have passed to-day will require shortening. We were here joined by Kadayan and Si Nuri, two Adang men.

5 p.m.—I am delighted to find myself at Batang Parak, long past the last houses, and above sixty miles from Brunei. Batang Parak was formerly inhabited by Chinese, who cultivated pepper; the Malays say that they gradually died out, no fresh[32] immigrants coming to recruit their strength, and some of the older Muruts remembered them well, and could repeat their names. Casual observations, however, prove that the above was not the way in which the Chinese always disappeared, as on passing the Madalam, a Bisaya chief pointed to a hill; formerly, he said, the Chinese built a fort there, but they were attacked and all killed.

But to return. I can now settle matters myself, and have nobody to wait for. At about four, the rain and wind came in great force from the S.W., which is a little unpleasant, but I hope it will not affect the river above the Madalam. Slight rain continues. The men are on shore, searching for vegetables, pumpkins, cucumbers, and fruit at the site of the Tabun village, burnt down last year by the Kayans. The plants grew up in great strength round the ruins, and afford supplies to every visitor. This is the fourth time we have helped ourselves, but to-day the pig-hunters having been before us, there are but few left. The fruit-trees are covered with a young crop, but none are ripe; everything, however, is eagerly appropriated by my men, who have brought but little to eat with their rice. I leave off my journal to turn to a miserable dinner of dried fish and stale bread, there being no time to cook, but a bottle of porter made it palatable.

I noticed when passing the deserted village of Blimbing, which was formerly the residence of my old friend, the Orang Kaya Panglima Prang, that even the old posts of the houses were removed; the reason is this, that being made of iron wood they[33] will last for a century. In fact, in many of the villages they have them, descended, it is said, from a long line of ancestors, and these they remove with them wherever they may establish themselves. Time and wear have reduced many of them to less than five inches in diameter, the very heart of the tree, now black with age and exposure.

When I first ascended the Limbang, and spent a few days at the village of Blimbing, I found a large party of armed men assembled who were preparing to collect sago palms, which grow in immense forests at the foot of the Ladan range. They fell the palms there, and clearing them of leaves, drag them to the banks of the small streams, and float them to the village. They always say there are two species of sago palms, one covered with thorns, the other free; the former is more safe from the attacks of wild pigs, the latter perhaps more productive. Nature has indeed stocked these countries with easily acquired food, as this palm, for instance, though improved by cultivation, will yet reproduce itself in extraordinary abundance.

After the first three or four years, the freshly planted palm is surrounded by smaller ones springing from its roots, so that when the time has arrived to secure its sago, which is after about eight years, there is a crop of young ones approaching maturity; in fact, in a well managed and old established plantation, a tree can yearly be cut from the same clump. The natives know directly when the palm is ripe by the appearance of the flower, but if it be allowed to fruit, the whole pith is spoilt for the purposes of[34] commerce. At present the trees in these districts are seldom permitted to pass their fifth year, as the aborigines fear to penetrate far into the forests, and trust to those which grow near the banks of the river.

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

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

Sagan on the right bank is a fine hill, perhaps 1,500 feet in height; between it and Suñgei Damit is the low range of Rudi, running along the edge of one of the reaches, and terminating a little below the Damit. This tributary is now very low, there having been but[35] little rain to the S. E., so that I hope the discoloured water of the Limbang comes from the Madalam branch. The water, however, is much higher than it was when we ascended the river last February, as the Batang rapids are concealed; these rapids are caused by a collection of logs, mixed with sand and mud, and extend for several hundred yards.

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

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

Japer tells me that the people of Adang occasionally obtain their salt from traders of the east coast, but their usual supply is derived from salt springs, and this is confirmed by Orang Kaya Upit. Japer adds that, when head-hunting round the great mountain of Tilong, in the centre of Borneo, he saw a salt spring that burst from the ground in a volume of about fifteen inches in diameter, rising three feet, and then[36] spreading in a shower around: this is the source, he says, of the Bangermasin, and the reason of its being so called (masin, briny). He thinks there must be a passage all the way from the sea to cause this salt spring, and no reasoning will convince him to the contrary: his companions confirm his belief by their implicit belief. There is also a large lake at the foot of Tilong; he saw it, but did not go near it, as it might be the residence of spirits.

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

We stopped for the night at 1.45, as the men pulled too late yesterday, and we must prepare for the rapids and freshes that may be expected: so I have sent them in inland to collect poles, and rattans for making ropes to secure us at night during freshes. It is a good plan whilst travelling in Borneo to make it a general rule to stop by 2 p.m., as one is never sure of not having showery weather after that, and unless the men have proper time to erect the tents and prepare the evening meal whilst fine, they don’t work willingly. (This journey will show what exceptions are required to general rules.) The sky[37] is covered with broken clouds, with occasional patches of blue. I am afraid we shall have more rain, and the river is high enough already, though that is better than being very low until we get into the interior, where the rush of waters after heavy rain is terrific.

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

Hornbills are seen round mountains, and sparrows abound in grassy plains near the sea; some species are now and then abundant, as a white crane (padi bird, or Kanawei), and various kinds of curlew (pimpin), but on the whole, birds are rare. In some districts pheasants and partridges are caught in snares, but as they are birds which merely run along the surface of the ground, flying being almost out of the question in the thick underwood, they are only noticed when brought in by the natives. Monkeys in the northern part of Borneo are also rarely observed. In the Limbang river I have seen but few: an occasional baboon, a few wawahs in the Madalam branch, and a large reddish monkey at about 1,000 feet up Molu. At[38] Kina Balu I do not remember any. In Sarawak, however, they are plentiful.

Pigs are very numerous here, and wild cattle and deer are also abundant. We have as yet seen no traces of alligators, though in the Madalam branch they are said to abound, and last spring I saw a very large one; it was a disgusting-looking object, a great fat slimy-looking thing,—a tail stuck on a hogshead. They are not, however, dreaded, as they can obtain a very plentiful supply of food from the pigs which constantly swim from bank to bank. Otherwise, it would be unpleasant to have to steer a boat, as the man-devouring reptile strikes his victim from the stern with a blow of his tail. This happened to an unfortunate Malay in the Siol branch of the Sarawak, who was pulling up that river with his wife in a small canoe.

The death of this man drew attention to the monster alligator I have previously referred to, and Mr. Crookshank and Sadam, a very courageous Malay, went down to place a bait on the banks of the Siol. When this was done, they pulled back, Mr. Crookshank steering. They had seen nothing of their enemy, so that Sadam jumped up, and, flourishing his spear, began in a loud voice to defy the alligator, using very insulting terms. Suddenly he dropt his weapon and seizing his paddle, began pulling away with might and main, for the animal had just risen to the surface of the water not twenty yards from the boat.

Though the steersman’s position was by no means an agreeable one, Mr. Crookshank could not help[39] laughing at the change of countenance of his companion, who excused himself by saying it was the suddenness of his challenge being accepted that made him pull away in an excited manner. “But now,” he added, rising to his feet, “let him show himself again, and I will not attempt to run.” He had scarcely uttered the words, when the alligator, which was accustomed to follow boats, again rose to the surface. There was no more boasting, but a frantic attempt to get out of the Siol branch.

The alligator took the bait, but got rid of the long rattan fastened to it, by accidentally or purposely winding it round a tree, then breaking it off. However, though his body was not secured, it was most probable he died from the lacerations of the stomach caused by his endeavours to break the rattan, as I have not heard of his being seen since. It was up the Siol branch that a place was found where the body of one of his victims appeared to have been beaten, to break the bones, previously to swallowing. The Malays say the alligators do it by repeated blows of their ponderous head; in fact, one of the large teeth of the reptile was found snapped off on the above-mentioned spot.

As I have told the story of Sadam’s alarm at the sudden appearance of the alligator, I ought in justice to him, to mention an occurrence which took place last year. He and his brother Dand were wandering near Tanjong Po, a rocky point near the entrance of the Sarawak river, when they came to a cave; hearing some movement inside, they entered, and saw two huge alligators at the farther end. Knowing that[40] these ferocious reptiles are not very active, except on soft mud, or in the water, they determined to attack them. They were armed with spears and swords, and entering the cave, Sadam approached the first beast, and actively springing clear to avoid its rush, drove his spear into the soft side, and with his brother’s aid soon severed the head from its body. Encouraged by their success they advanced to attack the second, which was vainly endeavouring to escape over the broken rocks, and soon succeeded in destroying it.

I was conversing one day with a French priest who had resided many years in Siam, and he told me he had seen men there catch the alligator in the following manner:—In the upper Menam, where the river is broad and shallow, but with deep pools occasionally, the alligators are both numerous and fierce; yet the inhabitants, who are very fond of eating the flesh, pursue them with great courage and skill. Six or seven men proceed to a pool where one of these reptiles is supposed to lurk, and with long poles, sound every portion of it; if an animal be there he is soon disturbed, and driven towards the shallower part of the river, even to the sandbanks, where expert men throw their lassoes round his feet and tail. When they think him somewhat exhausted, a bold hunter, springing on the alligator’s back, places his hands over the creature’s eyes, which then always remains quiet. A noose is quickly slipped over his head, and the animal hauled ashore.

Alligators lay their eggs in the jungle. I remember hearing the late Mr. Brereton tell the following[41] story: He was one day hunting in the jungle near the Sakarang fort, when his dogs gave tongue. He followed up quickly, and found they had disturbed a female alligator laying her eggs. Directly she saw him, she gave chase, and he had some difficulty in getting away from her, though the dogs distracted her attention.

Alligators very seldom attack boats, but a case occurred in the Sambas river, where a man was dragged out of a large prahu from among twenty of his companions. My own party was never in danger from them but once, when a large alligator rose within three feet of the boat; but before he could do anything, I had put a rifle-ball into his side, as I happened at that moment to be looking out for a shot at them on the mud banks.

Having stopped so early, we had plenty of leisure-time on our hands; and being seated on a pretty pebbly bank, I commenced a game of ducks and drakes in the water, in which I was soon joined by the whole party—it afforded them great amusement. I may here remark that you may allow this kind of freedom with your native followers, without their ever taking advantage of it another time. If they see you inclined to chat, or to amuse yourself with them, they are delighted; if you desire to be quiet, they never disturb you by any intrusion or undue familiarity.

My cook Ahtan, who was very much annoyed last night by having to set before me so poor a dinner as stale bread and salt fish, determined, as he had a long afternoon before him, to devote it to cooking, particularly[42] as I always divided it into two portions, one for him, and one for myself. The curry he produced was admirable, and having secured a cucumber last night, he was enabled to add what the Malays call a sambal, of which there are many kinds; the one he made was of the sliced cucumber, and green and red chillies cut into fine threads; others are of dried salt fish finely powdered, or fish roes, or hard-boiled eggs, or the tender shoots of the bamboo, but with all, or nearly all, red or green chillies are added. The most delicious I have ever seen put on table was made of prawns about an inch long, partly boiled, then seasoned with freshly prepared curry mixture, and at last slightly moved over the fire in a frying-pan, taking care not to burn it; if chillies are added judiciously, so as not to render it too fiery, it causes a keen appetite to all but a confirmed invalid.

Malay cookery is sometimes very tasty; I remember spending a fortnight in the Sultan’s palace, and we were fed daily from his kitchen; sometimes the stewed fowls were admirable, and there was a particular kind of rice-cake sent in very hot, which was delicious. But the triumph of Malay cookery is to send in the sambals in perfection, particularly the one called blachang; the best is composed of the very finest prawns, caught, I imagine, soon after the little ones have burst from their eggs, and pounded up with red chillies, and a little ginger. Coarser kinds are made from the larger prawn, or even from the smallest fish caught on the river’s banks. Sometimes the material is first exposed to the sun in order to be completely dried, or it would not keep or mix very well,[43] though it is often soaked till nearly decomposed, and that is perhaps the favourite way when it emits a rather powerful scent, but it is very tasty. Prawns and fish are cooked in a great variety of ways, but roasting them over a fire as abobs, is an excellent fashion, if you first sprinkle them with curry mixture.

I have mentioned the admirable curry which Ahtan put before me; perhaps I ought to explain how we make that dish in the Far East; it appears a very different thing from what I have tasted in England under the name of curry: a fowl is cut up into small pieces, and four dried and two green onions, five chillies, half a turmeric, one teaspoonful of coriander seed, one of white cumin, and one of sweet cumin are provided. You must well pound the seeds, turmeric and chillies, and slice the onions fine; then take the saucepan, and after buttering it, slightly brown the onions, then add the pounded ingredients with just sufficient water to reduce them to a paste, and throw in the fowl and well mix them up, till the meat has a yellow tint, and lastly, add the cocoa-nut milk, and boil till the curry be thoroughly cooked. I hope my teaching is sufficiently clear to be understood, but I must add, the cocoa-nut milk is made by scraping the meat of half of an old nut very fine, then soaking it in warm water, and after squeezing out the milk, throw the fibre away. I watched the whole process of cooking with great interest, and almost fancy I could make a curry myself.

After dark, while the men were sitting in their tents, I had a talk with the Orang Kaya Upit about the treatment of the aborigines. Now that we are[44] away from the influence of the rajahs, he will speak out, and tell me anecdotes that otherwise would never reach my ears: they are admirably illustrative of the present method of governing this country. A few years ago, a Murut of the Limpasong village killed a tax-gatherer. There was little doubt that the Murut could only excuse himself by urging oppression; and that had he been seized and executed, nothing could very well be said on the subject; but the present Sultan thought differently: instead of killing the offending Murut, he determined to destroy the village of about two hundred souls. He collected a force of Malays to attack the houses from the river, and promised the Muruts the heads, slaves, and plunder, if they attacked by land. The Limpasong people surrounded by a couple of thousand men had no chance; they made a slight resistance, then fled. The Muruts in the woods fell upon them, killed about fifty, and took about the same number of women and children prisoners; the rest escaped. The Orang Kaya thought nothing of this; but the grievance was that the Sultan took away all the prisoners as his slaves, and likewise defrauded the Muruts of the most valuable plunder.

Again, in 1850, the nephew of the late Sultan was dunning a Bisaya for an imaginary debt; the man, to escape annoyance, tried to jump out of the verandah, when a follower of the noble wounded him with a sharp stick. This roused his friends, and they killed the whole party. Directly they had done so, they remembered the gravity of the act, and formed a league with the neighbouring villages to[45] resist the force that was sure to attack them from the capital. They erected a stockade, and a few of their bravest men defended it for a short time: there was much firing and great beating of gongs, but little damage. The noise, however, frightened the Bisayas and Muruts, and they fled; but as they left the stockade, Orang Kaya Upit fired his musket, and killed a Bornean. This was enough to prevent all idea of pursuit.

Now was the time for the wily Makota to settle matters: he sent a flag of truce, and after some discussion, it was agreed that four persons should be given up to suffer death in satisfaction for those who were killed with the Sultan’s nephew. Now comes the infamous part of the story. The aborigines gave up a stranger, who had married in the country, and who had had nothing whatever to do with the original murders: they gave him up, with his wife, his grandfather, and grandmother, and his two children—the last were kept as slaves by Makota, the other four executed.

I mentioned the Sultan’s nephew was dunning for an imaginary debt: I must explain this. There is a system in this country called “serra,” or “serra dagang,” or forced trade, which I have before referred to, but it is carried on in the neighbourhood of the capital to an extent unknown elsewhere. Every noble of any influence that thinks proper goes to a tribe with some cloth, and calling the chief, orders him to divide it among his tribe; he then demands as its price from twenty to a hundred times its value. He does not expect to get the whole at once, but[46] it enables him to dun the tribe for years after. Not content with taking their goods for these imaginary debts, they constantly seize their young children and carry them off as slaves. The tribe who killed the Sultan’s nephew had actually paid their serra to thirty-three different nobles that year, and had been literally stripped of all their food, before giving way to passion, they destroyed the whole party above referred to.

Makota was enabled to settle the matter quickly, because without the food they get from Limbang, the capital would starve. I little thought that within three months of my writing the above lines, Makota would likewise have lost his life by his infamous oppressions.

A system very much encouraged by the Borneans is to induce the Orang Kayas to sell as slaves all the orphans of a tribe, or the children of any poor Murut who cannot pay his debts: they are systematically corrupting the tribes. In hearing these stories of the Sultan and his nobles, which, I may add, I have no doubt are quite correctly and fairly told by the Muruts, as I have often heard the same or similar ones from the Borneans, I was reminded of the old Malay saying of the four qualities which a ruler should possess. The Borneans, though they know the words, have forgotten the spirit: a sovereign should be brave, just, patient, and yet possess the power of being angry.

Old Japer makes me long to visit the great mountain of Tilong. I asked him to give me some idea of it; he answered, “Imagine the flat summit of[47] Kina Balu carried higher till it ended in a peak;” it is occasionally white at the top, but rarely remains so for many hours after sunrise, so it does not reach the regions of perpetual snow. I should like to organize an expedition to explore it; he says it is quite practicable. I may even see the great diamond now in the hands of a Malau chief, who would even give it me if I would help him to destroy a Malay noble who attacked his house in order to get possession of this famous stone: the Malay was driven off, not however before he had lodged a ball in the jaw of the Malau chief. “To avenge this wound he would give you anything.” I told him I would go to see the mountain and the diamond, if he would take me; but he says he hopes to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca towards the end of the year, if I will assist him. He wants to see the land that “God made holy, and where He performed so many wonderful works.” He fears that, as now he is an old man, he may die without fulfilling the desire of his life.

Speaking of the Malau diamond reminds me of the famous one formerly said to be possessed by the Sultan of Matan, for which he was offered immense sums. Borneo, however, has always been famous for its diamonds, which are worked at the present time by the Chinese and Malays at Landak, a country lying farther inland than Sambas; and there are two streams in Sarawak, the Santah, and a branch of the Quop, where diamonds of a very fine water have been found, but those places have not yet been regularly explored. Occasionally very pretty diamonds are brought over from the Dutch territories to Sarawak,[48] but I have seldom examined them. It is never safe to trust to reports respecting diamonds; for instance, I was once informed that a noble in Brunei had a very large diamond which he wished to part with, but when we came to examine it, we found it was a pinkish topaz, as large as a pullet’s egg, and he asked a thousand pounds for it.

Wet Morning—Wild Cattle—A Night Adventure—View of Molu Mountain—A Pebbly Flat—Moose Deer—Our Tents—Kayans—Their Attacks—Desolation—Course they pursue to invade these Districts—Difficulties—Attack the Lepuasing Muruts—Fearful Retaliation—Attacks on the Villages of the Lower Limbang—Makota’s Treachery—His Cupidity—Surprise of Balat Ikan—Alarm Signal—Advance—Fresh Kayan Marks—Inundations—Unskilful Sportsmen—Difficult Rapids—The Sertab Hills—Enter the Limestone District—A New Kayan Hut—High Pork—Effect of Pebbles on the Rock—Agreeable Evening—Omen Birds—Japer’s Method of easing a sore Heart—The Punan Tribe—The Spy—The Alligator Omen—The Bird Omen—Attack the Village—Poisoned Arrows—Destruction of a Tribe—Effect of such Forays on the Country—The Ghosts on the Tapang Tree—Numerous Bees’ Nests—Sand Flies—Seribas Omen Bird—The Salindong—Kayan Resting-place—Traces of Captives taken—Precautions—Difficulties increase—Limestone Country—Severe Toil—Accidents avoided—Hauling the Boats—River narrows—A Fresh—Towing-ropes—Story of the Death of Orang Kaya Apo—Enter the Sandstone District again—Broader River—Snakes on Trees—The same Colour as the Boughs and Foliage—Biawaks or Guanas—A large One—Their Ways—The Fowls and the Cobra—Heavy Day’s Work—Future Plans—Two Ways of reaching Adang—The flying Foxes—Huge Frog—The Madihit—Leave our Boats—Handsome Trees—Appearance of the Country—Sand Flies—Preparations for the Overland Journey—Division of Food—Our famous Hunters—A Cache—The Chinese on the Madihit.

September 1st, 7 a.m.—The night continued fine till towards early morn, when the rain commenced, and still continues. The showers are not very[50] heavy, but there is an incessant descent of drizzle. The river rose two feet during the night, but there is a tendency to fall. I should push on immediately, only it is now necessary to open all the mat coverings, and prepare for poling; before we could stow away the baggage, they would be wet through. I must have patience.

3 p.m.—Having breakfasted, and the weather clearing, we managed to get away at 8.15, and at 11.20 passed the entrance of the Madalam. At Pulau Tambadau, so called on account of our twice disturbing a fine tambadau bull from this island, I sent the Orang Kaya round the inner passage to drive any wild cattle that might be there towards the main river; but, unfortunately, they heard him, and we saw them plunge from the end of the island into the narrow stream. He fired, says he hit one, but there was no result—very vexing, as I thought he would go so quietly as to drive the cattle towards us. Had they plunged into the main stream, we should have secured several: there were eight, some of them quite young.

Just at the entrance of the Madalam, opposite the site of the China fort before mentioned, we once had what I thought might have proved a serious adventure. We had built a small hut, and our whole party consisting of but fifteen, we kept a good watch. Towards four in the morning, the sentinel touched me quietly, I got up, and found old Japer watching with a musket in his hand, who beckoned me to him; then I distinctly heard footsteps in the jungle. I told the sentinel to wake the men quietly, and[51] when all were prepared, I shouted out in Malay, “Who goes there?” No answer, but perfect stillness. I then made Japer hail in the Kayan and also in the Murut languages, and as again no answer was returned, I fired a miniè rifle over the spot from whence the noise of footsteps had proceeded. The crash of the conical ball in the trees made the intruders rush back. In about a quarter of an hour we heard steps on the pebbly flat below us. We again hailed, but obtaining no answer, we fired a volley. There was much movement, as of footsteps in rapid retreat. I thought at first it might be a pig or a tambadau; but on examining the jungle near the hut, we found the footprints of several men who had crawled up very near to us. They may have been only wax hunters, but they ought to have answered the hail: my men, however, insisted that they were Kayans.

After leaving the Madalam on our right, we entered a perfectly new country. We saw a range of hills, said to be Sertab, to the eastward. We stopped at two p.m. below an extensive pebbly flat. It shortly afterwards commenced raining, and is now pouring heavily, though as the clouds are coming from the north, there is some hope of the weather clearing up. Just below Tambadau Island we had a view of the Molu range, and I was somewhat puzzled by it. There appear to be two peaks, the westernmost much lower than that to the east, which is considerably loftier. When we were at the foot of the range, we noticed that there was a peak to the westward,[52] but not much separated from the mountain we attempted to ascend.[7]

9 p.m.—About four p.m. the rain ceased, but the river continued to rise till seven: it is now gradually sinking. It rose three feet in this broad space, so that in the narrow portions of the stream it must have risen much more. We have fastened our boats in a safe place, under a clump of trees near the northern part of the pebbly flat. This mass of shingle is, perhaps, 300 yards by 150 in its broadest part, and forms the easternmost portion of an island. In pulling along to-day, I noticed several of these beds of water-worn pebbles showing themselves in the banks, from two to eighteen feet above the present level of the river, which proves that the stream flows now at a much lower level; great accumulations of drift wood may also be occasionally observed cropping out of the steep banks. We have as yet passed no ancient forest; young jungle, mixed with bamboos, cover the banks. The water to-day has, on the whole, been very shallow, and we had to use great exertions occasionally to get the boats over the rapids.

Just before dusk, a man shouted out that there were moose-deer in the island. We instituted a very active search, but the cunning animals hid themselves away in the long grass and brushwood, so that without[53] dogs they were not to be found, and swimming exceedingly well, they always take to the water when pursued.

2nd.—(My journal appears to be filled with nothing but notices of the weather; but as success or non-success depended entirely on the amount of rain that fell, it is very natural that I should have recorded the changes from dry to wet and wet to dry.) There was a little drizzling during the night, the water falling two feet, but at four a.m. the rain came down in torrents, and the rush of the stream forbad any attempt at advancing.

4 p.m.—It is unpleasant to record no progress, but the river is still two feet higher than it was this morning, and is falling but slowly. Were it still early, I should push on, but it is useless to disturb ourselves so late in the afternoon. I had a clear, but partial view to-day of what Japer calls the east end of Molu range. Their summits appear to rise to between 5,000 and 6,000 feet; they are the mountains which I can see from the back of the Consulate.

The men begin now to appreciate the tents, and pitch them every night. I still sleep in the boat, as it is a work of labour to remove my baggage, and it is as well not to leave it without my servant or myself to watch over it. To-day we noticed evidences of there having been visitors lately in this neighbourhood. Our guides declare they are Kayans, so that the men are beginning to keep a look-out.

We are surrounded by the evidences of former cultivation, but now the country is totally abandoned. The Kayans first of all attacked the Tabuns, who[54] lived on the Madalam, and drove them away; they then attacked the Muruts on the main river, and these being all disunited, were destroyed piecemeal, each village caring only for itself. There is now not an inhabitant on the Upper Limbang except among the mountains close to its sources. Far as the Muruts have fled—and they are beyond the distant eastern range—they are still exposed to forays. However, they are seldom disturbed by great attacks; they are more annoyed by small parties of from ten to fifty.

In my journal kept during my visit to the Baram Kayans, I mention that there was great weeping in some of the villages on account of the destruction of a party said to have amounted to six hundred, but I believe two hundred was the right number. They started from the Baram town to search for heads and slaves in the Upper Trusan. I will follow the course they took, to show what energy they display in this warlike amusement. They pulled down the Baram until they reached the Tutu branch; which they ascended to the Millanau, then up that tributary to the foot of the western Molu range.

Here was the regular Kayan road connecting the Millanau with the Trunan, a branch of the Madalam. This road is cleared about two fathoms broad, and then trunks of small trees are laid across and secured about a yard apart. I followed it once for upwards of two miles. The Kayans, on reaching this spot, haul their boats (tamuis) along the road, and considering that some of their tamuis are sixty feet long, it is a work of infinite labour, but three or four crews lay on to one boat and gradually move the[55] whole fleet over into the Trunan river. From thence they descend about thirty miles through the Madalam to the Limbang; then up the Limbang to the Adang landing-place—very heavy work, as we find it.

On this occasion they pushed farther up the river, and crossed over to the interior of the Trusan. Here, as ill luck would have it, they were noticed by the Lepuasing Muruts, and contrary to the usual Murut custom, a large force quietly collected, and before the Kayans had killed above two women and a child, they were attacked in the rear and fled to an island full of caves.

They were soon surrounded, and the alarm having spread, reinforcements of Muruts came in on every side. They attacked the mouths of some of the caves, but the Kayans easily beat them off. Finding they were losing men to no purpose, they changed their tactics, and at this part of the story the Murut listeners gave a grunt of satisfaction. They collected great quantities of firewood and heaped it before the caves, then set it on fire, and prepared for the rush that would surely take place. Maddened by the smoke, the Kayans attempted to break through, but were driven back, and in less than two hours the whole party were either killed or suffocated. The Lepuasing Muruts have suffered from no further attacks. One or two Kayans who did not fly to the caves got away, and reached their homes after a few months in a state of semi-starvation.

The Kayans having driven the Muruts of the upper Limbang away, are now extending their attacks to the portion nearer the capital. In March, 1857, they[56] came over to the number of three thousand, and built a large encampment at the mouth of the Damit river; from thence they sent insolent messages to the Government of Brunei, threatening to destroy the whole country unless some particular village was given up to them to plunder. The Bornean Government, in great fear, collected every available man, and sent them up to oppose the Kayans; but, apparently, neither felt inclined to fight.

After about a month’s talk, Makota proposed that the Kayans should be bribed by the Muruts to return to their own country; but the latter, remembering a former trick he had played them, were very unwilling to come to terms; so Makota had a secret interview with the Kayan chiefs, and then gave out that peace was concluded, that the Kayans would go back to their own country, and so ordered the Bornean forces to return to the capital. Scarcely had they done so, when Makota’s plan was revealed: he had given them up a Murut village (Balat Ikan) which he disliked; the Kayans surprised it, killed thirteen, and captured seventeen, obtaining likewise the whole plunder. This was the Bornean plan of getting rid of an enemy. It is worthy of remark that while the two forces were face to face, traders from the capital went up to supply the Kayans with food in exchange for valuable jungle produce.

The way in which the head-hunters surprised Balat Ikan is an illustration of the divisions that separate the different races on the Limbang. The frontier fortified village was then Blimbing, inhabited by Bisayans, commanded by a son of the old Orang Kaya Panglima[57] Prang, I have often referred to, and when he saw the Kayan force descending the river, he ran to his guns and prepared to fire into them, but the people in the foremost boat shouted out that if he would neither fire his guns, or beat the alarm signal, they would not meddle with his village, upon which he ordered his men not to interfere. The villagers of Balat Ikan, inhabited by Muruts, trusting to the usual alarm signal, kept no watch, and were easily surprised.

From time immemorial, it has been a custom among the inhabitants of these villages to beat an alarm on their gongs on the first appearance of an enemy, or when some great misfortune has happened. It puts the people on the alert, as when I lost my boat on a snag in the Madalam, the report spread I was drowned or in trouble, and the alarm signal was beaten, and I met a dozen boats coming to the rescue, or to inquire into the truth of the report.

Makota’s trick, referred to above, was this—The Kayans were in force at Sungei Damit (in 1855) when he arranged with their chiefs that on the payment of a hundred pikuls of guns (700l.) they should retire. The Muruts collected a large amount, which Makota coolly kept for himself. The enraged Kayans fell upon a Tabun village above Batang Parak, and carried it with great slaughter of men, women, and children.

Having remained quiet the whole day, the men were in no way fatigued, and we sat late talking over these and other matters, and collecting words of the Adang language, which is, in fact, the same as that of the other Muruts.

3rd. The river did not fall above three inches during the night, but I pushed off at six and brought up at 12.45 for the day, as it was thundering and threatening rain from the S.W. Three p.m.—The rain has just commenced, but we are comfortably sheltered for the night. There is little to notice, except that the river continues broad and often very shallow, each reach containing an island which, of course, produces a rapid, rendering our progress slow. Occasionally the banks are high, showing a sort of stratified shale. The jungle continues small, except on some of the low hills we have passed. From our resting place the Sertab range does not appear to be far off.

Some of our party are much alarmed by finding a long Kayan hut but recently occupied; so that there is no doubt that the head-hunters have been here, which induces me to take every reasonable precaution; but our Muruts are full of the most absurd fancies, saying that if the Kayans have killed people in the interior, the villagers will declare we did it, and attack us. They would willingly return to their homes; even those who are anxious to see their friends are disheartened by the assured marks of the recent neighbourhood of the head-hunters. I have told all the men that on no account are we to meddle with the Kayans, but should they attack any of our party, then to fall upon them without mercy. I hope we shall neither see nor hear anything of them.

We have brought up for the night at a curious place, a sort of large island, a stony and sandy plain, about 200 by 400 yards, with patches of vegetation and clumps of trees on it. There is one about fifty[59] yards from us, that will afford shelter in case of a heavy fresh. There is every sign of there being tremendous inundations in this river. Our sportsmen, with their usual ill-luck, missed a deer on the sandy plain before us. There are numerous droppings of wild cattle, and our men have just reported some on the other side of the river, about a quarter of a mile farther up. If it cease raining before sunset, I will go after them.

7 p.m.—I have been, and there is not a trace of anything but pigs. A huge boar swam away within fifty yards of one of the men, but he missed it; we were consoled, however, on our return, by catching some very fine fish. Rain has again commenced, and until we leave Molu to the north of us will, I believe, continue.

4th.—Though it drizzled a good part of the night, still the river fell nine inches. We got away by 6 a.m., and pulled on till 9.40, when we stopped for breakfast; off again at 11.25, and brought up for the night at 3.35. This is the most fortunate day we have yet had: cloudy in the morning, but clearing up into fine weather. We have had seven hours and a half of good work, not including stoppages, and have made, I think, more than eight miles. Nearly every reach includes a rapid, and one at the Sertab hills caused us a little delay, as we had to remove stones to make a passage for our boats. In the least rapid part of the river is a good place for taking the dip and strike of the rock. Dip N.N.W., strike E.N.E., angle 80°, sandstone.

The river has been winding the whole day among[60] hills, varying in elevation from 500 to 1,500 feet (estimated), and clothed with a fine forest. At the distance the Sertab hills appear to be a single range, but in fact they are a succession of short ones. When this district was inhabited, no doubt each had a distinct name, but now they call them all the Sertab hills. We are about to leave the sandstone country. In the last reach I applied the test to the first piece of limestone I have seen during this expedition, but it was scarcely necessary, as there was no mistaking its form. The Salindong hills ahead of us are evidently limestone. We had a partial view of a high mountain, which Japer says is the east end of the Molu range, which I long to see in the rear, but as yet it is always to the east of south. I suspect there are several ranges, forming what the natives call the Molu hills. The general direction from the mouth of the Madalam has been S.E. by E.

The incidents which have varied the day have been the finding of another new Kayan sulap, or hut, and the decaying head of a large wild boar left by an alligator on the bank. The last was for us an unfortunate discovery, as the Muruts seized upon it, and have it now in their boat—a most offensive subject for our nostrils. Every time they passed us a most disgusting whiff came our way, and now at our resting place we are obliged to insist that they shall either get rid of the head, or encamp away from us. The love of high pork has prevailed over fear, so they have taken up their quarters at the other end of the pebbly flat.

I have noticed to-day many of those deep holes in[61] rocks mentioned by De la Beche, as caused by the continual working of pebbles on them. Many have bored their way down several feet, working even through to the stream; others are in every stage of progress. The river, though in many places deep, is generally shallow, particularly at the rapids, and it occasionally rushes down with great force. I expect as we enter the limestone district, to change the character of these impediments, which have as yet consisted of pebbles, gradually enlarging as we move up the river; many of limestone are now showing themselves. The Muruts declare there are edible birds’-nest caves near Salindong; but we must reserve any search till our return, as I will not allow anything to interfere with our advance.

I do enjoy this exploration of new countries. I especially enjoy an evening such as this. It is a fine star-light night; we have pitched our tents on a broad pebbly flat, and the men have collected a great pile of wood, with which to keep up a cheerful fire. Most of us are sitting round it, and that everlasting subject of discussion arises—how far are the Kayans off. The hut to-day appeared as if very lately used, but if we are to be attacked, I hope it will be in the day-time. The conversation was beginning to flag, when suddenly we heard a bird utter three cries to our right. “Ah,” cried Japer, “that is a good sign,” and instantly reverted to head-hunting and omens. I will here introduce a story illustrative of the practice. Its cool atrocity always makes my heart sick. Japer told it in illustration of various omens. I will try and relate it in his own words, whilst they are still ringing in my ears.

“I am acquainted with all the different birds and animals in which the Pakatans have faith. Do you hear that grasshopper,—it is on the right, and is a sign of good fortune. Were there three or four sounding together, we should instantly leave our hut, at whatever time of night, and seek a new resting-place, or we should suffer for it. When the bird of omen flies over us from the quarter whence we have just arrived, it is a good sign; the bird tells us to advance. If he flew from the quarter whence we were going, we should return to our last night’s resting-place, whatever might be the distance. You know that bird which has three cries? When it sounds to the right it is good luck; and also when to the left, if very near an enemy, it rejoices to give them to us as a prey. When it cries, 'Trik, trik,’ it is death to those that advance.

“I will tell you what has happened to me since I have entered El Islam. Two of my grand-children died of sickness. How was I to lose the soreness of heart occasioned by this event? I determined to go head-hunting. I sent a hundred of my tribe up the Rejang, and started myself with seventy to Bintulu. There the Orang Kaya Pamancha came to me and said, 'You are going to kill some of my people.’ 'No; I am not,’ I answered. 'Well,’ he said, 'there is a tribe of Punans living near Bukit Lambir, who owe me for goods, which they have had for some time. They sell their camphor and their wax to others, not to me. Go and attack them; there are only thirty males. But don’t forget me when you divide the women and children.’

“So I sent my brother, who is a brave man, and he started in a small canoe, with three men. After a long search, he arrived in their neighbourhood, and heard them talking in the woods. He therefore hid his canoe, and that night walked up close to their village. He then stripped and left his sword and everything near an old tree, and fastening a string to the stump, crawled towards the house like a pig on all fours, but gradually letting out the string behind him; this was to be his guide in returning to his clothes. He found that the house was large. He then crawled back to the place from whence he started. Not satisfied with this inspection, he determined to remain there and have a look at the place during the day. At dawn he concealed himself in a hollow tree, and waited there till all the Punans had gone out hunting; he then boldly went near the house and counted the number of doors—'families’—which he found to be forty. Thereupon, he returned to his companions, and they all together pulled off to Bintulu.

“On meeting, I asked what was the news? As this was in public, my younger brother answered, 'Antah,’ (nothing particular); but presently calling me on one side, he told me all that he had seen. That very night I started off with my whole party. When we reached the entrance of the Lambir River, a great alligator rose to the surface, and kept up with our boats the whole way. This was a good omen, and I addressed the animal thus:—'Oh, grandfather, give us good fortune, and we will provide you with a feast.’ We were all in the highest spirits, when the[64] omen bird flew from the right hand to the left, crying 'Trik, trik;’ and immediately another flew from the left to the right, sounding ‘Trik, trik.’ This double crossing was a very bad omen, and portended a fight and much contention; so I said to my followers, 'Let us return to our boats for three days; this omen is very bad.’ But they laughed at me, and said, 'You are becoming afraid.’ 'Very well,’ I answered, 'let us go on; I shall not be the only one to die.’

“Upon this we approached the house, and at break of day commenced hurling our siligis (wooden javelins) through the bark walls. Upon this the Punans answered with a flight of sumpits (poisoned arrows), one of which struck me on the hand. I dragged it out with my teeth, of which I had then a few left, and bound up the wound. The charm I possessed prevented its having any bad effect. When my relations saw that I was wounded, they said, 'Oh, father, you had better retire.’ But I answered, 'No; I did not seek the fight to-day; I shall not retire.’ I tried to discharge a new gun I had bought, but the instrument (may it and he who sold it me be accursed!) would not go off.

“The Punans, fearing that we would use fire, began now to come down from their house to fight on the ground. They were thirty-five, we were seventy; but the sun had descended as low as that in the heavens”—pointing, as he said these words, to the sky (4 p.m.)—“ere the fight was over. We killed them all; they fought like brave men; not one tried to run away. We then went up to the houses and seized the women[65] and children. We captured fifty-five. When we caught a woman, it was like catching a hen; all her children flocked to her like chickens. When we caught a child, the mother ran to it directly. That night we made merry in the house, and next day started off to Bintulu. Some of the captives cried, others made no sign. My share came to two, whom I sold to a Brunei man for a pikul of guns each (thirty Spanish dollars). On that occasion ten of our party were killed, and nearly every man wounded, which was all caused by neglecting the warning the omen-birds gave; but our young men were too eager. We got thirty-five heads. Had they followed my advice, we should have fallen upon them when unprepared, but I was not listened to.”

Such is the story I have before heard, and Japer has now again repeated to me in all its detail. I have written it down almost word for word, omitting, however, his two single combats, in which his opponents fell. He is a well-known warrior amongst them. The Punans had never done them the slightest injury; but, for the sake of easing his sore heart, a tribe is massacred. The Orang Kaya, who gave the information, got a slave for his trouble. What country can prosper where such scenes are constantly occurring?

At this moment there are, most probably, from twenty to forty Kayans pulling before us, seeking for heads and slaves. We cannot be certain of the number, as, from the signs, there may be one or two tamuis; and the maxim of these ruffians is, that out of their own country all are fair game. “Were we[66] to meet our father, we would slay him.” The head of a child or of a woman is as highly prized as that of a man; so, as easier prey, the cowards seek them by lying in ambush near the plantations. I ought to add, that some of the relations of the Pakatans, who were killed in the foray, sacrificed two of the women captives for the sake of the heads and for revenge.

The Orang Kaya Upit and his party listened to this story with great interest, and evidently envied Japer the glorious chance he had had. I changed the conversation, and then they told stories of the wrongs they suffered at the hands of the people of the capital. To-night they were full of stories. Old Japer is a store-house of information; he is so well acquainted with the countries between Sarawak and Brunei. He has a thorough faith in ghosts and spirits, and tells of many an adventure with them; of the Antus who caused the death of the wax-hunters, by pushing them off the meñgiris or tapang-tree. When the unfortunate men, from inefficient preparations, as their companions not keeping up a great fire under the trees to stupefy the bees, are so stung as to let go their hold, the natural explanation is never taken; they fly to their superstitions.

Japer’s nephew saw one of these tapang ghosts, and managed to keep his eye upon him and prevent him pushing him off; he came down without accident, but without any wax. I suggested that he invented the ghost to excuse his timidity, which Japer thought probable. To-day we passed one of these lofty trees, bearing above twenty bees’-nests, among them four[67] old ones white with wax. As the country is full of tapangs, in which alone do the bees build their nests, the stories of the great amount of wax formerly procured in this district may be true. Why do the honey-bees generally build on one particular tree? Its being the finest in the forest is no good reason; perhaps there is something enticing in the bark. I say “generally,” because, though I have never seen their nests on other trees, yet I have often come across them in the crevices of rocks.

If travelling has its pleasures, it has also its disagreeables: mosquitoes near the sea, leeches by thousands in the jungle, and swarms of sand-flies on the banks of the rivers. The fire being nearly out, there is no smoke to drive these last nuisances away, and they compel me to close my journal for the night, and retire under the shelter of a Scotch plaid.

I have so often mentioned the omen-birds, that I will describe the one which is most considered by the Seribas Dayaks: body, a bright red; wings, black, chequered with white; head, black at top, with a beak and throat light blue; the tail long, a mixture of black, white, and brown; about the size of a blackbird; the beak is slightly hooked. It is a scarce bird, and is called by the natives Burong Papaw. The bird is before me while describing it. I dare say a naturalist would notice more peculiarities.

5th.—Though I don’t do very much work, yet I was so tired this evening that I fell asleep without writing in the day’s journal; but, waking up at nine a.m., I will briefly notice the day’s occurrences. We got away at quarter-past six, and, after ascending[68] half a mile, found ourselves at the mouth of the Salidong, or Salindong, which is but a small stream on the right hank. A limestone cliff marks the entrance, and probably gives the name to the branch, lindong, to overshadow. Opposite to it was a Kayan resting-place, where we found marks which proved that one party had returned. In the hut was picked up a woman’s jacket, with a small net, left behind in the hurry of departure, so it is probable they captured her while fishing on the banks of some rivulet.

Though certain they had obtained captives, opinions were divided on the subject of heads. I could find no traces, and old Japer agreed with me that it was uncertain; but it would only be accidentally that we could have discovered indications. They had left a mark, however, to show their countrymen that they had been up the Salindong: it was a long pole, ornamented with three tufts pointing up that stream. The three tufts were supposed by many to show that they had obtained three heads or captives; it might mean either. There were evidently two parties out, and it is more than probable that there is one ahead of us; but we should have little to fear from the crew of one tamui, even if they took us by surprise. However, the men are taking every precaution; the muskets are nightly inspected, discharged if suspected of being damp, and kept ready at hand to be used at a moment’s notice. I have little fear but that the heavy volley we could pour into an enemy would drive them off without trouble.

Our course to-day has been principally through a[69] limestone district, though occasionally there is sandstone, as at the mouth of the Tuan River. The general dip is to the E.N.E.; sometimes very steep, varying from 21° to 53° and 56°. Though we worked to 3.45 p.m., staying only an hour and a half for breakfast, we made comparatively but little progress—not, perhaps, more than six miles, as last night’s rain raised a sort of fresh, which was hard to contend against amid the limestone rocks and steep banks. In fact, the last half mile took us nearly two hours to accomplish: the limestone rocks were excessively steep, and the river, being confined to a narrow bed, rushed like a mill-sluice in many places. Now we found the use of our long towing-ropes. After vainly endeavouring to pole along, we all but two got out, and, crawling on to a tolerably even spot, passed the tow rope round a tree, for fear the rush of waters should be too great for our strength, and then hauled. At one place it took our whole united crews to get my garei past a deep though dangerous rapid.

After two hours’ severe work, we managed to reach a spot which the men considered we might safely bring up under; it is a point about forty feet in height, that promises shelter in case of a heavy fresh, and we may have that to-morrow, as the rain is pouring now. The advance of the last half mile was entirely the men’s doing, as at the mouth of the Tuan, by mismanagement, we got across the stream and came broadside on to a sunken rock, which nearly upset us. After this I had no desire to face the rush of waters ahead with tired men, and proposed stopping[70] at the Tuan, but they said it was not safe. I thought it the perfection of a resting-place; rocks rising on either side, crowned by noble trees, whose branches met above, forming a most beautiful and extensive bower. Of course I was very unwilling to stop, when my followers wished to go on: so I let them have their own way; but they said afterwards, had they known what work was before them to get over the next half mile, they would almost have run the risk of staying at the spot I pointed out. It did, indeed, strain our muscles to make the advance.

We had a very narrow escape, also, from the stupidity of Orang Kaya Upit. At one of the worst rapids that we were attempting to pole up, he got across our bows; and, in trying to avoid running his frail sampir under water, we let go our hold, and were swept back by the current at an awful pace. The rebound of the waters from the rocks prevented our going on them, and saved us from the smash most expected. The Orang Kaya and his Muruts were very unpopular after this, and my men showed great unwillingness to aid them; but, as they had assisted us in our heavy work to get my garei past the rapid, I insisted upon doing the same for them. To insure the execution of the order, I took the end of the long towing-rope myself, and passed it round a tree, and put my Malays on a grassy, but rocky point, which was completely free from brushwood. There was no difficulty in hauling this light sampir up; but the two Muruts left in it were clumsy, and, just as it was clear of the rapid and approached the bank, nearly got their boat across the stream; though it [71]was swept against the rocks, it was too elastic to receive much damage.

The wind has been from south-west all day, and therefore from Molu. We have been advancing through very hilly country, which rises abruptly from the bank: masses of rock continually overshadow the river, which is now always confined to a very narrow space; it is therefore deeper and more rapid. Occasionally there were dark pools, with no bottom with our four-fathom poles. Old Japer missed, or only slightly wounded, a kijang, a species of roe. Most unlucky sportsman!

6th.—The expected fresh came on about one a.m.; and as it has rained all the morning, the water will increase for many hours yet. There is very good protection where we have secured our boats, though the river has risen six feet since yesterday, and is now running like a mill-sluice. We have met with so many obstructions and delays from these freshes, that I begin to fear we shall not accomplish the object of our expedition. I shall persevere until we have only three days’ provisions left. Food is the only difficulty, otherwise I would spend three months in trying to reach the Adang Muruts. The rocks near our encampment are both limestone and sandstone, the latter uppermost; their dip is east, angle 82°. There appears to be too much disturbance of rocks here to render any observations of much value, either with regard to the stratification or the angle; the rocks are constantly laminated. My men are employed in making towing-ropes of twisted rattans; the one for the garei is strong enough to[72] hold a schooner, but we may want them in the bad rapids. Yesterday we trembled once or twice, fearing our tow-ropes would part.

At 4 p.m.—The river has not fallen more than two and a half feet since I marked it at nine a.m. If it rain to-night, we shall lose another day.

It is a cold evening; the gusts of wind occasionally driving the drizzly rain before it; so I have asked the Muruts to come and have a glass of whiskey with me. We have had a couple of hours’ talk, and they have told me innumerable anecdotes of their own lives. Orang Kaya Upit mentioned an event which occurred to himself not many years ago. His father and mother-in-law were invited to a feast by the Orang Kaya Apo: there was great drinking, and at night most of the drunken guests slept in the house. After some hours, Apo got up and killed Upit’s two relations in their sleep; perhaps, in revenge of some old injury.

Upit immediately brought his complaint to the Sultan, but no attention was paid to him. At last one of the men about the court said, “Why don’t you revenge yourself?” The Sultan laughed, and repeated, “Ah, why don’t you?” Upit upon this went home and prepared his arms, and for two years lay in wait in all sorts of places, but he could never find Apo off his guard. One day, however, he met him in the Trusan river, returning from the Sultan’s palace, and shot him through the body, and took his head. Upon this, the Sultan fined him a hundred pikuls of brass guns (3,000 dols.), not for killing Apo, but for disrespect to him in[73] shooting a man who had lately left his palace, though the deed took place twenty miles away. Upit, by great exertions, and by the assistance of all the neighbouring villages, paid a portion of the fine. It is an illustration of Bornean government.

7th.—It appeared a beautiful night, but towards morning it rained heavily. I turned round in my bed, and made up my mind to lose another day; but at dawn, finding the river not so rapid as I expected, I pushed off a few minutes after six a.m., and after an hour’s heavy work, was rewarded by finding the hills gradually receding from the banks, thus allowing the river freer scope. As might be imagined, this was a sign that we had passed the limestone district; gradually it gave way to sandstone, and with it a more open country. The river soon became broader, but shallower; and though it necessitated hard work, it was not to be compared to the difficulties we overcame on the 5th.

During our progress up this river we have kept very much along the banks, and have had to take great care not to shake snakes into our boat. These reptiles are constantly found concealed amid the foliage of fruit-trees, or lying quietly along the branches to catch unwary birds which seek their food there. In fact, their colours so much resemble those of the trees, that it is often difficult to distinguish them. Musa one day pointed to a tree and said, “There is a large snake.” I could not see it, but on his pointing to it with his sword, I noticed a brown creature thicker than my arm, coiled round a bough, with its head resting near a bunch of fruit, waiting[74] the arrival of some unwary Pargam, the splendid green pigeon of these forests. It looked exactly of the colour of the bough on which it was resting, and the green snakes are equally difficult to detect. There is one with large regular scales, and a triangular head, which is the dread of the native, and if its poisonous qualities equal its offensive look, it must be a venomous one indeed. These unpleasant neighbours are, however, rarely seen, though pretty green flower snakes may be occasionally noticed among the bushes, or gliding over the blossoms on the look out for insects. One of a bright green with yellow stripes down its sides is no doubt a beautiful object, but I dislike snakes of every kind. My men, who appear to have as strong an antipathy to them, cut at them on every occasion with their swords.

Land tortoises are continually dropping from the overhanging trunks of trees as they hear the noise of our paddles. We were once much startled by a large animal springing from a high bough, and falling with a heavy splash within a few feet of our boat: it turned out to be a huge biawak, or guana, which, being alarmed, thus made his escape. The guana is a species of lizard, growing to a great length, and is the enemy of our poultry. My dogs once killed one in Brunei which measured six feet six inches in length. The whole pack attacked it; and while it was endeavouring to save its tail, a bold dog seized it by the throat, and held it tight, while the rest of the pack destroyed it. It is the only instance I have known of dogs facing so large a biawak; but they were of English breed, and all[75] were ultimately killed by their unwary attacks on the wild pigs.

The biawaks used very often to pay us a visit at Sarawak, as there was an extensive poultry yard, and their presence in the day-time was always announced by the loud cackling of the fowls; if it were a small one, the cocks and hens would gather round it, and make feigned attacks upon it, and the beast, almost bewildered by the cries of the circle of enemies, would raise its head high and take a survey of them, as if choosing which he should seize. We once succeeded in approaching almost close to one, thinking we could catch him, as the ground was free from brushwood, but it quickly outran us, disappearing down a neighbouring ravine. The Chinese are very fond of its flesh, considering it very delicate eating.

I have also often been disturbed by the cackling of the fowls, and going to discover the cause, have found them attacking a snake which has unwarily ventured in their neighbourhood. I one day saw about twenty large Cochin cocks and hens surrounding some object, and approaching near, saw it was a fine cobra, about six feet in length. The reptile had its head raised nearly a foot, and was making slight darts at the fowls which ventured near, but unable to do much, for as soon as it attempted to move, several pecks were made at its tail. A friend who was standing near, knocked the snake on the head, and immediately all the inhabitants of the poultry-yard set upon it and tore it to pieces.

After nine hours’ severe poling and hauling, we came to a stop for the night at 4.25 p.m. I was[76] desirous to reach the Madihit, but the men were too exhausted to proceed farther. We have not had a bearing of Molu for some time; we are anxious for it, in order to determine our position. I got out all the salt fish that was left, and divided it among the men, to whom it was most acceptable, as they had had nothing but rice for many days.

After we had finished our supper, I called the whole party together to discuss our future proceedings. I explained to them the information I had been enabled to collect from the Muruts; that we might reach the Adang landing-place by water, but that as we advanced the country became more difficult; and that, in the present state of the river, it was impracticable to face the rapids; that if we attempted the water way and failed, we must return home, as it was quite impossible to walk along its bank; the hills were too lofty and far too steep; in fact, no one would ever attempt it who knew anything of the country. The second plan was to ascend the Madihit, which could not be very far off—a mile or two—then leave our boats, and walk across, the Murut guides assuring us that we could do the distance in seven days. I put it to the whole party to consider. Musa, after a short consultation, said they would prefer walking to facing even seven days of such work as we had had; and as it was two or three days from the Adang landing-place to the houses, it was better to start at once from the Madihit, leaving the principal portion of our heavy baggage with the boats. My heart was slightly despondent yesterday, but to-day’s progress has completely cheered me up.

Just at sunset, we noticed a few flying foxes far up in the sky; they seemed very numerous, but were almost beyond view. Sometimes, however, they fly low, pursuing their onward course with steady flapping wings. For two hours I watched them at the entrance of the Sibuyau river, passing us by tens of thousands, and all flying in one direction, doubtless towards some place where they rest at night. While preparing their tents, my men disturbed a huge frog that appeared about nine inches long; it was of a dark gray colour. I was assured, however, that a full-grown frog was double this size, and if one could judge of their dimensions by their noise, when they are heard in a marsh, one might readily believe the Muruts’ account. I remember hearing the late Mr. Hayes of Siam say that he had seen them there with bodies as large as a full-sized dinner plate.

8th.—We found the Madihit to be two miles farther up on the left bank. The main stream continues broad, and is furnished with islands and immense pebbly flats, reminding me of the portion near the Madalam at very low water. The hills are now at some distance apart, allowing broader and flatter strips of cultivatable land along the banks. Our last night’s resting-place was quite a level point; we brought up a little above it, under a jutting portion of the bank, which was higher, and near it was a beautiful natural bower which would have afforded shelter for all our boats, had the stream risen high; some of the men encamped in it. The Madihit, a short distance from the mouth, is but a shallow, pebbly torrent; and a little more than half a mile[78] up we were obliged to leave our large garei, and take to the sampirs, most of the men following along the banks; and now, less than two miles farther, we have to leave our boats, and take to walking.

We noticed a very handsome tree, whose trunk shoots out almost horizontally from the banks: its branches rise perpendicularly into the air, but let fall on either side rows of long drooping twigs, covered with elegant foliage. It was loaded with fruit, whose long wings are of a beautiful pink colour, and amid this forest it had a gorgeous effect. I believe it is of the order Dipterocarpæ. There is another very remarkable one which grows on rocky soil; its bark strips naturally from the trunk, leaving a brightish brick-red stem.

We have passed yesterday and to-day much young jungle; indeed, except where the hills are steep, there are few old trees. The fish are very plentiful in the river, but the rapidity of the stream prevents the net from acting properly. Just before entering the Madihit, I noticed a range of high hills, bearing south-east, said to be called the Paya Paya in Malay, the very difficult hills, and round their base the Limbang ran.

No rain last night or to-day. I find it impossible to continue writing, from the cloud of sand-flies that are tormenting me. Having made a smoky fire, I am at last rid of them. I have divided the remainder of the rice, and find that the careful men have enough for seven or eight days, while the improvident have not enough for five; so that they must carry sago; and, to my regret, Ahtan reports that all my tinmeats[79] are left at home, but I have enough biscuit for seven days; in fact, I shall leave some behind me for the journey back. Our sportsmen again missed both a deer and a pig; so that, after having had every day many chances, nothing has been secured, though we have with us two of the most famous hunters in the Limbang. I never had a shot myself, as my heavy boat was generally behind the others. The rock that forms the base of many of these karañgans or pebbly rapids is a dark gray sandstone. By the barometer, we are 637 feet above the level of the sea, and as we have been toiling up rapids since we left the Damit stream, it accounts for this elevation.

The men have been working away, forming a cache for the things that we must leave behind: it is raised on four poles, so as to be quite secure from pigs.

To show how extensively the Chinese formerly spread over the country, I may notice that they had pepper plantations even up the Madihit as late as the remembrance of some of the oldest Muruts.

Start on the Land Journey—Our Course—Ascend the Rawan Torrent—Attacked by Hornets—Native Remedy—Severe Effect of Sting—Disturbed by Ants—Japer left behind—Fresh Traces of Strangers in the Forest—Appearance of the Country—Water Snake killed—Our Adventure with One—The Swimming Cobra—Romantic but timely Meeting—Story of Pangeran Mumein and the Murut Concubine—Malay Revenge—Punishment of an Offender—Cause of the Borneans being converted to Mahomedanism—Capturing the Daughter of Johore—Independent Position of the Pablat Borneans—Reach the Wax-seekers’ Hut—Flesh of the Wild Boar—The Adang Muruts—Their Sumpitans—The Poison on the Arrows—Melted in hot Water—Weapons purchased, not made by them—Dress of the Muruts—Japer rejoins us—Continue our Journey with new Guide—Method of catching Fish—Effect of Loss of Blood by Leeches—Extraordinary Insect—The Freshwater Turtle—Its Description—Curious Fly—Poisoning the River—Getting short of Provisions—Galton’s Method of dividing Food—Adopt it—Improvidence of the Malays—Cry of the Wahwah—Rejoin the Limbang—Omen Bird—Prepare for Enemies—Quarrel among the Guides—Divide the Party—Hard Walking—The Otter—A Fight with my Dogs—Still beyond the Mountain—Find good Huts—The Stragglers—The last of the Food—Ascend the Mountains—Exhaustion of the Guides—The Remains of the Ham—Its Effects—Reach the Summit—Descend to the Farms—Meet the Adang Muruts—Hearty Welcome—Names—Recent History of these Villagers—Kayan Attacks—Driven from the Limbang—The Geography of the Country—The Houses—Cold, and Fire-places—Arrival of my Followers—Sir James Brooke—The Friend of the Aborigines—His Fame had preceded me—How Reports spread—The Tigers’ Cave—Curious Story.

10th.—I was so stung by hornets yesterday that I was unable to write in my journal, and even now it is[81] a work of difficulty. After some trouble, I got the sampirs hauled up on the bank, to be beyond the reach of freshes; and all the things we intended to leave behind were carefully stowed away. The sago we left in the boats, none of the men choosing to burden themselves with any of it, though I warned them not to take less than seven days’ provisions, but all warnings were useless.

Having divided the packages, we got away at 9.15, and started in an easterly direction for about an hour and a quarter, then southerly for about two hours, when we joined the small stream of Rawan. Our course led us from one bank to the other of the Madihit, crossing and recrossing it nearly every reach, a most fatiguing operation, and trying to one’s feet, over slippery sandstone rocks and pebbles. The forest, though principally consisting of small trees, is tolerably clear, and presented no particular difficulties, nor was it so infested by leeches as in the neighbourhood of Molu. At 12.30 we began to ascend a steep valley (easterly), generally making the bed of the Rawan our path. A mountain torrent never affords very easy walking, and three of our men were so fatigued that at 3.15, after six hours’ walking, I consented to encamp.

It was in following the bed of the Rawan that I was stung. Notice was given by the guide to leave the direct path, and we all did; but I suppose some one disturbed the hornets, as they attacked me with a ferocity that appears incredible: many flew at me, but two fixed on my arms and stung me through my double clothing. They poised themselves a[82] moment in the air, and then came on with a rush that it was impossible to avoid. The pain was acute, but I saved my face. I tumbled down the steep bank in a moment, and, throwing aside rifle and ammunition, plunged up to my eyes in a pool, until the buzzing ceased, and the hornets had returned to their nests.

Some of my men were also stung; they squeezed a little tobacco juice on the wounds, and they say they felt no further inconvenience. I tried it about an hour afterwards, but it did me no good. I had no idea that the sting of this insect was so severe: my right arm swelled up to double its natural size, and was acutely painful; now, on the second day, it is much less so, but as the swelling continues, it is impossible to use it much. In the night we were again unfortunate, being attacked by the selimbada, a most poisonous ant, which quickly drove us from the tents, and compelled us to take refuge on a small pebbly flat near the stream. Fortunately for us it was a fine star-light sky, as we had to spend the remainder of the night there. I have called the sting poisonous; it is scarcely that, as, though the pain is acute, it has but little permanent effect. The little sleep I had was due to the last bottle of porter that remained. My men were so heavily laden, that had I brought a stock of drinkables, I could not have had them carried. I have with me but a couple of bottles of whisky and one of brandy.

Having put my right arm, the most painful, into a sling, I was enabled to make a start with the rest of the party, except Japer, who had an attack of elephantiasis. So leaving two volunteers with him, we continued[83] our course; they promising to follow as soon as possible after the fit was over; they will easily catch our loaded men. I would gladly have stayed behind myself, as my arms were in a very unfit state to be used, and I was compelled to carry my rifle in my left hand; but the fear of running short of provisions made me push on. Having left the tents at 7.30, we soon commenced ascending hills. Our course was at first S.W., but on reaching the summit of a ridge, we followed it to the S.S.E. The guides had some difficulty in discovering the path, which was completely overgrown. We found traces, however, of recent visitors.

Leaving the ridge, we descended a stream called Patra, where the guide said he wished us to remain while he went ahead to look for the path; so that, very unwillingly, I brought up at twelve, and our guide started to explore. One of the traces we found in the course of our walk was quite fresh, a human footstep in the mud, not a couple of hours old, and many broken branches. This caused as great excitement as ever Robinson Crusoe could have felt when he discovered the one on the sand; and the whole party collected to examine it. One man ventured to observe, “Perhaps there are enemies in the neighbourhood.” At this I laughed, and suggested it might be a wax-hunter, who, having caught sight of us, has started off to give notice of the approach of our formidable party: the twenty muskets must make it look formidable to him.

Our path to-day was rather difficult, as we had to ascend many steep hills, and sometimes to move[84] along their faces, which is tiresome walking: it is only on the ridges that our advance is pleasant. We had a view of the Molu range through the trees, and also saw many other mountain ranges, but no sign of those extensive plains that we were promised; perhaps, however, we have not penetrated far enough into the country. No portion of Molu appears to drain into the Limbang, except through the Madalam, the waters of its southern and western faces being carried off by the Tutu and the Millanau into the Baram. I have been trying to find some flowers for Mr. Low, but we have as yet seen none, except of the most trifling description. The waters of the Patra are very muddy, there evidently having been a landslip in its upper course, in fact I observed one to-day that left the surface of a whole hill quite bare. Our Muruts have just killed a large rock snake; they are now cleaning it preparatory to its forming a portion of their dinner.

They surprised their snake basking in the sun and cut off its head: but some time before we were ascending a waterfall, and while looking at some flowers, a friend accidentally touched a gray rock-snake that lay lazily extended across our path; I saw him spring aside, and had but a moment to get out of the way, as the reptile dashed past. On our return, while choosing a good pool to bathe, we observed the snake, which was about twelve feet long, vainly endeavouring to escape up a rock, and finding it could not, it made a dash at us. We thought at the time that it meant to attack us, but probably it was only an endeavour to effect an escape. We drove it back with[85] boughs to the deep pool before us, and then hurled large stones at it till it seemed to be dead; but on descending to the water to get out the body to examine, it had disappeared, diving into some hole or crevice in the rock. The Malays have a great dread of most kind of snakes, but this they especially dislike.

The cobra is, however, the most disagreeable one, particularly when met with in the water; one tried to swim across the river just below our boat; as soon as he saw us, he directed his course our way, not, I believe, to attack us, but simply as something to rest on; but my men in great alarm gave way, and escaped the beast. I have heard men say, that the cobra will not be frightened back by beating the water with the paddles, but must be killed, or it will enter the boat; if it succeed in doing so every Malay would instantly spring into the water and leave their canoe to drift away.

4 p.m.—Our guide has just returned, and brought with him the man whose traces have kept us on the qui vive. Our guide says that after walking about half an hour, he was hailed, and after a distant parley, the man approached, and to their mutual astonishment they found that they were countrymen, and that it was, in fact, his brother-in-law, in order to visit whose sister he had joined our party, the gay gentleman having left his young wife to go and seek his fortune and another wife in the neighbourhood of Brunei. Such meetings sometimes take place in romance, but seldom in real life. The stranger is one of a large party who are now pig-hunting in[86] the neighbourhood, so that my chief fear—that we should not find our way—has left me. We may get a deer, as these hunters have just secured a pig. The new comer says he thought we were a party of head-hunters, therefore, did not make himself known to us. He followed us for some time, and felt a great inclination to send a poisoned arrow amongst us; but that we were too strong. Very fortunate for him he did not do so, or it might have fared ill with him.

11th.—Our guide left us again last night to join the wax-seekers, and we are now waiting his return. I will enter the following story while fresh in my memory. The Pañgeran Mumein, the Shabandar’s eldest son, took a Murut girl as a concubine; she, however, was to stay with her father up country. He paid, as a bri-an or marriage portion, a pikul of bedil (133 pounds of brass guns). When she had had her first child, he, as usual, got tired of her, and told her father he did not want her any more, unless she liked to follow him to Brunei. This was objected to. A few days after, he said he should fine the father for not allowing him to take the girl to Brunei, where he would have sold her as a slave. He made the father pay him back the pikul of guns, as well as two more pikuls, and then said, “Your daughter may marry whom she pleases.”

After some time, she married one of her own countrymen. Pangeran Mumein hearing of this, in a most unaccountable fit of jealousy, determined to kill them all, and gave orders to Orang Kaya Upit to seize them. The Orang Kaya hid himself, so the Pangeran was obliged to employ the Bisayas, who[87] caught the husband and brought him to the noble. He had him tied up to the Orang Kaya’s landing-place, and there cut him to pieces with his own hand, taking his head and giving it as a present to the Gadong Muruts. The father and girl escaped. The Pangeran remains unpunished, probably unblamed. Of course, there are two sides to the story: he declares he had not separated from the girl.

The following is an instance of the punishment of an offender:—Salam, of Bukit Manis, together with his brother and his son, was accused of stealing buffaloes, and doubtless had done so, but acting generally as an agent of Mumein’s in his rascalities. The Sultan, wearied of the constant complaints against Salam, gave orders that he should be put to death: his house was immediately surrounded and fired into, and his brother and son killed. He then came out into his garden, begging that he might be taken to Brunei to be executed; but after they had induced him to throw away his sword, and fasten his own hands with his handkerchief, so that he could not immediately seize his weapon, they rushed in and cut him down. Difference of rank, difference of treatment.

There is an old Pablat man with us named Bujang: he says that the people of his kampong, or parish, as well as those of Burong Piñg-e, descend from Muruts, and that they turned Mahomedans shortly after they captured the daughter of the Sultan of Johore. This is the tradition or history: they were, as usual, cruising down the Gulf of Siam, looking out for prey, when they observed a prahu, gaily[88] dressed out with banners, pulling along the coast. They gave chase, and soon came up with her, and found the daughter of the Sultan of Johore, surrounded by a bevy of pretty attendants; they seized them and carried them off to Brunei, and presented the lady to their chief, who married her.

When the father heard of it, he sent a great deputation of nobles to entreat the Murut to turn Mahomedan, and marry his daughter according to the custom of that religion. He made no difficulty, but, on the contrary, invited the nobles to remain and take wives in the country. Many did, and it soon became a great rendezvous for the Malays; in fact, the other twenty kampongs are descended from odds and ends of strangers, together with their wives, taken among the aborigines. The rajahs all say they are of Johore descent.

Bujang affirms that the Pablats muster nearly a thousand fighting men; and that, with the Kadayans, or Mahomedans of the Hills, they have an offensive and defensive alliance, which enables them to hold their own, and not be treated as the other kampongs are. He was very proud that they would not suffer the rajahs to take their women, except with the parents’ consent. It is a fact that an unbetrothed girl, of decent appearance, can never be kept by her parents. A rajah sees her, and orders her to be sent to his harïm, that he may honour her by taking her as a concubine. They, therefore, betroth their children in childhood, and then they are usually safe. He says, and the Bisayas have a similar tradition, that Brunei was formerly a lake,[89] that burst through into the sea near the island of Iñgaran.

3 p.m.—We have only walked two hours and a half to-day, as, when we arrived at the hut of the Adang hunters, our Muruts were unwilling to go farther, hoping to come in for a very good share of the flesh of the wild pig that was hung up around: so we stopped, though anxious to get to a river. It is a great luxury, after a walk, to get a bathe in a fresh, running stream. Now we are encamped on an elevation of 3,000 feet, with only a very tiny spring of water near. With the party of Adang Muruts there is an old chief who has agreed to return with us to his village, leaving his young men to gather honey and wax. The few Adangs that we have met have rather a heavy, forbidding appearance, except the old chief and another.

Nearly all of this party of hunters were armed with sumpitans, which were as usual of dark hard red wood, and had a spear-head, lashed on very neatly with rattans on one side of the muzzle, and an iron sight on the other. The arrows were carried in very neatly-carved bamboo cases, and were themselves but slips of wood, tipped with spear-shaped heads cut out of bamboo. The poison looks like a translucent gum, of a rich brown colour; and when dipped into water of a temperature of one hundred and fifty degrees, it began to melt immediately; but on being withdrawn and placed over the flame of a lighted candle, it instantly became hard again. The butt of the arrow is fixed in a round piece of the pith of a palm, which fits the bore of the[90] blow-pipe. The natives say also, that the juice from one kind of creeper is even more virulent than that of the upas. On inquiry, I find that none of the people of these countries can manufacture the sumpitan themselves, but purchase them from traders, who procure them at Bintulu and Rejang from the wild Punans and Pakatans, and are therefore very dear, and highly prized, and no price offered will induce a man to part with a favourite sumpitan.

These Muruts were furnished with war jackets and helmets. The former were well padded, and thickly covered over with cowrie shells; the latter was of the same material, with flaps hanging, so as to protect the wearer’s neck from poisoned arrows. I heard that the supplying of cowrie shells formed a sort of trade in the Trusan districts. These Muruts, like those seen near the coast, often wear their hair tied in a knot behind, and keep it in its place by a great pin, fashioned something like a spear-head both in size as well as in appearance, which is made, according to the means of the wearer, either of brass or of bamboo.

Our walk to-day presented no feature of interest: a stiff climb to a narrow ridge, and then along it rising gradually to the hunter’s temporary hut. We but occasionally got glimpses of the country through the trees, and it presents one general view of forest, covering hill and valley. If we are to take such short walks as these, the journey will be an easy one indeed. I did not regret our little progress to-day, as it enabled old Japer to come up with us, his acute attack having left him. I never was in such[91] a country for bees: they everywhere swarm in the most disagreeable manner, and ants and other insects are equally numerous.

12th.—There was much thunder and lightning last night, with rain; but, notwithstanding the continued drizzle, I got away before seven, the chief sending his son. Our walk was more direct to-day, as the path was well known to the guide, he having just used it. The course was generally in a S. by E. direction; on the whole, over a very similar country to yesterday; got no view whatever. We crossed numerous streams, as the Sañgin, Ropan, and Gritang, and have now stopped at a very pleasant one, the Lemilang, encamping on a high bank about 100 feet above it (900 feet above the level of the sea). We have done more work to-day, walking more than six hours. Noticed some tracks of the tambadau. The Kalio hills, perhaps 5,500 feet high, have been on our left all day. The most active man I have ever seen is a young Murut, who walked part of the way with us to-day: he had a perfect figure, and is the only pleasant-looking man besides the chief that belonged to the party of hunters.

13th.—I have little to enter, except that we walked five hours south-east, then four east, then another north, passing over the same kind of country as usual. The only noticeable event was catching some fine fish in the Madihit, just below the junction of the Rapaw and the Obar. The operation is simple: stones are hurled into a pool in the river; the fish fly for concealment under the stones and to the holes in the rocks; the men jump in and soon bring them[92] out of their hiding-places. They caught five large and above a dozen small fish; one was eighteen inches long, and very fat. Ahtan was successful in getting a fine one, which he is at present engaged in cooking, so that we shall each dine off half of it to-night. The scales are very large; it is the same kind as I have previously noticed in the Madalam and Tampasuk.

After this good fortune, we crossed the river, and ascended the steep hill of Pakong Lubfing, till we reached a little rivulet running into the Obar. I really believe that the great loss of blood from leeches is the cause of the faintness I feel to-night; I have pushed off hundreds, and the wounds continue to bleed for some time. Perhaps this, and the very heavy day’s work, may account for the strong disinclination I feel to write my journal. The Muruts are beginning to be full of dismal stories of enemies, saying they have suffered much lately from the attacks of neighbouring tribes, who have shot at them with their poisoned arrows, many dying, including some women and children. However, there is not much reliance to be placed in such stories when told in the woods. During the evening a very disagreeable-looking insect kept attacking my candle. It looked like a dead but branched twig, and an ordinary observer would scarcely notice the difference till he saw it move; its legs are represented by four dead branches. There is another more common, that has wings like a couple of bright green leaves. (Our camp 1,500 feet.)

The Murut guides are but scantily provided with food, and search eagerly for snakes, tortoises, and fresh-water turtle. The last would be a grand find,[93] as it is often three feet long, without including the head and neck: its upper shell and chest are covered with a soft skin, large openings being left for the limbs, each of which has five fingers, three of them armed with thin but strong claws, those on the thumbs being the largest; the fourth and fifth fingers have no claws, and their joints are such as to admit of much movement in a lateral direction, particularly the fifth, which, when the fin is distended, is at right angles to the first three. The back is of an uniform dark gray; the upper part of the head dark olive green, mottled with yellow spots; the nose is prolonged into a non-retractile, pointed soft snout, about an inch in length, and the nostrils are rather large; the tail is about three inches long and very fleshy. Its stomach, when opened, often contains many kinds of fruits, particularly wild figs and some large kernels, which, though not harder than filberts, pass unbroken through his horny jaws, which appear, however, well adapted for cutting up food of this consistence. I may add, that the lower part of its neck is covered with a fold of loose cartilaginous skin, into which it withdraws its head, with the exception of the pig-like snout.

14th.—Walked to-day seven hours in a general east-north-east direction; in fact, from the range that separates the Madihit waters from the Limbang, the Adang mountains were pointed out, bearing east-north-east. We had a distant view of some high peaks, bearing due south, said to be those in the interior of Baram. We had also a tolerable view of the Molu range, which enabled me to fix our position. I found[94] to-day, just as we were crossing the ridge, one of the most curious insects I have ever seen; it appeared like a gigantic moth, above four inches in length, and was of a brown colour, with a band of bright green just across its neck; although it had the look of a moth, on closer examination it looked like a great horse-fly. I have little to enter to-day, as the walking has been over the same style of ground, and there has been no incident to vary the ordinary routine. We pass a good many abandoned huts, with an occasional deer-skin hanging up to dry, the mark of the hunter; and, to our great disappointment, we find the same men have been poisoning the river with the beaten out roots of the tuba plant, capturing all the good fish near the encampment. Some of the hungry ones strayed farther down, and saw several of a very large kind, but they escaped into such deep holes that it was impossible to get them out.

I am afraid our provisions are drawing to a close. I see some hungry looks and other symptoms of uncomfortableness among about half the men—all their own fault. The careful have still two days’ rice; three, if they did not assist their companions: the greedy ones have been trusting to my biscuits. However, as I could not sit down to my dinner of plain boiled rice with so many envying me, I told my servant to take sufficient for ourselves, and then divide the remainder of the biscuits into twenty-three heaps. I remembered Galton’s plan, and making one of the men turn his back to the little piles, I pointed to a heap, and he cried out a name; so that they were fairly and without favour distributed.

The non-careful men were very disappointed with this plan; they thought I should have only given those that had no rice a share, but that I explained to them would be encouraging improvidence. A similar thing occurred when I lost my boat at Molu. The men, rather than carry rice, preferred trusting to jungle produce, vainly hoping we could do three days’ work in one. We are encamped on the Urud, a tributary of the Limbang. The highest point crossed to-day was 2,500 feet: our present elevation is about 1,400 feet, after many ups and downs. One of the most melancholy sounds in the forest is the cry of the wahwah, and after sunset it sounded near us, to be answered by a disconsolate companion not very far off.

15th.—An hour’s walk brought us to the Limbang, whose bed is here, perhaps, seventy yards wide, very shallow, not reaching to the hip. It flowed from the Siliñgid mountains, and is said, after skirting their western face, to turn to the south-east to its sources in Lawi. Si Nuri, one of our guides, pretended to hear a bad bird, and wanted to return, though we were all struggling against the stream in the middle of the river. As this was the second time he had done it to-day, I would not stand it, so ordered him over; however, to satisfy timid minds, I had the guns discharged, cleaned, and reloaded. He said his añgei (omen bird) told him there was fighting at his house. We then continued to Suñgei Kapaw, where we stopped to eat our breakfast. The old chief’s son was very much astonished by the rapidity and accuracy of fire of one of the revolving carbines. He had[96] never seen any fire-arms, unless they were common flint muskets.

Shortly after again starting, I observed a commotion among the guides, and was told that the new man and Si Nuri, his brother-in-law, wanted us to take a roundabout way, to avoid a country swarming, they said, with enemies, who would shoot at us from the jungle. This would entail the loss of another day, and the climbing of an extra high mountain. We preferred the enemies to the extra work, as our food will be all finished to-morrow; so the two guides left us, and one of the remaining Adang men undertook to find a road. It struck me afterwards that it was merely a dispute about whose house we should go to first. The Orang Kaya Upit and four followers wanted naturally to go to their relatives, while Si Nuri was anxious to get as quickly as possible to see his wife and relations; but as he could speak little Malay, I did not understand his explanation.

Our new guide, turning north for a short time, soon brought us to the Ropo, a branch of the Limbang, which is, perhaps, a third less than the main stream. From thence we continued our course north, climbing up a steep mountain, about 2,500 feet in height; then turning to the north-east, we continued that course till 4.10 p.m., when we reached the Bapangal stream. Including all stoppages and petty rests, we walked about six hours and a half, and made about eight miles. From near the summit of the high hill we had a view of some fresh clearings which appeared about seven miles off in a north-east direction. The villages are said to be on the other side of the clearings,[97] beyond a low hill. As we must have approached these farms three miles, we cannot have more than eight miles of walking before us; at all events, I shall do my utmost to reach the houses to-morrow night, whether the men follow or not, as after the biscuit division last night I have only rice for to-morrow, coffee, and the remains of a bad China ham. Just as we were crossing the Ropo, an animal slipt quietly into the water, which I think was an otter. A few days before leaving my house, I was witness of a desperate fight between my dogs and a very fierce female otter. They had surrounded a pool, and kept her in it, but as it was very shallow a dog would dash in and make a snap at her; at last she seized one by the nose, and would not let go; the dog, a very small English terrier, did not utter a cry, but struggled towards the bank, when the whole pack fell upon the enemy, and tore it to pieces. Yet in death, it did not let go its hold, and to free the dog’s nose its jaws had to be forced open with a spear-head. (Resting-place 1,300 feet.)

16th.—Walking on till 4.30, after eight hours of regular hard work, we have not reached the Adang villages, but have a prospect of doing so to-morrow. We have only the range of mountains to cross: yesterday’s clearings and low hills we have passed. When at 4.30 I sat down on a rock, with the rain pouring down in torrents, and the men standing shivering around me, I could not but feel a little despondent when I asked the guide where were the houses, and he replied over that high mountain: but observing the men were watching me, I burst out laughing, a[98] very unnatural sound it seemed, and said I thought the Adang dwellings had vanished in the clouds.

Presently the Orang Kaya Upit came stealing back and said he had found two fresh huts that belonged to a Murut tribe with whom they were at war, that we must instantly retrace our steps half a mile at least, and pitch our tents there. I was in a very bad mood to receive such a proposition and told him that if the devil himself lived in those huts, I would make him give me a share of them to-night, and told him to lead the way. Tired as he was, I could scarcely persuade him that I was in earnest; but, calling on my Malays to follow, we soon made an advance towards the dreaded spot, and then, after twice attempting to lead us astray, the Orang Kaya brought us to the huts, which had evidently not been vacated many hours; perhaps after they had got a distinct view of our party. The ashes of the fires were still warm, and we had no difficulty in rekindling them.

As the rain continued to descend in torrents, we were pleased indeed to find warm dry quarters, and having extended the tent from one of the huts, there was room for all. As old Japer and four of the men had not reached us by half-past five, we discharged our fire-arms one after the other to give them notice of our whereabouts, in case they were wandering within hearing. It likewise served the purpose of intimating to the Muruts concealed about that we were not head-hunters, these seeking concealment and not publicity. My best men having assisted the improvident have but a poor meal to-night. Our walk to-day was over very uneven ground, steep hills[99] and numerous streams, among others the true Adang. The last candle is going out, so I finish.

17th. and 18th.—My journal did not reach me till this evening, so I must enter the two days together. Japer did not make his appearance during the night. At dawn, finding I had a small biscuit a-man left, I shared them out, and then started off at 6.30, hoping to reach the houses, and from thence send assistance to the stragglers. I gave notice that I expected no man to wait for his neighbour, but to push on and do the best he could for himself. Our route at first lay over the low ground that skirts the foot of the mountain, then up a tolerably easy ascent, one of the spurs of the Adang range, that appears to run north and south. After half an hour’s walking, I observed the guides dart to an old tree; I followed, and we were soon occupied in devouring mushrooms; after this slight repast, we continued our course.

About 10 a.m. four of the Muruts dropped their heavy burdens, intending to return for them next day, and started off at a running pace. I was following when I heard Ahtan’s soft voice say, “May I come too, sir?” I said, “Yes, if you can keep up.” This was very well for a few hundred yards; when, to my surprise, I found a Murut drop behind, then the Orang Kaya; at last the remaining guide stretched himself on his back, and said he was done up. I tried all I could to rouse them, but with no effect, until the arrival of the fifth Murut, who was one of the baggage train, with half a ham, the last of the provisions, and not good food unsoaked, without a drop of water for miles, but I told the Muruts that[100] if they would try and reach the top of the mountain I would then cook and divide it.

This roused two, and after much trouble we arrived at the first peak, there we stopped; a fire was lit, and with a chopper we divided the ham into great bits. While cooking we shouted to the other three Muruts to make haste, and presently we heard the Orang Kaya begging us not to begin till he arrived. As none of the Malays would touch it, we divided the meat into seven portions, and they were soon devoured skin and all, and the bones crushed for the marrow, Ahtan and myself eagerly joining in the meal and securing our share. For a fortnight we had lived on very unsubstantial food, and the great exercise we were taking gave us appetites that scorned being satisfied with simple boiled rice.

A few minutes after the meal was over, the Muruts gave a grunt of satisfaction and started off, and continued ascending till we had reached the height of 5,000 feet; where we struck off to the north-east, down to a dashing torrent, one of the feeders of the Trusan river; here we bathed, then off again up a very steep hill. This was too much for Ahtan. He turned an imploring look on me, and seemed ready to burst into tears; but I spoke to him very angrily, asking him if at the last moment he intended to disgrace himself, and relieving him of my sword, he pushed on, and in a few minutes we were at the summit. Here we sat down for half an hour; then on, generally descending, sometimes excessively steep, and it was with the greatest pleasure that at 5.30 p.m. I found myself at the edge of a great[101] clearing, still burning, with two village houses at its eastern verge.

Our guides had a short consultation as to how we should announce ourselves to the people, whom we could perceive working on the farms. At length Orang Kaya Upit shouted out. There was immediately a great commotion among the Muruts, but they soon recognized the voices, and, as we forced our way through the tangled trees that were felled in every direction, they came forward to welcome my companions. They soon explained who I was, and I was received with great civility and with symptoms of much curiosity. No wonder; they had often heard of the white man, but I was the first specimen that had ever reached their country. Half way across the clearing we met crowds of women and children collected to hear the news, all of us being supplied with sugar-cane to amuse us while a meal was prepared.

At 6 p.m., just at sunset, we reached the houses, and pleased was I to be able to stretch myself alongside of one of their fires. This was the hardest day’s walking we had had, ten hours of actual work, crossing a double range of 5,000 feet in height; and I was both hungry and tired, and exceedingly enjoyed the meal they prepared for us. The only drawback was, that there were but Ahtan and one Malay to enjoy it with me; two, however, came in afterwards, but fourteen succumbed to the fatigue and did not show themselves. However, I was relieved of much of my anxiety by the Chief promising to send out a party at early dawn with provisions.

The Adangs were rejoiced to see my companions, plenty of arrack was produced, and the news freely given and received. They kept it up to a very late hour. One family heard of the death of a near relative, and their wailing in the next room was very painful. Gradually, however, the spirits they drank began to have an effect upon my companions, and they all dropped off to sleep, in which I was but too glad to join them.

The only one of my Malay followers who kept up with me, and who, though one of the most improvident, had yet refused to touch the ham, although no other Mahomedan was present, was called by his companions Si Kurap, on account of a skin disease which covered his body. The Malays very often give nicknames, referring to some personal quality or defect, which, as in the above case, takes the place of the real name. One man I knew, who lived at the town of Sakarang, was called Sauh Besi, the iron anchor, on account of his great strength, and immense muscular development. Others are called from their low or high stature: Si Buntak, Mr. Short, or Si Panjang, Mr. Long, or Si Juling, Mr. Squint, from having that defect in his eyes. A very stout Chinese trader went always by the name of Baba Lampoh, or Mr. Fat. The women are called after the same fashion. Si Buntar, or the round, was the name given to a baby, on account of its plump appearance; and when she grew to be a woman and became thin, she never had another name. Some are called Sulong and Bongsu, the eldest and the youngest born, to the day of their death, never receiving any other appellation.[103] They have also the same custom as the Dayaks of taking the name of their first-born, as Pa Sipi, the father of Sipi.

According to the Orang Kaya’s agreement, a party started off at daylight to search for my missing followers; and I went out and sat upon the stump of a gigantic tree, to view the surrounding country, a little anxious about my men. The recent history of the Adang people is a good illustration of the injury done by the Kayans to the surrounding tribes. They formerly lived near the Adang river, but extended their farms to the entrance of the Madalam; but they have been gradually driven back, until they have abandoned the Limbang waters, and now drink those of the interior of the Trusan, the whole country from the Madalam being now jungle. I do not imagine they are nearly so numerous as they were, as in the last great Kayan foray they suffered awfully. They were, I believe, all collected in their villages at some great feast, when the Kayans, about 3,000 strong, set upon them; the first village was surprised, the fighting-men slain, the rest taken captive; the few fugitives were followed up so fast as almost to enter together the second village with their pursuers, where the same scene again took place. The burning of these villages, and the beating of gongs and talawaks gave notice to the rest, and all who could fled precipitately over the Adang range, followed by their relentless foes, who killed and captured a very great number.

The view from the clearings at the back of the houses is extensive. To the east three lines of hills,[104] backed in the distance by a long range of mountains, where the salt springs are found; to the north there is a fine valley, descending on either side in easy slopes to the banks of the Trusan, and as a background there is a fine range of mountains. They say the highest is Brayong, which rises opposite Labuan, and is one of the loftiest peaks visible from that island—direction east of south; so that if these people be not mistaken, I know my position tolerably well; in fact, this morning, before I heard the name, these heights reminded me of the Lawas mountains; but they appear so close, that all my bearings and map must be utterly wrong if the Muruts have not made a very great mistake; it is only one of the guides that calls it Brayong. The distant eastern range is said to shed its waters to the opposite coast.

The village at which we are staying is but a very ordinary specimen of a Dayak location. The houses are poor, though effectually closed in, to avoid, they say, the poisoned arrows of their enemies, who are continually haunting this neighbourhood, a very great exaggeration evidently. From the clearings that are seen on every side, there must be a very fair population assembled around these hills; but their continual petty quarrels have no doubt a bad effect on their prosperity and their power to resist their great enemy. There are about fifty families in this community, and like many of the other inland Dayak tribes, each family occupies but a small space; the front verandah, closed in like a long room, is filled with fireplaces, showing that the Muruts of the plain find an elevation of 3,500 feet very cold. I had no blanket last night,[105] and had to get up about three, and have the fire replenished, for I felt too cold to sleep; they use very large logs as the chief stay, and with a little care they remain in all night.

I notice here many beads and akiks (agate beads), but little brass wire. About twelve to-day nine of my followers made their appearance, five Muruts bearing their burdens for them; they said that the two lads of the party were quite exhausted, and many of them, from eating the cabbage of the rattan, had been vomiting. They only managed to reach the river in which I bathed, and were found there by the party of Muruts I had sent out; five Muruts continued the search for old Japer and the original missing four. I am afraid I shall not see anything of them before to-morrow, as old Japer’s legs are very much swollen. I had scarcely written the words, when the report of two muskets told me that they were not far off, and all are now here but Japer, who is slowly coming on behind. At sunset he arrived, utterly exhausted.

So suspicious had my men become from hearing the Muruts describe the treachery of the head-hunters, that when the relieving party approached them, they warned them off, threatening them with their guns; the Muruts fortunately shouted out Orang Kaya Upit’s name and then they were trusted. While sitting round the fires this evening, I noticed a sound like Brooke, and listening more attentively I heard “Tuan Brooke! Tuan Brooke!” continually repeated. I asked what it was they were referring to. One of the interpreters explained how[106] delighted they were to see the adopted son (for so I found I had been introduced) of the great Mr. Brooke, the friend of the aborigines, the fame of whose good deeds had reached even this very secluded people; and their only surprise was that he who had given peace and happiness to the “Southern Dayaks” should neglect to extend his benefits to the Northern. They thought that a word from him would stop all the invasions of the Kayans, and enable them to return to their own regretted country.

I was very anxious to trace the means by which intelligence was conveyed to these Muruts of the peace and plenty that now reigned among the Dayaks of Sarawak, and the way in which it reached this tribe was very simple. When their communities broke up on the Upper Limbang, some fled to the interior, while others made their way down the river to the country at present inhabited nearer the sea. At rare intervals, a party would start to visit their relations, and though, as I have shown, they occasionally suffered heavy losses as at the Naga Surei rapid, yet the practice was kept up. Sir James Brooke’s name is of course very familiar wherever the Malays extend, and, although many would try to prejudice the minds of the aborigines against him and every other Englishman, yet the effect would not be permanent, as they all remember and ponder on that great event, the capture of Brunei by Sir Thomas Cochrane’s squadron.

To those unaccustomed to these oppressed aborigines, it would appear incredible—the awe and fear inspired by the Sultan and his nobles in former times;[107] and the idea was universal that the Bornean government was the greatest and most powerful in the world; but our navy gave a rude shock to that belief, and the joy among the aborigines on hearing that the court was obliged to hide itself in the jungle, and afterwards humbly apologize for its conduct, spread far and near. They now began to give more credence to the stories which had been spread by men like Japer of the power of the English, and of the justice with which our countrymen ruled men. Adang visitors carried back to the far interior imperfect versions of these affairs, but what dwelt in their minds was, that there were some of their countrymen who were happy under the rule of Tuan Brooke.

Though they knew something of him in this way, similar stories reached them from other sources; slowly the news spread through the villages bordering on the Trusan, and were carried up against the stream to meet the same tales brought over by the Kayan envoys, who declared that Tuan Brooke was their great ally, and therefore the Adangs were anxious to secure his influence to put down the Kayan forays.

The highest peak beyond the houses above 5,500 feet is called Lobang Rimau, “The Tigers’ Cave,” about which they tell this story: that formerly a tiger killed a woman; the people turned out, and gave chase; the tigers, eight in number, took refuge in a cave near the peak; the hunters lit a great fire at the entrance, and smoked them to death. Since then there have been no tigers, but the place has been[108] called “Tigers’ Cave” to this day; and it is worth noticing that the Muruts of Padas have a great dread of ascending to the summit of some of their highest mountains, on account of the tigers which still, they say, lurk in the deepest recesses of the forest.

Women’s Ornaments—Adorning in Public—Confidence shown by a young Girl—Geography—Leech Bites—Tapioca—The Manipa Stream—The False and True Brayong—Nothing but Rice to be purchased—Wild Raspberries—Good Shots—The Rifle Carbine—Death of a Kite—Picking a Cocoa-nut—Curious Statement—A Village of Runaways—Proposed Slave Hunt—Disappointment—Appearance of the Women—Old Look of the Children—Devoid of Drapery—Preparing the Plantations—No Goods for Sale—Edible Bird’s-nest Cave—Difficulties in penetrating farther—Determine to return—Climate—New Route—Custom in Drinking similar to the Chinese—Anecdote of Irish Labourers—Change of Plans—Fashion of wearing Brass Wire—Start on a Tour among the Villages—The Burning Path—Village of Purté—Refreshing Drink—The Upper Trusan—Distant Ranges—Inviting and receiving Invitations—Fatal Midnight Revel—Tabari’s Village—Alarm of Orang Kaya Upit—Suspension Bridge—Inhabitants—Scheme of the Adangs to return to their old Districts—Deers’ Horns—Mourning—Difficult Walking—The Tiger’s Leap—Meet Si Puntara—No Real Enemies—Murud—The Gura Peak—The Main Muruts—Salt as well as Slave Dealers—Bearskin Jacket—White Marble—Uncertainty whence procured—Leaden Earrings— Unbecoming Custom—Lofty Mountains—Lawi Cloud-hidden—Muruts busy Farming—Two Harvests a Year—Agricultural Produce plentiful—Obtain a Goat—Dress of the Men—Bead Petticoats—Custom of burying on the Tops of the Lofty Hills—Desecration of Graves—Jars—Discovery of one in Brunei—Similar Millanau Customs.

September 19th.—Many of the women in this village wear fillets of beads round their heads to keep back the hair; it looks well at a distance, but when near,[110] most of them are so dirty that nothing could look well upon them. Here is a girl going out to the fields to work, and she is putting on her ornaments; first, the bands round the head; then a necklace of beads of twenty strings; then a chain made of brass wire, each link four or five inches long, but most of them wear the last ornament round the waist. Perhaps she is in a hurry. One might suppose that these adornments are worn in honour of our visit, as they must be inconvenient to a woman at work.

Yesterday morning, while out walking, a young girl brought me some sticks of sugar-cane; her companions remaining a hundred yards off; for this, in the afternoon, she was duly rewarded with a looking-glass. I like this confidence, and detest the system they have in some tribes of running away shrieking—all false modesty, as they are seldom really afraid. The trade in beads for rice appears brisk, and so we need have no fear about provisions.

I have been trying to understand the geography of this part of Borneo, but I am exceedingly puzzled by the position of Brayong; it bears N. E. by N. The valley leading up to these mountains is very picturesque and park-like, with its extensive clearings and clumps of trees scattered about. To the north the hills slope gently to the rivers, and appear to afford splendid spots for cultivation; from this view, even Brayong appears approachable by a very easy ascent.

I am trying to make arrangements for a six days’ trip in the jungle, in search of new flowers, and also for a reported edible bird’s-nest cave, the latter, most[111] probably, a myth. I am rather troubled by my feet. I have seventy-three wounds on one leg, and seventy-two on the other, all from leech bites, and some of them are festering; but a few days’ rest will probably restore them to a proper walking condition. I dislike living in these little close houses, they are very dirty, and there is little new to observe or to interest. I prefer the freedom of the woods and the freshness of the tents.

20th.—The women are hard at work preparing the tapioca for food; they cut it into slices, then dry it, and afterwards pound it to a flour. Took a walk, notwithstanding my tender feet, as I dislike remaining quiet a whole day. We went down to the stream which runs to the eastward of the village, the Manipa (its bed 2,957 feet); observed only sandstone intermixed with quartz; from thence we ascended to a village on top of the opposite hill (height 4,403 feet), Purté being the name of the rivulet that flows near it.

I might well say yesterday I was puzzled by the position of Brayong, as it turns out not to be Brayong at all. It is not thirty miles off, and the veritable Lawas range, bearing N. 10° W., about thirty miles beyond it. There is also a high mountain, part of the false Brayong, bearing N. Now I am no longer puzzled: the Orang Kaya Upit gave it that name from the marked resemblance of the two ranges. There is a curiously shaped mountain, whose eastern end is very recognizable. I must sketch it in the geographical journal, as I can easily recall it, if ever I ascend the Trusan.

We found the village nearly empty, all the[112] people being away at their farms. We could only purchase a fowl; there were two goats, but the owner was absent. The story of the innumerable goats has indeed faded away; we were equally unsuccessful in our search for fruit, vegetables, or sugar-cane. On our return we picked a great many wild raspberries, which have not very much flavour, but they were refreshing, and in many places the shrubs grew so very thickly as to prevent any other vegetation springing up, and looked like a deserted garden. The plants have a very similar appearance to those grown in England, and are pleasant to look at as reminding one of home. The boys of the village for a few beads collected them by the peck, till we were completely surfeited by them.

I am not a good shot with the rifle, but in my life I have three times startled the natives, and this I did to-day. There were a great many men present, chiefs of the neighbouring villages, and Orang Kaya Upit told me that they had heard of the wonders of the rifle-carbine, that could be fired five times without loading, and they were all anxious that I should discharge it before them; so I looked about for a mark, that if I missed would not be looked upon as a great want of skill.

I observed a large kite perched on a branch of a tree about a hundred and twenty yards off, so I told them I would have a shot at the bird. I remembered that I had once before put a bullet from the same carbine through a hawk, so I had some confidence in the instrument. I fired, and the bird came down without the flutter of a wing, pitching headlong into[113] the jungle below. This intensely excited their admiration. There is no doubt that skill in arms has a great effect upon wild tribes, so I shall never again attempt a difficult shot before them, for fear I should weaken the effect of this one. The carbine was an excellent one, manufactured by Wilkinson of Pall Mall, after Adams’ patent.

Many years ago I landed at Cagayan Sulu, with a large party to buy cattle. A few of the people were most insolent in their manner, and they were all fully armed; after strolling about a little in the blazing sun, we felt very thirsty, and asked the owner of the house near which we were bartering, to let us have a cocoa-nut. He pointed to them, and with an insolent laugh said, “You may have one if you can get it.” I did not wait for a second permission, but without a moment’s thought let fly at the stalk and brought a nut down. I never saw astonishment so visible on men’s countenances; we had no more insolence after that. It was a shot that one might attempt a hundred times without succeeding.

I mention this circumstance as it produced a proposal that gave me some information of which I might otherwise not have heard. I noticed in the evening that the chiefs were more quiet than usual, and that they were talking together in whispers and constantly looking my way. One of them brought me a basin of their native spirit, which is not strong, so I drank it off. Then Orang Kaya Upit unfolded their scheme: he said that formerly all their tribes were very rich in slaves, captives made in their[114] different expeditions, before the time they were so broken up; suddenly, for some reason they did not understand, all the slaves from the neighbouring villages fled in a body and built a strong house a few miles away, from whence they constantly harassed their neighbours, their former masters. They were a bad people, thieves, and murderers, the only disturbers of their peace: it was they who came at night and shot poisoned arrows at the women and children, killing many.

After minutely recounting the evil deeds of this people, he said that the assembled chiefs had often attacked the robbers’ village, but had never succeeded in taking it. They had seen to-day the wonderful effect of fire-arms, and they were quite convinced that if I would join them with my seventeen Malays armed with muskets, we could easily capture the place; that there were not less than sixty families, so that there would be at least a couple of hundred slaves to divide, and that they were willing I should take as many as I liked for myself and men.

My followers looked very eagerly at me, ready at my desire to enter on this slave hunt. I quietly declined joining in the attack, as we had never been injured by their enemies. To this they replied that I should certainly be attacked on my journey home, as these people would have heard of my arrival, and would lie in ambush. I told the Orang Kaya that I would prefer waiting till that event took place; if it did I would turn back, and join them in driving their enemies out of the country. They were disappointed at my determination, and perhaps[115] my men had indulged themselves with the idea of getting a slave apiece. If true, this story of the village of escaped captives is very curious; but it may have been invented to induce me to join in an attack on a tribe of their enemies.

21st.—Many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages are coming in to see the stranger. The women are remarkably ill favoured—broad flat faces and extremely dirty, but with many head ornaments, and some of them are tattooed about the arms and legs. Many of the men and women wear round flat pieces of metal or of wood in the holes of their ears instead of earrings, while others have heavy pieces of lead, dragging the ear down to the shoulder, like the Kanowit tribe, I suppose to enlarge the holes to the proper proportions.

It is curious to notice the very old look that many of the boys and girls have, especially the latter: it requires a glance at the bosom to discover whether they are young or not. Their petticoats are of the shortest, sometimes not eight inches broad, and are scarcely decent. The Bengal civilian’s exclamation on seeing the Sarawak Dayaks, “It strikes me that these people are rather devoid of drapery,” would apply better to the Adang ladies.

We have purchased rice for twenty days at extremely moderate rates, bartering with beads. Our guide continues absent on a visit to his relations, which is the cause of our remaining so quiet. The atmosphere around us is filled with smoke from the burning plantations, rendering it quite unpleasant for mouth, nose and eyes: the clearings are very extensive[116] in many places, and as yet not half burnt. Their cultivation is very slovenly—the regular Dayak custom of felling a large extent of jungle, then, when dry, burning all that can be easily burnt, thus leaving the trunks and large branches, and planting rice between them.

I have observed but few tobacco-plants; they smoke what appeared to me a kind of moss, but in reality tobacco badly cured. They are all anxious for goods, but they have nothing to sell; neither goats nor honey, and but few fowls or vegetables, nor do they appear to have wax, camphor or birds’-nests; rice is their only commodity, and that they have in abundance.

4 p.m.—One of the great curiosities of these countries is certainly the edible bird’s-nest caves, and we were promised the sight of an immense one. Luñgenong told us that once, when out hunting, he had followed a pig into a large crevice in the rock, which, however, opened out to an immense size in the interior; and that the sides were covered with a mass of the white nest; of course the old ones would have been of no value, but had they been destroyed, in a few months new ones would have been built, and have been worth a great deal to them. Luñgenong has just returned from a visit to his relations, but though he still persists in his story of the caves, he has changed a three days’ walk into a month’s journey in the forest: we must, he says, carry provisions for the whole distance. This is evidently an invention; perhaps he does not want us to visit his caves, so I have told him I won’t go. I[117] should like to reach the mountain of Lawi, but I have only seven men who can walk.

22nd.—I have almost made up my mind not to try to penetrate farther into the country during this expedition. I think it would be much better to attempt reaching the great mountain of Lawi by ascending the Trusan river from its mouth. The whole country appears inhabited, so that my men would not suffer as they have done during our present expedition up the Limbang: they would have no unusual fatigues, nor any privations to undergo, and our chance would be greater.

It is very improbable indeed that at this season I can get much assistance from these villagers; it is their planting time, and they have a little of that feeling, which we found so prevalent during our Kina Balu trip, of not wishing to help us to go beyond their own village—a sort of jealousy that we may distribute our goods elsewhere. Were my men well I should laugh at such difficulties, and go without a guide; but four of my followers are really ill, eight more have very sore feet, so that in reality I have but five efficient men, which is too few to wander with unless joined to the people of the country. I have succeeded in all the objects with which I started except reaching Lawi, and I have gained such knowledge and experience how to organize the next expedition, that I feel tolerably assured of penetrating during the next excursion very much farther into the country.

The climate among these hills must be very healthy, the air is fresh and cool; even in the middle of the day it is not oppressive, except in certain places. A[118] few days’ farther advance would give us a very superior climate. I regret that I have not sufficient instruments with me to carry out all my views: but even with the imperfect means I possess, I have added considerably to my knowledge of this portion of the interior.

We are making many inquiries respecting the country below us, and the result is that we think that by starting from Brunei with light boats and lighter baggage, we should probably reach these houses in good condition under twelve days; which would enable us to extend our travels immensely during two months. I am longing to push on to the range of mountains we see to the eastward, but after five days’ rest few of the men have recovered from their walk from the Madihit.

The men are drinking arrack around me, and it is interesting to observe the custom of refusing the proffered glass and pressing it on others, the contest continuing even to the danger of spilling the liquor. It is so practised among the Chinese at Sarawak that a cup of tea is often offered and refused by every one in company before the holder will drink it. I must have disconcerted many a thirsty man by accepting the cup before I knew the custom. This puts me in mind of an incident that took place in a rapid run I made between the Cove and Cork. At the door of a public-house were a dozen idle labourers: we stopped there for a glass of ale, and in the exuberance of our spirits ordered four quarts for the idlers: just as we were starting, one of them stepped up to me and said,—“Sir, we never drink but out of our own pints.”

5 p.m.—“Unstable as water,” &c., I might almost say of myself, as my determination of not extending our journey has been upset by the Orang Kaya Upit, who assures me that the people of the interior are expecting me, and Si Nuri has just joined us with a message from Si Puntará, the old hunter we met in the woods, hoping we will come and visit him and his people. So if nothing occur, we shall start to-morrow with such men as can walk, leaving the others to recover strength at this village. I much prefer this plan, as it will enable me to form a better estimate of the facilities of reaching the centre of the island by this route, and I may yet get a look at Lawi. I have constantly borne in mind the whisper I overheard, that only certain privileged individuals are allowed to get a sight of this famous hill.

I have seen many fashions of wearing brass wire, but the most inelegant is that of some of the girls of the neighbouring villages, who twist about a couple of fathoms in circles round their neck, rising from the shoulders to the chin, forming what appears a stiff collar with a very broad base; it is, however, no doubt more pliant than it appears.

23rd.—Commenced our tour among the villages by walking over to the Purté houses: it took us two hours in the broiling sun, although in a direct line not above two miles, and by path not three, but we had to descend about fifteen hundred feet and climb that again; the slopes of the hills very steep: besides we were in no hurry, not intending to pass this village. The leech bites prevent my wearing shoes, and the way being completely open, with no shade whatever,[120] the trunks of trees laid along to form a path were very hot, making the soles of my feet painfully sore; my followers, lazy after a five days’ rest, lagged even in this short walk, but as soon as we reached the houses, a beautiful breeze refreshed us: but even a long bath would not cool my burning feet.

The village of Purté, or Sakalobang, one the name of the rivulet, the other of the buttress, is on a northern spur of the Adang range, which here bends considerably to the eastward. It consists of about forty-five families, and the houses are slightly larger than the last ones, and less confined: this village acknowledges Balang Palo as its head man, as Si Lopong was of the last, and they know the different villages by the names of the chief men, rather than by rivers or hills. After our bathe the villagers refreshed us with a sweet drink, unfermented, made from the roots of the tapioca. I notice here that deer’s horns are much used as pegs on which to hang their swords and fighting jackets. Most of the people are away planting rice, while the neighbouring villagers are burning the felled trees, and filling the air with their smoke. As we advance we obtain better views of the interior, and here the Trusan, under the name of Kalalan, is rather broad, and might perhaps float a canoe.

I shall not make much remark about the country, as I have taken the necessary bearings, and shall see it all so much better from the upper villages. The lofty eastern range is gradually appearing as two, with in one place high white cliffs near the summit; it is too smoky for very good bearings. Noticed a[121] little boy wearing brass wire round the arm from the wrist to the elbow, after the fashion of Sarawak Dayak girls, and many of the absurd brass-wire collars even on young children.

Every principal man seems to consider it necessary to give Orang Kaya Upit, and the other illustrious visitors, a meal or a feast, and it is amusing to watch how the invitation is given and received. The host draws near the crowd, and says,—“Come,” the visitors pretend not to hear: he again repeats, “Come,” more impatiently. They look at anything rather than the speaker, and continue their conversation with more earnestness than ever; after innumerable “Comes,” they at last get up and proceed in solemn procession to the host’s room; and this is carried on throughout the day, the visitors becoming redder and redder in the face as evening approaches, the repeated draughts of arrack having their effect. They gave me a little honey; it does not look inviting, but it tastes tolerably well.

8 p.m.—The whole house is in uproar, from the news arriving of a man having been killed last night during a drunken bout in a neighbouring village: nobody knows who did it, so each of the men took an oath it was not he: they hang up a string of tiger-cat’s teeth, and the men pass under, denying the action; a man refusing to undergo this ordeal is considered guilty. The discussion among the assembled chiefs is very energetic, as each man is trying to suggest how the accident could have occurred; it being their custom when intending to spend the night drinking, to lodge all their arms with the[122] women. The most sensible conjecture was that the spear shaken from its place by the boisterous movements of the drinkers, fell without being touched, and striking the man inside the thigh, cut the femoral artery: they could not stop the bleeding, and the man died almost immediately. At first suspicion fell upon the owner of the spear, but he evidently had not thrown it, yet they felt inclined to fine the man for having possessed so unlucky a weapon. The news of the accident threw a slight damp on the party, and though they kept it up till one, much to my discomfort, yet none of the carousers got intoxicated.

24th.—We advanced to-day four hours in a south-east by east direction to the village of Tabari. I thought yesterday I should get a clearer view at early dawn, but a dense fog hid everything from us; it did not lift till nine, and then only partially, but it showed that what appeared as the southern end of the long range is a separate mountain, but as we shall in all likelihood advance two or three days farther, it is useless to speculate on the probable course of the river. Our path to-day reminded me of the Sarawak Dayak ones, being principally composed of trunks of trees generally notched, disagreeable in descending.

As the morning was cool, our party kept well together, except the Orang Kaya Upit and his relations, who would have bad birds. They are evidently in alarm; what about is rather puzzling, as we are only going to the houses of our last night’s visitors, but they apprehend treachery, and are giving broad hints about returning; to this I will not listen, as they [123]will state no reason for their fears. Tabari’s village, unlike the rest, is on the main river, which thus affords us pleasant baths; it contains twenty-three families. Opposite the houses is one of those bamboo and wooden suspension-bridges, thrown from one tree to another, common in many rivers, and very useful, though they are sometimes very rotten, and will only bear one at a time. (Houses 3,127 feet.) Although we stopped at Tabari’s house, the Orang Kaya Upit would not, but went on to the next village.

These people say that they are not Adangs, but the original inhabitants of the country, intermarried, however, with the fugitive tribe, and speaking the same language. They may be people of the lower Trusan, but I doubt if they have long been settled here: there are no fruit-trees nor ancient clearings around them, no sign, in fact, but of a rather recent settlement.

I am promised a sight of the great mountain of Lawi to-morrow. There is some talk of our returning a new way; I shall not object if I can get my baggage brought on, as I like to pass over fresh ground, and I may be able to get some bearing of Molu, which I have not done since I left the Limbang.

I forget whether I have mentioned it before, but there is a scheme on foot of which the Orang Kaya Upit is the originator, and he quotes me as his great authority. It is this: that the Sultan should allow a fort to be established at the entrance of the Madalam, to be held by the Orang Kaya, to stop the expeditions of the Kayans; then that the whole of the inhabitants[124] of the interior of the Trusan should move over and farm between the Madalam and Madihit. There can be no doubt that it would be a good thing both for Brunei and the Muruts, as the Borneans would get rice cheap, and the Adangs be able to supply themselves with goods; few wear anything but bark now, and as on the Limbang there are both wax and camphor, and innumerable rattans, they would have no difficulty in purchasing cloths, which they already prize. The Muruts would be too far off to be oppressed, but near enough to trade. The Shabandar, however, dreads anything like combination among the Muruts, and would particularly object to their getting beyond his reach.

Deers’ horns are plentiful in this house. Ahtan has just counted forty-three used as pegs; the skins of bears, as well as those of the rimau dahan are also numerous, nearly every man having a jacket of them. The men evidently hunt a great deal; their dogs are all sleek and well fed, and I intend buying a couple to take down the river with us.

There is apparently always something new to notice in these tribes. I never before saw the following ceremony: twenty-four girls and boys, with a few grown women, are walking up and down the verandah, chanting, “Woh, weh, woh, Isana,” mourning for the son of the chief, who has just been wounded up country. They march in Indian file, their arms resting on the shoulders of the person in front; it appears to be a mere ceremony, there being very little grief in the tone. At first I thought it might be connected with the heavy rain and crashing thunderstorm[125] that is now raging outside, preventing any attempt at conversation. This promises us a rapid if safe return, as we have had rain at night for the last few days.

These people wear many rings of lead up the rim of the ear, as I noticed among the wax gatherers.

I have just heard that it was a relation of the Orang Kaya Upit who wounded the chief’s son, which explains the bad omens and the fears. Absurd fellow not to have explained the reason, because we could then have all gone on together!

25th.—We advanced about four miles in a S.E. by S. direction to the houses of Si Nina, where we breakfasted. The track was generally along the banks of the river and very bad walking indeed; constant landslips having destroyed the path, we had to crawl along over the loose earth, sometimes finding it impassable; we were then obliged to descend to the foaming stream below, hard and dangerous work after last night’s rain. Among the valleys small plains, slightly undulating, are to be met with; otherwise the character of the country is a general succession of steep hills. At one place two rocks were pointed out to me in the stream about thirty feet apart, called the Tigers’ Leap. I made many inquiries about these animals; they insist that eight came to their country; that they were not tiger-cats as I suggested: if such animals were ever here they might have escaped from cages in the capital: it was a common custom among the far eastern princes to keep these ferocious creatures, but I never heard of Bornean princes doing so. I have read somewhere that formerly there were a[126] few tigers on the north-east coast, probably let loose by strangers as the ancestors of the elephants were.

Si Nina’s village contains about forty families, if we follow the numbers of doors, though he himself says fifty, and their lazy habits may induce two families to live in a space not fit even for one. Here we met Si Puntará, whom we accompanied two miles in a south-west direction to his village on the slope of a hill; it consists of two houses and perhaps forty families. Tapioca is extensively grown round this village, and the clearings are immense. What proves to me that the stories of constant harassing enemies are exaggerations, is that all these villages keep their rice granaries at some distance from the houses, where they might be destroyed without any danger or difficulty; to this the Muruts would answer that their enemies seek heads, not rice.

The mountain at the southern end of the first eastern range, called by the natives Murud, or “the mountain,” bears south-east by south, and in a straight line is perhaps not more than three miles off. (Houses 3,679 feet). Orang Murut simply means a mountain man, or a mountaineer, but is now used for a particular class of aborigines. Standing near the rice granaries of Si Puntará’s village we had a fine view of the ranges that ran from north to south, whose lengthened summits showed occasionally white cliffs, but there was a peak not many miles from us, a little to the eastward of south, called Gura, and from its summit they said on a fine day the eastern coast was visible, with the broad sea beyond, and at[127] its base and beyond it live the Main Muruts, who are the great suppliers of salt.

There are some of the Main Muruts here. I have asked for a guide to their houses; I am promised one if I will remain another week, but as that excursion itself would take us eight days, I must not think of attempting it, as even now I shall not be back to Brunei within the time I promised. The Main Muruts are not only salt but slave dealers. I have noticed but one of them, and he in his pride has beaten out a brass gong into a broad belt a foot across. He is a forbidding-looking fellow, with a hair lip. They say the salt water issues from a spring, and is collected in small ponds, and then boiled for the salt; it looks dirty, and has a peculiar flavour, as if it had much soda in it. The Orang Kaya Upit, with a bad omen, has again deserted us, so that we are without a proper interpreter.

26th.—In looking at a bearskin jacket, of which there are a great many to be seen about, I for the first time saw a specimen of the Batu Gading, “ivory stone,” in fact, white marble. They say the Muruts of Limbang sell it. I should like to know from whence they get it; those I have asked say from Baram. I remember passing a mountain or hill in that river that they called Batu Gading. Sent a party to find if the Orang Kaya Upit had been able to purchase a deer or a goat for us. Many of the women, as I have before noticed in the men, wear leaden rings along the edge of the ear; the lobe being brought down to the shoulder by half-a-dozen heavy ones.

About 11 a.m. started in a south-west direction for about a mile and a half, to the top of a hill, from whence there is usually a view of Lawi in a south-west direction; all the mountains, however, are hidden in clouds, but it must be a high one if remarkable among its towering neighbours. The whole appearance of the country is mountainous, each range becoming more lofty as we approach the hidden interior. From an elevation of about 4,348 feet, the two mountains next us looked very high, perhaps between 7,000 and 8,000 feet; they say these are the children, Lawi the father.

Were the people not so busy with their farms, and I so pressed for time, I would try and reach Lawi, as there are people residing at its foot; but I must put it off till next expedition, when I hope to pass the mountain.

These people are very well off, on account of planting rice twice a year, one kind called Asas being ready in three months, the other in five months. They have plenty of the great essential rice, and trust to hunting for most of their flesh; they, however, keep pigs and a few fowls. Tapioca is a mere weed; dressed as a potato it is excessively indigestible; I have observed some sweet potatoes, and also some yams and Indian corn. They have no fruit-trees, contenting themselves with a few bananas.

Orang Kaya Upit has so far got over his fears, that he has made his appearance, following in the train of a goat, which has been the loadstone to draw him here. I think our farthest resting-place has been reached, as I talk of returning to-morrow, and[129] calculate that should no unforeseen event take place, we may reach Brunei by the 11th October. The plan of returning by an entirely new road has been given up, as it would require our remaining here till all the rice is planted.

I have seen quite as much of the country as I expected, penetrating as far, though not quite in the direction I had calculated. I thought we should have made a general S.E. by S. direction from the Madalam, but I think we must have advanced S.E. by E. instead.

Many of the men have broad belts of bark, which are worn partly over the chawat, something after the fashion of the Belcher’s Sagais of the eastern coast, if I remember right; their chawats here are often absurdly small, not even answering the purpose for which they are intended: one or two have head-dresses of bark, ornamented with little cowrie-shells, the breadth being sometimes five inches, differing from the padded helmets we saw on the wax seekers; heavy necklaces of beads are worn by the men as well as by the women; a few of the young girls have petticoats composed entirely of beads, on a groundwork of cloth or perhaps bark.

As I have advanced into the country I have noticed many clearings on the ridges of the highest hills—perhaps fifty yards in length. It is in these places that the bones of their chief men rest. As far as I understand their ways, they place the corpse in a sort of box, fashioned sometimes like the body of a deer, or what a Murut fancies is a resemblance, until all the flesh is dissolved from the bones; these are then placed[130] in a jar, and left on the lofty spots I have mentioned. I noticed many of these jars in my forced march from Molu, above the sites of the old Tabun villages, and to the intense disgust of my guide they were found broken, and the skulls extracted by the marauding Kayans.

I lately, also, discovered one near my house with the bones nearly dissolved. It was most probably buried there before the Borneans turned Mahomedans, as no Muruts have lived on the hills near the capital since, at least so says tradition. It was found a couple of hundred yards from the site of the old East India Company’s factory, which was abandoned about eighty or ninety years ago. The poor men are said to have their bones buried, while the chiefs have theirs added to those of their ancestors. I hear the Millanaus follow a custom somewhat similar. When a chief dies, they place the body in a shed with a raised floor, and cover it over with sand: they leave it there, till all the dissolvable parts have run through the open flooring, and when the remains are perfectly dry, they collect and place them in a jar. All the relations and friends are then summoned, and they feast and rejoice for seven days.

I have procured some honey to-day, as I strongly suspect I shall have little but plain boiled rice to live on during the journey back.

Commence the return Journey—Kayan Embassy—Indian Corn—Confidence of the People—Ophthalmia—Old Jar—Gratitude rarely shown—Anecdote—Warning to Amateur Doctors—Bezoar Stones—Arrangements at Si Lopong’s—A Nightcap—Desertion of our Guides—Murut Music—Start for the Adang—Warned of Difficulties—Abundance of Rice—Cross the Adang Mountains—Active Girls—The Anœctochilus—Attack of Fever—Arrangements in case of its continuance—Loss of Chamber to Revolver—Reach the Adang—Legend—Construct four Rafts—Pleasant Movement—Trying Position of one of the Men—The first Rapid passed—Difficulties at the second—Bold Swimmer—A Whirlpool—Danger of Drowning—Our Raft tested—Abandoned—The rest wrecked—Pass the Umur—Reach the Limbang—Construct fresh Rafts—Uneasy Anticipations—Heavy Fresh—Fine Specimen of a Raft—Push off—Dangers and Troubles—The Rafts ungovernable—The Roaring of Waters—Overhanging Cliffs—The Cataract—Awe of the Men—Shoot the Cataract—Narrow Escape—Its Height—The Men recover their Voice—Ineffectual Attempts to stop the Raft—Caught in a Whirlpool—Safety—Arrival of the other Rafts—Dangers ahead—Walk—Abandon the Rafts—State of Provisions—Nearly all consumed—Ahtan’s Secret Store—Rocks—Advance over the Kalio Hills—Sparing the Food—Exhausting climbing—“Jog on”—Feed on the Cabbages of the Bengkala Palm—Almost a Mutiny—Facing the Difficulty—Reach the Summit of the Paya Paya, or “very difficult” Hills—Night on the Summit—Our Tent—The last Fowl—Molu—The greatest Difficulties passed—Country more open—Follow the Banks of the River—Distress of the Men—Improvidence—Curious Sounds in the old Forest—Cry of the Argus Pheasant—of the Jelatuk—Rending of a Mighty Tree—Danger from Decaying Trees—Cock-fights among the Argus Pheasants.

27th.—Returned by a new path, and a shorter one, to Tabari’s house. Again Lawi was so covered with[132] clouds that nothing but his base could be seen: it appeared about fifteen miles off in a S.W. direction. I hear that the Limbang rises in that mountain. There are houses at its base, two of which were lately attacked by the Kayans and destroyed. Just before my arrival the Kayans sent over six men to inquire whether the Muruts of the upper Trusan would submit to them and pay tribute; if they would do so all attacks should cease. It is very probable that these men came over as spies, to find out the easiest way of reaching the upper country. I missed them by a couple of days.

We stopped to breakfast about half a mile before we reached Tabari’s village, at a house that was literally overflowing with Indian corn. We should have laid in a stock but that they asked absurd prices. Everywhere the people of the country were busy planting, and we continually came upon parties working in the fields. They showed no fear whatever, the news having spread very rapidly through the country that our objects were friendly. From Tabari’s we followed the old path to Ballang Palo’s, where we rested the night. In passing through this village, I had given a man afflicted with sore eyes a little sulphate of zinc: he already had found, or fancied he found, some benefit from the medicine, and in remembrance brought me a jar of arrack, containing about three quarts, which he insisted I must drink. The old jar was a curious specimen of former Chinese work, which had most probably been with the Muruts for many generations. It was blue, with numerous figures of dragons upon it.

As the sulphate of zinc had once acted well, I found numerous customers for it, a great many being troubled with sore eyes, perhaps from crowding over their smoky fires during the cold nights. I mention the circumstance of the poor fellow bringing the arrack, as, how grateful soever they may be in their hearts for a kindness, they seldom show it. I have not known half a dozen instances during my whole residence in the East. It is not always quite safe to administer medicine, particularly when the amateur doctor promises that a cure will result from his exertions, as the following story will show. A Bukar Dayak had a son, who fell ill of the small-pox, and a native doctor offered his services, assuring the father he could cure his child; unfortunately for him, however, notwithstanding all the medicine he administered, the child died, when the father, accusing him of having wilfully caused the death of his son, drew his sword and killed him on the spot. As this event took place while the Bukar tribe was still under the authority of the Sultan of Brunei, a fine only was inflicted for this summary act of vengeance. We sat up rather late, but as we had no man with us, who could freely converse in their language, the Orang Kaya Upit having stayed behind on a trading speculation, we could only drink together, and look very solemn. I have noticed the very few marketable articles these people have for sale, but one of them brought me to-day a very large bezoar stone, an inch and a half in length, and two and a half in circumference. They say they procure them from the monkeys, whom they kill to seek for this stone, and while some affirm they find[134] them in the head, others declare they take them from the bladder. The ones I have seen are of a clear brown, highly polished, and not heavier than a similar piece of very light wood.

28th.—On to Si Lopong’s. I found that even Murut arrack is a very bad assistant to exertion. I stayed this night at the house preparatory to a start in the morning. We are in great hopes that some of the Muruts will walk with us as far as the spot where we intend to construct rafts, and thus give us a good stock of provisions to commence operations upon; but nothing could be arranged on account of Si Lopong’s absence. In the evening he came home, and immediately brought out two basins of arrack, one of which he handed to me, and said we must drink in remembrance of our friendship. Having complied with his desire, I began to enter into our business, but before I could utter a dozen words he lay back on his mat and was fast asleep. He had arrived drunk, as no doubt, at every village, he had been feasted; and the last bowl of arrack was the night-cap. Seeing that it was hopeless to attempt to wake him, I put off our conversation till the morning.

The men I had left behind I found tolerably recovered, and all were ready for a start; that is, if anybody could be found to carry the baggage. Most of the guides had given up their intention to return: Si Nuri intended to spend a month or two with his first wife; Kadayan was kept by his family, and Luñgenong would not start without the Orang Kaya Upit; so that unless I wait here some time, we must trust entirely to ourselves. The way to the Adang is not[135] very difficult to find. Waking during the night, I heard some sounds almost as musical as those produced by a bagpipe; it came from a Murut near at hand, who was perhaps serenading his mistress. I examined the instrument he used, and it was very simple to produce so many notes. Two thin bamboos, about twelve inches long, were fastened very neatly side by side; in one was cut four holes like those in a flute, while the other had a long piece of grass inserted in the lower end. A slight incision was then cut across both towards the upper portion. The performer thrust this instrument rather deep into his mouth and blew, and then, with the aid of tongue, fingers, and moving the grass, produced some very agreeable and wild tunes. I watched him for some time as he sat by the side of a flickering fire, but being tired, it at last lulled me to sleep.

29th.—Si Lopong is naturally very unwilling to start without his relation, the Orang Kaya Upit; he says that he cannot be many days, as he has only to wait for the return of the party of Main Muruts, who have gone to fetch him some slaves. This settles the question, and I start without guides. Unfortunately, the Orang Kaya has with him the hunting dogs I purchased at Tabari’s. Our intention is to walk to the Adang River, and construct rafts on which to float down the stream. The Muruts have always warned us that it is too full of cataracts, rapids, and huge rocks, to be descended by rafts, and that, if they fail us, the country is impassable; but my men are eager to try the easy method of returning, and I am desirous of following the course of the Limbang.

6 p. m.—We got away at 9 a.m. I explained to my men that I would not allow our guides to bring slaves into our party; that all the shame of the transaction would fall on me; and that if the Orang Kaya attempted it, I would take away his boat, and let him find his way home overland. There was rice of ours sufficient for a month’s consumption, and I strongly advised the men to remember how they had suffered in their former land journey. They all promised to take twelve or fourteen days’ provisions, and I took eighteen days’, dividing it among all the men, each to carry a day’s rice for me.

We found the Adang range a very stiff climb, and before we reached the top I had to relieve Musa of his double barrel, he was carrying so heavy a load. At the stream we met two hunters, and endeavoured to persuade them to lend us a hand for one day, but we could not bribe them. It is astonishing what habit will do. A young girl, not above thirteen, came part of the way with us to assist in carrying a relation’s burden, and she walked up that steep mountain, comparatively with the most perfect ease. I here found some of those beautiful Anœctochilus which Mr. Low wanted. I collected about a dozen, all I could see, and put them into a tin pepper-box, with holes in the top, to try whether they would keep. They are the most breathtaking plants I have ever seen, with leaves through which lines of gold, or white, or bright red run, forming a lovely pattern. I have been shown some of the very plants I collected, now growing luxuriantly in England, and they are the most delicate looking ornaments for a hot-house.

After much exertion, we got about half way down the western face of the Adang range, the rain pouring heavily; so at five p.m. we came to a stop and pitched our tents.

30th.—The rain still continued, but we pushed on by the old path till we came to a small stream, called the Batu Loba, where we found some freshly constructed huts. After bathing, I felt very feverish, and taking a dose of quinine, a large basin of rice-water, and wrapping myself up in all the dry clothing I had, I burst into a profuse perspiration. It was not a very agreeable night for me. I lay in my tent alone: the men, except Musa, who watched over me, preferring the hunters’ huts, as the floor was there dry, and they had no time to make a raised floor in the tent for themselves, as they did for me.

The rain was coming down in torrents, which presently increased to a terrific thunderstorm. The wind did not affect us much, we were too low, in a hollow; but I thought if this really be fever, what a prospect for me in this forest. I called Musa, and made every necessary arrangement in case I should be delirious in the morning: that two or three men should stay with me, and the rest go back to the houses; that if I grew worse, the Muruts might be engaged to carry me to their village; and that when I recovered, we should go home by the Trusan, abandoning the boats, instruments, and everything.

I need scarcely say how joyful we all were, when in the morning I got up without any fever, and only a little weakened by the slight attack. I thought at the time that it might be from over-fatigue, as I had[138] not only carried all my instruments and arms, but had assisted others. Some one during the night must have been amusing himself with my revolver, as shortly after starting, on withdrawing it from its cover, I found the chamber gone, rendering the weapon useless till our arrival at the boats, where I had left a spare one; so I gave up the carbine, and took to my double-barrel.

October 1st.—Continued by the old path to the Adang; hitting it, however, a little to the northward of the point where we previously crossed it. Here we prepared to make the rafts on which we intend to continue our journey. We found plenty of material—light wood, bamboos, and rattans, &c.; so we encamped on a pebbly bank, the men hoping to be soon joined by the Muruts. During our walk to-day, while following the ridge of the Batu Put hills, we observed on its summit two large boulders, one some twenty-five feet in length. They appeared to be granite, but I could not break off a piece. They bear that rather immodest name from the following legend:—That a famous chief of yore, disdaining to make his nuptial-couch on the grass, fetched up these huge stones to sleep on; and they point to some marks as the impression made by his bride’s limbs, which, without much stretch of fancy, might be taken for the mould of a foot and leg.

2nd.—Occupied in making rafts. The rain last night produced a flood: the river rose about five feet, not many inches below the tent, and is in a capital condition for a start; but making the rafts has occupied more time than I expected, and we[139] cannot set out to-night. The Orang Kaya Upit has not made his appearance: I only regret the rice we left at Si Lopong’s—he may come to-night; but I have never expected him to follow so soon. It has been showery all the afternoon, and I fear a wet night. We have made four rafts: old Japer commands one with three men, Minudin with three more, Lamit and three, then Musa, with three Malays, a boy, Ahtan, and myself. Ours is a very strong raft of bamboo; the others appear but very shaky affairs, the men being too lazy to work well at them.

5th.—Started early; at first all went smoothly enough. The river was sufficiently deep, though it had fallen. We began to congratulate ourselves on the charming sensation of gliding down the stream, with only the occasional trouble of pushing the raft from the bank. The first notice we had that all was not to be smooth water was seeing in a long reach a rock in the centre, with a dashing, breaking fall on either side; and on this rock was one of our men standing, the very picture of despair. Three rafts had passed, and his only chance was to jump on to ours. We came rushing towards him at a tremendous pace, trying to keep as near the rock as possible to give him a better chance, and in doing so, caught it, which threw the raft right across the stream: it rose to an angle of 45°, and we all thought it was going over, when the broad surface presented to the water raised it up, and it slipped past the rock. The man, after having assisted in moving it, stood still, and we had nearly passed[140] him; I yelled at him, which brought him to a sense of his danger: he made a bold spring, and just succeeded in reaching the raft. Had he remained where he was, he must have sprung into the boiling surge, hoping that we could pick him up if he reached the smoother water.

On arriving at the next difficult rapid, it was proposed to take out the baggage, and then pass the rafts down, as the first had already been buried in the water, and everything was wet through. This was tiresome work. It is always difficult to pack and unpack during the day’s journey; but after an hour’s hard work, we had passed all the things down to the bottom of the rapid, except a large tambok, or basket three feet high, made from the covering of the sago-palm stem. This the owner thought he would take with him on the raft; but just as he started, a wave struck it, and it rolled into the water, and went dancing down the stream: it was full of valuables of mine and the man’s clothing. The bold fellow sprang after, but too late to reach it before it sank; he, however, dived till he fished it up.

Our pride in our rafts was fast leaving us when, about an hour afterwards, we saw one of the smaller ones rushing round at a frantic pace in a whirlpool, and three men trying to save one of their companions, whose head we could occasionally see bobbing up: we were on them in a minute; our strong raft went headlong against the rock, creaked to the force of the waters, but did not break up, and we were enabled to push the man near enough to the shore to be seized by his companions: our raft was too long to[141] be mastered by the whirlpool: we just saw one man holding on to the fellow’s long hair, as we were swept out of sight.

Our raft had bravely carried us through dangers that, one after the other, had destroyed its companions, so that at four p.m. I very much regretted finding it stuck firm on a great rapid that appeared a mile in length. I proposed that we should encamp opposite, and trust to the night’s rain to enable us to float it over; but the men said we had better push on to the Limbang and build new rafts there; so we walked till five, when, catching up our wrecked companions, we pitched our tents: there was very little cheerfulness in the party that night. We had passed through a country of nothing but low forest, with a few hills scattered about. Our course was nearly west south-west.

4th.—We had heavy rain during the night, which made the river rise a fathom; so that had we stuck to our raft, we might have advanced in her. The course of the river continued winding to the west-south-west, passed the Umur on the right bank. Had some difficulty in finding a ford: after five hours’ walking, reached the Limbang. I had but a partial view of the junction; I thought it only the end of an island, though a clear view shortly after showed, by the augmented volume of water, that we were on the main river: walked forward for an hour and a half, till we found sufficient light wood to make our rafts: then pitching our tents, the men set to work preparing them, and after doing my best to make our tent comfortable, I am now inditing this journal. The men[142] this afternoon evidently think that matters are looking a little serious, and have worked away with a will till dark.

Convinced that bamboos make bad rafts, strong but not sufficiently buoyant, they are using only light woods;[8] and remembering the severe blows they received in the tributary, they are preparing for worse in the main stream. We are now beginning to remember the warnings of the Muruts, that you cannot descend the stream in rafts at any time, and in boats only in fine weather; and the addition, that if the rafts fail now, the country is composed of such steep mountains that it would be impossible to cross them. I hear these not very cheerful discussions going on around me; but the sanguine portion of my retainers point to the beautiful smooth stream, whose banks we have followed for several miles.

5th.—There was much rain last night, with thunder and lightning; and the river rose a fathom, and is continuing to rise, concealing any signs of rapids in the long reach before us. The men are determined that this time the rafts shall be strong enough: ours is a model, twenty-two feet long by six in breadth, composed of a double layer of trees, the lower nine large ones, the upper a dozen smaller trees; on this is a raised platform, on which we have stowed our provisions and goods. We have all got on it to try its buoyancy, and find that it is not an inch out of water, but that is immaterial. I have just been round to look at the different rafts. Though not so good as ours, they are all tolerably strong; and the[143] men having breakfasted, I have given the orders to put off; and now, at mid-day, we are starting.

Our course was at first very pleasant. The river was broad, deep, and sufficiently rapid; but, after a few reaches, this changed, and bluff points began to invade the stream. Now we were hurled against a rock, or pressed against the bank; the next moment we were in a whirlpool, flying about, and with difficulty getting out of it. These whirlpools were so deep, that with our longest poles, and they were four fathoms, we could not reach the bottom. At one very large one, we continued going in a circle for above ten minutes, when we saw a companion raft coming down upon us. We shouted to the men to try and sheer off, but it was of no use, and it crashed into us; however, the damage was all for them. Our heavy raft merely sank a foot, and was driven near enough to the bank to enable us to get out of this whirlpool, leaving our friends to repair damages while taking the successive turns from which they had driven us. I soon began to find that our rafts were unmanageable, and that we must allow the stream to carry us whither it pleased.

After moving on at a good pace for about a couple of hours, we heard a roaring in the distance, and I called to the men to stop the raft if possible, and send ahead to see what was the cause of this sound; but they thought they could pass the rapid which was before us, and concluded that it produced the roar we heard. I was of a very different opinion. This one was bad enough; but in turning the point, how shall I describe the scene that was presented to[144] me? The almost perpendicular hills closed in on the river, their lofty trees meeting in an arch overhead, and the waters dashing through the narrow space, tumbling over huge rocks, raised waves like those of an angry sea on a rocky shore; but the worst spot was where the cliffs appeared to have fallen across the stream, damming it to half its width by a huge tree-crowned rock, and forming two foaming cascades.

We had been told that the cataract was nine fathoms deep. To stop the raft was impossible: the pace was too great; and, as we approached this formidable danger, the men burst into a prayer, which, though they shouted at the tops of their voices, could scarcely be heard in the roar. I spoke not, but clutched the side of the raft with one hand and Ahtan with the other, for fear we should be swept off. As we came to the edge of the cataract, it looked so deep that the men were awed into silence, and my only thought was, Can we ever rise out of that abyss? Down we went. We felt a slight shock, the raft trembled, and in another moment we were buried in the recoiling waves. We rose again, our bows forced up into the air, and the stern completely hidden as I glanced round to look if the men were there, and then over the second tier of rocks, which were not so serious, as there was a deep pool beyond; and though we were again buried beneath the waters, yet we touched no rock. At the first cataract we but grazed the bottom. Had we struck, our raft must have been dashed to pieces; as it was, the centre trunk was driven from its place—I was about to say,[145] like an arrow from a bow; but how far it went I cannot say; it left no trace behind it.

I have attempted since to estimate the length of these falls; but, after allowing for the exaggeration natural to remembrance of one’s own adventures, I cannot think they were less than three and two fathoms, but probably more. However, we passed so rapidly that it was impossible to judge correctly. On we went, over a small cataract; and then the men gave vent to their feelings in a frantic yell, which they had been unable to utter after the great danger. As we cleared the point, we heard shouts from the bank; and, looking up, saw four of our men calling upon us to stop, as there were worse dangers ahead.

As this reach was tolerably smooth, one of the men sprang into the stream with a long rattan in his hand, hoping to reach the shore, but it was dragged from him before he was half way. Then Musa, choosing a better spot, plunged in; he reached the shore, but, before he could land, the rattan was torn from his grasp, and we were swept away. I saw Musa, breathless, trying to free himself from the waves that dashed him against the rocks, and in another moment we were out of sight.

Our two skilled men were gone; but we managed to keep the raft straight, and presently we were caught in a whirlpool. This was our best chance; one of the men sprang into the water, and was soon ashore. The rattan was twisted round a tree just as the stream caught us. This was a trying moment. The rattan began to part as the great strain came upon it; so I ordered the last man to make straight for the shore,[146] and draw the raft out of the strength of the stream. The men really exerted themselves; and, in almost less time than it takes me to write this down, we were moored comfortably under the bank.

Presently one of the other rafts came round the point; they tried to join me, but were swept to the other side, where they brought up; the next followed, and was also secured; the fourth soon came round the point, but with only old Japer upon it. I trembled for him, but the old fellow was used to danger, and cleverly brought himself under the opposite rocks, and threw a rattan on shore. This, however, was torn out of the hand of a stupid man who ought to have twisted it round a stump or a rock; nevertheless, an active fellow sprang from one of the already secured rafts into Japer’s, and twisted a strong rattan round one of the trunks. Now all were interested, and rushed to help to prevent the great stream carrying away the rafts.

I was very pleased to see Musa join me. He presently went ahead; and, after an hour’s absence, returned, telling me he had found a spot where we could secure ourselves for the night; but that the men requested that I and Ahtan, as the non-swimmers, would walk to the night’s resting-place. We found the way very difficult; and, after half an hour’s hard work, reached the rafts. I now heard that three of the most active of the party had gone ahead to examine. We had brought up the rafts in a kind of bay, with the rocks below stretching across the river, forming formidable rapids. At six p.m. the scouts returned, bringing the unpleasant news that[147] the river for about two miles was one succession of rapids; in fact, as far as they had seen it, it was a continued sheet of white foam, from the innumerable rocks which studded the stream. To proceed in the rafts was quite impossible, so we made up our minds to walk.

Now I thought matters began to look sombre, particularly as Ahtan came to tell me that he had been to several of the men for my rice, and had found that they had only a day’s provisions left. Upon this I called the men up, and ascertained that three men had still six days’ rice, three had four days’, four had two days’, and the rest only provisions for one day; and, what was very serious for me and Ahtan, all our rice had been consumed, except sufficient for two days.

It was useless to reproach the men, so I called Ahtan on one side, and proposed to him that we should in future take thin rice-water, and trust to the cabbage-palm for our chief support. To this he readily agreed, and then added in a whisper that he had about two cupfuls of tapioca flour. I persuaded him that this should be kept, in case one of us fell ill. I must confess that, being excessively hungry, I was not sorry to find that he had cooked a fowl—the last but one—and boiled a lot of rice, before he discovered how short we were. We divided the food into two portions, and dined heartily.

Rocks, sandstone, dipping to the north-east, at an angle of 18°. It was in the great cataract, to-day, that my journal was wetted. As we were twice buried in the recoiling waves, nothing but a single change escaped being soaked. We made great fires[148] to dry our clothes, but the continuous rain prevented our completely succeeding.

6th.—I was up at dawn. There was not much cooking; but Ahtan having saved a little cold rice, we breakfasted off that, and then started. We found the Muruts were correct in their account of the country. The walking was very difficult indeed, either along the sides of precipitous hills or up the face of them, where our hands came into as much play as our feet. I kept the men at it till five p.m., making but little advance over this very difficult country. We were evidently crossing the Kalio hills which I had noticed on our left in our walk from Madihit, and then estimated at 5,500 feet; but my barometer was now out of order.

We encamped on the summit of one of the mountains; and, having found a little water, we cooked. I noticed that none of the men followed our example of sparing the food, but eat as if they had been at home; so that but half have any rice left. I had for a week preserved a small glass of brandy; and, believing it impossible to feel more exhausted, I drank it, for the last climb had been such as to render a farther advance impossible for any of us.

7th.—To-day the walking was worse than ever—so steep that my heart almost failed me, but knowing how everybody looked to me, I did not give way. How continually those lines came to my memory, and how often I found myself repeating them—

We kept on till twelve, when we stopped at a stream to breakfast on the cabbages of the bengkala palm; exceedingly delicious, but not satisfying; it was like living on sugar and water. Here the old Pablat man said he must stay behind, as he had an attack of elephantiasis. I left his son-in-law with him, and pushed on.

We followed the torrent’s course for some time over broken rocks, when the man we had constituted our guide turned to the left towards a mountain that looked nearly perpendicular. There was almost a mutiny; even Musa declared that they could not face it—they must try the bank of the river. I represented to them that the Muruts had warned us that it was impossible to follow that course; but they kept repeating they would like to try, so I gave way, and we continued for half an hour, till we reached the Limbang. Here the banks were perpendicular, and we all sat down for half an hour, looking gloomily at the foaming stream.

But this being of no use, I rose and told the guide that we must go back to the spot he had before chosen. The men feeling rather ashamed of themselves, got up with more alacrity, and we faced the difficulty, commencing the ascent at two p.m., but did not reach the summit till six p.m., and yet we worked as hard as we possibly could, hoping to get down to the banks of a running stream. These were evidently the Paya Paya, or the “very difficult” hills. For several hundred yards we moved up a narrow spur, about five feet broad generally, but occasionally narrowing to a single foot, so steep that we had to place[150] our rifles and guns before us as far as we could reach, and then pull ourselves up to them.

The sun went down before we stopped for the night. There was no water, but there was a prospect of heavy rain, and strong puffs of wind, as black clouds were gathering to the north-east. It was seven o’clock before I got my tent pitched on a ridge not three feet broad; and then, there being nothing to eat or drink, we lay down and slept on our weariness. Fortunately for me, I had managed to dry my Scotch plaid during our stay for breakfast; and, wrapping myself up in that best of all companions, I did not feel the cutting winds. I awoke for a few minutes in the middle of the night, to find that the cold had driven the men to light a fire; but before I could distinctly distinguish any one I was off to sleep again, and did not wake till the sun shone on my face. Yesterday satisfied me that I was in excellent condition to endure fatigue, as, though I had not drunk any water since breakfast, I felt no thirst.

8th.—Being excessively hungry, I determined to have the remaining fowl, a mere chicken, for breakfast. I thought we deserved it, having had nothing to eat for dinner, so it was killed before we started. An hour’s walk brought us to the end of the mountain ridge, and gave us a fine view of the country. There was Molu with its highest peak bearing west by south, proving that the western peak, under which we were last February, is not the loftiest.

It appeared to me that we had clearly passed the greatest difficulties as regards country; it was now more open, the hills drawing back farther from the[151] banks of the river, which wound at our feet some three thousand feet below. I now knew from the bearings that we were north of our boats; they lay as nearly as possible between us and Molu. I therefore proposed to the men that we should abandon the main stream and push due west, straight for the Madihit; but they had no faith in compasses, and seeing a mountain range nearly as high as the one we were on between us and what I affirmed to be the Madihit, they said they preferred keeping to the banks of the Limbang, which now appeared to be less difficult.

We did not long continue admiring this extensive prospect; our thoughts referred to water and something to eat, so we commenced the descent, which was nearly as steep as yesterday’s ascent; but going down hill, though trying to the knees, does not take away the breath. We did not, however, reach a stream till nearly two, when we stopped for breakfast. Ahtan, smiling at the thought of a fowl, got the breakfast ready in a very short time. The men proposed that we should spend the night here, but I declined, insisting that we should reach the Limbang. It poured with rain, but it was necessary we should exert ourselves. I pushed on with Ahtan and two others.

When I was gone, one of the men lay down in the path and burst out crying, saying he should never see his mother again; a companion threw himself down too, but the rest of the party followed me. These two I rather pitied, as this was their second day without rice; but they and their two friends were[152] the most improvident of the lot. One day they began to cook without orders; the rice was just wetted, but they were told to move on, and not cook till we all stopped. They therefore wrapped up their breakfast, and moved on. Presently I saw a packet, and picking it up, found that they had thrown away the rice, saying it was too much trouble to carry it; another party, on its being handed to them, quickly appropriated it. Another day they cooked three times, throwing away what was left. It was disgusting to see such waste of food; but they suffered for it. At five p.m. I reached the main stream, and feared I should have to encamp without tents, as I could hear nothing of the party. One of the men volunteered to go back to search for them, and at sunset they were all collected.

I know of no sounds more curious than those which are sometimes heard in the old forest. Last night we frequently noticed the cries of the Argus pheasant, both male and female. In the deep silence one is startled by the thrice-repeated “Tu-wau,” in a clear and sonorous tone, and that is the crow of the cock. The cry of the female is similar, but more quickly repeated; but both are very pleasing to hear. Occasionally, also, we could distinguish the clear and distinct note of the Jelatuk bird, which a stranger might mistake for the echo of a stroke from an axe.

There is another sound, only heard in the oldest forest, and that is as if a mighty tree were rent in twain. I often asked the cause, and was assured it was the camphor tree splitting asunder, on account of the accumulation of camphor in some particular part—an[153] explanation which was not satisfactory. During heavy squalls we have often been put in fear by the crash of falling timber; but our men were very particular in not pitching the tents near half-rotten trees. The Argus pheasant is found in many places we have passed during this expedition, and occasionally in the jungle we have come across open spots strewed with the feathers of the cock bird, where two have been struggling for mastery. It would appear as if they always chose the same spots for their fights, as the ground was free from grass and brushwood, and was beaten hard.

Stopped for a Day—Five start for Provisions—The Sick Men left behind join us—No Shoes—Weakness from want of Food—Leeches—Stop again—Collect Food—Anecdote of Female Orang Utan and Murut—Again construct Rafts—Present of a Cup full of Rice—Start on the Rafts—Abandon them—A Bear—The River—Immense Pebbly Flats—Long Walks—Traces of the Advance Party—Wild Fruit—Sour Oranges—Recognize a Hill—Fruit of the Jintawan, or Indian-rubber Plant—Find Remains of Bees’-nest—The British Flag—Reach the Madihit—Bad Conduct of the Advance Party—Food nearly all consumed—An unfeeling Father—Proposed Punishment—Ravages of the Bears—Anecdote of Ahtan—Return in the Boats—The Herd of Wild Cattle—Wound a Bull, but do not get it—A slight Supper—Start in a Sampir—Ahtan ill—The last of the Food—News from Brunei—Reach the Town—Arrival of the rest of the Party—Bornean Travelling—Measure Distance by Fatigue—Slow Progress necessary—Active Murut—Average Rate of Advance—Great Mistakes made in the Estimates of Distance—Instances—Mr. Motley’s Account of his Advance up the Limbang—Mr. De Crespigny’s Mistake in the Latitude of the River Damit and Position of the Mountain of Molu—Remarks on the Map—Causes of the continued Health of my Followers—The Tents—Mistake in trusting to Native Huts—Native Geographical Information tested—Found correct—Arrival of the Orang Kaya Upit—Tragical Death of Pangeran Mokata, the Shabandar—Two Years after—Sad Fate of a Party of Adang Muruts—Murder by Orang Kaya Gomba—Head-hunting—Heads valued, but none seen—Incident of meeting Head-hunters—No Treacherous Designs—Inefficient Government—Desecration of the Graveyards—Chinese Secret Societies, or Hués—Ahtan joins one—Robbery of the Iron Chest from the Consulate—The Sultan’s[155] Method of extorting a Confession—Obstinacy of Ahtan—Officers of the Secret Society—Chest restored—Prisoners released—The Hué broken up—Treatment of Prisoners—Musa and the Priest—Threats—Personal Regard for some of my Followers.

9th.—This morning Musa was very feverish, so the men asked me to stop a day to collect provisions. To this I unwillingly assented, but they did little else than lie down. About nine a.m. five of the men proposed that I should allow them to leave their muskets and all their baggage, and push on as fast as possible to the boats, while I moved on quietly with the sick and sore-footed. I consented, on the condition that they would stay at the boats no longer than would be necessary to cook a meal; that then they were to return laden with provisions. To this they agreed, and then left us. The two who stayed behind the day before yesterday came up with us; it was for them I was anxious. During the ascent of the steep mountain on the 8th the last remnant of my shoes was carried away, and yesterday I attempted to protect my feet by fastening some goats’ skin over them in the form of moccassins. To-day I am trying to improve them, but with very little success.

10th.—Musa having shaken off his fever, was enabled to start; but all the men are weak, and many are ailing. Though perfectly well in health, I find that, having only had for yesterday’s dinner a glass of rice-water with the palm-cabbage, I am not fit for very long walks, particularly as my moccassins are cut to pieces by the rough stones and thorns, and I am compelled to walk bare-footed. My greatest torment are the leeches getting between my toes and[156] crawling up my trousers, reaching even to my waist, where the tight belt prevented their farther progress. Squeezing a little tobacco-juice made them drop off, but I could not be continually stopping to do this.

11th.—We stopped all day. The industrious cut down some Loba-palms, and made a little sago; the lazy collected a few cabbages. I tried a little of the former; it was indeed delicious.

Some of the men, who wandered farther than the others in search of wild fruits, reported seeing some very large monkeys, which they said might be orang-utans, and whilst speaking of them I was reminded of the various stories told of people being carried off by them. I have referred to this subject in my account of my journeys among the Sea Dayaks, but although many stories are related of the male orang-utan carrying off young Dayak maidens into the jungle, yet it is seldom that we hear of the female orang-utan running off with a man. But the Muruts of Padas tell the following narrative, which, they say, may be believed. Some years ago, one of their young men was wandering in the jungle, armed with a sumpitan, or blow-pipe, and a sword. He came to the banks of a pebbly stream, and being a hot day, he thought he would have a bathe. He placed his arms and clothes at the foot of a tree, and then went into the water. After a time, being sufficiently refreshed, he was returning to dress, when he perceived an enormous female orang-utan standing between him and the tree. She advanced towards him, as he stood paralyzed by surprise, and seizing him by the arm, compelled him to follow her to a[157] branching tree and climb up it. When he reached her resting-place, consisting of boughs and branches woven into a comfortable nest, she made him enter. There he remained some months jealously watched by his strange companion, fed by her on fruits and the cabbage of the palm, and rarely permitted to touch the earth with his feet, but compelled to move from tree to tree. This life continued some time, till the female orang-utan becoming less watchful permitted the Murut more liberty. He availed himself of it to slip down the trunk of the tree and run to the place where he had formerly left his weapons. She, seeing his attempted escape, followed, to be pierced, as she approached him, by a poisoned arrow. I was told if I would ascend the Padas river as far as the man’s village, I might hear the story from his own lips, as he was still alive.

12th.—Walked on a mile, the men excessively lazy. Finding the river smooth, they proposed trying rafts; so we stopped to construct them. One of the men, observing that I was dining on a cabbage-palm boiled in a little rice-water, presented me with a cup full of uncooked rice. I was very grateful to him for it; but we put it by, in case the palms should fail us, as they do in some districts.

13th.—About nine, we pushed off, and got on very well for two hours. Found one of the rafts smashed up against a rock, and the men away walking. Continued till about one o’clock, when ours also became fixed on a rock, and our men were too dispirited to get it off; and saying that the rapids ahead of us were dangerous, they proposed walking to-morrow.[158] We should have thought nothing of such paltry difficulties a week ago, but the men were losing their courage with their strength. I refused, however, to stop till to-morrow, and walked on for a couple of hours. In crossing a ravine to-day, we disturbed a female bear, which, however, dashed with her cubs into thick brushwood, so without dogs it was useless following her. She roared in a manner worthy of an animal double her size.

14th.—The river still full of rapids; but the hills are gradually receding from the banks, giving it more space, and it sometimes spreads out into extensive sheets of water, with immense pebbly flats. Islands are also beginning to appear. It was again proposed to build rafts, but I steadily refused, and kept walking till nearly five. After sunset, the last stragglers overtook us. We continually came upon the traces of the advance-party. At one of their resting-places, we found the bones of a fine fish, which by some means they had secured. Our old Pakatan declared they had either found it stranded, or else had startled a kite from his prey. It proved to be the former, though the latter had happened to us once.

15th.—Yesterday and to-day the character of the forest has altered. We are now marching through the old farming grounds of the Muruts; found some of their fruit trees; among others, one covered with fine-looking oranges, but intolerably sour. I secured the opium bottle to-day, intending to take a dose to deaden the pangs of hunger, but I put it off till the evening, thinking it might interfere with my walking.[159] I noticed near the orange-tree above mentioned that the whole ground was a mass of water-worn pebbles, evidently the ancient bed of the stream; it was now at least a hundred feet above the water’s edge.

At half-past four p.m. I brought up for the night, and after bathing stretched myself on my back, munching a great lump of cabbage, when my eyes, wandering over the scene, fell on a hill about three miles ahead of us. I sat up and looked at it again; and, turning to my companions, said, “Why, that reminds me of the high land near the mouth of the Madihit;” but we agreed that it was impossible, as our five men had been gone six days, and we felt assured that we should have met them ere this if we were so near our boats as that, particularly as we, both yesterday and to-day, had made very long walks. Since we have had a bearing of Molu, we have been keeping generally in a west course, but the river has taken some very extraordinary windings.

Having secured some fruit of the Jintawan, or Indian-rubber plant, and some cabbages, I was enabled to satisfy my hunger before going to sleep, so put off taking any laudanum, to which I had a very great dislike. The Jintawan fruit is very pleasantly acid, about the size of a very large pear, and of a deep orange colour. It consists of a thick rind full of Indian-rubber, surrounding some pulp-covered seeds. One of the plants we came across was very handsome, growing in the most luxuriant manner over a lofty tree with few branches. The Jintawan is a creeper, and this one had extended itself at least forty feet up the trunk and had covered the outspreading boughs.[160] It was loaded with fruit, but my men had so lost heart that not one would climb the tree, but contented themselves with picking up the over-ripe produce which had fallen on the ground below. We had another very happy find to-day, for while passing under a fine tapang-tree, we noticed the remains of a bees’ nest scattered about, and every particle was eagerly appropriated. From the marks around it appeared as if a bear had climbed this lofty tree and torn down the nest to be devoured by its young below, as there were numerous tracks of the smaller animals around, but whether the comb had been sucked by the bears or not was very immaterial to our men, who rejoiced in securing the little honey still clinging to it.

16th.—Started early. About half my followers had so delayed us by their constantly lagging behind, that I determined to wait for them no longer, but to push on with such men as would follow me with all their strength. We felt that it would be impossible to walk many days farther on our scanty fare. The lazy ones having heard of our arrangement, tried to keep up with us, and did do so till eight, when I heard a shout from the foremost man, “Bandera! bandera!—the flag! the flag!” We rushed down the side of the hill like madmen, the fellows shouting for joy. Sure enough, there was the British flag hoisted, and our small boats at the mouth of the Madihit, with our five men looking fat and well beside my pale and famished followers. The rascals having left my guns and all the baggage in the jungle, and all being in good health, had managed to reach the Madihit in[161] three days, and then set to work to eat and drink as much as possible.

We arrived to find the provisions nearly gone; they said the bears had found out our cache and destroyed everything, and the only provisions left were those we put into the garei. I could only divide a cupful of beans to each man, as the five had managed to consume thirty pounds of sago and forty-two pints of beans in the course of four days, and they confessed to have daily caught very fine fish. But what angered the men most was the signs of waste around, where, having only half finished a plate of sago, they had thrown the rest away. I saw some picking up the burnt pieces that had not been washed away by the rain. I asked why, according to their agreement, they had not come back to meet us, knowing that we had several sick men. They put the blame on each other: one man, a Javanese, had left his sick son with us, but he unfeelingly observed that he was old enough to look after himself; that son had given us more trouble than any one else, both in going and returning.

I searched their baskets, and found that they had not only hidden some more beans, but had stolen some of my cloth, though I could not fix on the man. I determined to punish them, so told them to go back and fetch the things they had left in the forest; or, on my return, I would submit the case to the Sultan, whether they had not forfeited wages by their unfair abandonment of their sickly companions. They started off, but their cowardly hearts failed them, and before night they came back.

The ravages of the bears were distressing. They destroyed a Deane’s pistol-case, tore open my box of books, and ruined them; reduced the cloth to shreds, and tumbled it into the mud, where the white ants afterwards finished the spoiling; opened the tin boxes containing the sugar and biscuits, and of course devoured them; so that I have nothing left but coffee and arrack. After Musa had cooked a meal, a very frugal one, he went off with a party to fetch the garei, hoping to find a little sago left, but was disappointed.

In the evening caught a few fish, but they were not much among so many. About seven, a most satisfactory savour rose to my nostrils. I found that Ahtan, having discovered a jar of pork fat, was preparing some cakes. I divided them, but he said, “No; you, sir, have the larger body, therefore should have the larger share.” I am not much given to emotions, but I never felt so thankful as when, stretched in the old Kayan hut, I watched them preparing an evening meal, and thought of all the dangers we had gone through without a single accident. True, we had lost guns, and goods, and ruined instruments of some value; but what of that?—there was no one the worse for his exertions. What was hunger now we were so near home?

17th.—Started early; and, as we have had no rain for two days, the river was quiet, and we only reached an island about fifteen miles from the Madalam. It shows the difference, however, between ascending and descending a river. About two a.m., our garei being well ahead, we saw before us a herd of wild cattle, quietly picking at a few blades of grass on a broad[163] pebbly flat. I landed with a couple of men, to get between them and the jungle. I was within twenty yards of the nearest, a piebald, and was crawling through the tangled bushes to get a sight of him, whom I could hear browsing near me, when there arose a shout, then a rush, and the cattle were off dashing close to me, but perfectly concealed by the matted brushwood. It was the crew of one of the newly-arrived boats that, regardless of the warnings of their companions, had thus lost us a chance of a good dinner. I felt that, if my gun had been charged with shot, I could almost have peppered them. Shortly after I shot a pig through the back as he was crossing the river; but as all my men were Mahomedans, it was not worth while tracing him in the jungle. He bled so profusely in the water that he could not have run far.

About five, we were passing down a rapid at a great pace, when one of the men touched me and pointed. I looked up, and there was a magnificent bull, three parts grown, standing within fifteen yards of me. To put up my gun and let fly was the work of a moment; but, before we had dashed on many yards, the beast, which had fallen on his forehead, was up and away. After a little time, we managed to stop the garei; and, landing, found traces of the beast’s blood. My feet were so painfully wounded that I could not manage to follow it, but left it to my men. A couple came up with him, as he stood with his legs well stretched out, bleeding profusely. He took no notice of them, even when they were within spearing distance; but all their nerve was gone, and they were[164] afraid to thrust their weapons into him. They waited till the whole mob of hunters arrived, when the bull apparently recovering himself, dashed away into the jungle.

Having secured the boats under the islands, I divided a tablespoonful of beans each, with a little pork fat to those who would take it. Musa told me that most of the men wanted to stay behind and follow the wounded Tambadau; but that, if I wished to go on, there were five volunteers who would pull straight to Brunei, now about a hundred miles off by river. To this I agreed.

18th.—I get away at daylight in a sampir with five men. Ahtan with an attack of fever and ague. The reaction was too much for him, so I stopped at an island about five miles from the Madalam to cook. I now produced my secret store of beans, and the cupful of rice that I had treasured up since it was given us on the 12th. The beans I gave to the men, and the rice I had boiled into a thin sort of gruel for Ahtan. I thought his feverish symptoms arose principally from over fatigue and hunger. In fact, after he had swallowed a strong dose of quinine, and taken half the gruel, he felt much better; the rest of it I gave to the men, as I wanted to give them sufficient strength to pull to Pengkalan Jawa. I would not take anything myself, as I did nothing but sit all day. I reserved my powers for the food I knew the Chinese trader there would quickly prepare for us.

As we approached the more frequented parts of the river, we met some Muruts, who told us that[165] the report of my death had brought forty steamers to the capital to revenge it, and that if I did not turn up the place was to be burnt. I knew this was one of the usual stories that arise from very little, but still I was anxious to get home; but with all our exertions we did not reach the Chinese trader’s house till 7 p.m. He received us most hospitably, produced tea, sugar-candy, biscuit, and dried fish, to stay our appetites, while a proper meal was prepared. In about an hour this appeared, and we managed to consume a very large fowl each, with an amount of rice that even startled the Baba. Before leaving at midnight, I made arrangements that a plentiful meal should be provided for the garei’s crew.

19th.—After pulling about fourteen hours, we reached Brunei by 2 p.m., to find the people beginning to wonder at our absence. The forty steamers proved to be Captain Cresswell, of the Surprise, who had visited the capital about ten days before with Mr. Low. The latter was beginning to be uneasy about my absence, and was preparing a party to come and search for me.

20th.—My boats now arrived, having failed to get the Tambadau. They said they followed him by the blood till mid-day, when they lost his traces among those of a herd which he had joined. I suspect they did not follow him very far.

As I have now made many journeys in Borneo, and seen much of forest walking, I think I can speak of it with something like certainty. I have ever found, in recording progress, that we can seldom allow more than[166] a mile an hour under ordinary circumstances. Sometimes, when extremely difficult or winding, we do not make half a mile an hour. On certain occasions, when very hard pressed, I have seen the men manage a mile and a half; but, with all our exertions, I have never yet recorded more than ten miles progress in a day through thick pathless forests, and that was after ten hours of hard work. Of course we actually walk more than we record, as one cannot calculate the slight windings of the way; but allowing for all this, I have the strongest suspicion that Madame Pfeiffer measured her miles by her fatigue. She talks of twenty miles a day as a common performance of hers; and another visitor to this island beats her, recording walking thirty miles in one day through Bornean forests—an utter impossibility.

There was an Adang man among the wax-hunters, the one who accompanied our guide for a short distance, who was pointed out to me as a model of activity, and he certainly appeared so; well built, strong, but light, he skimmed the ground; and the story is told of him, that on receiving information of the illness of his child, he started home, leaving everything behind him but his spear and a little food, and walked from forty to forty-five miles in two days. No European that I have ever seen would have had a chance with him in his own forests.

Six miles a day is quite enough for any man who wishes to take his followers long journeys, unless specially favoured by the ground and the paths; Galton, in speaking of African travelling, says three miles a day with waggons, horses, and cattle, and he[167] is of some authority. I have often thought that we must have walked twenty miles, but the bearings have always proved to me that we have seldom done half that distance. It requires great experience not to judge distance by the fatigue we feel.

Whilst referring to the mistakes in the estimates of distance, I may notice the very remarkable errors into which two visitors to the Limbang have fallen. Mr. Motley[9] mentions exploring that stream to an estimated distance of one hundred and fifty miles, by the windings of the river, and about fifty in a general south-west direction. He reached the Limbuak village, which by my measurement is under twenty miles in a straight line from the mouth: fifty miles in a direct line to the south-west, would have nearly brought him to the Baram, across numerous ranges of hills, and several navigable streams, and a hundred and fifty miles up the river would have brought him nearly to the farthest point I reached, long past the limestone districts. It proves how impossible it is to trust to estimates.

The next curious mistake I may notice, was made by Mr. de Crespigny; he ascended the river Limbang as far as the river Damit. I have seen a sketch map of his, and he places the mouth of that stream in north latitude, 3° 48’, and the mountain of Molu to the north-east of it, in latitude 4° 3’, whereas Molu Peak is a little to the westward of south from the Damit, and nearly twenty-five miles distant in a direct line.

In drawing attention to these errors, I by no means claim immunity from them in the map of the[168] Limbang and Baram rivers which accompanies this volume; but I think they will be found free from gross errors. The course of the latter river was taken down by Captain Brett of the Pluto, and observations of the latitude and longitude of the town of Lañgusan were made by many of the officers on board. In my land journeys, I had very inferior compasses, as I was unable to take with me the valuable levels and other instruments obligingly lent me by Dr. Coulthard, on account of their weight and size; but I used them as long as I was in my boats, to lay down the position of the mountains; and in order to enable me to correct my own errors, I put down the day’s observations on a rough map every evening during the journey, except after we had shot the cascade and wetted the paper too much to permit it being handled roughly.

I may add, that of the whole party of nineteen, none after our return suffered severely from the exposure and privations we had undergone, and I believe the real reason was, that we always were dry at night. For many years we trusted during our expeditions to the leaf huts the natives are accustomed to construct for us and for themselves; but although with sufficient time, and when good materials are plentiful, they manage to make them tolerably watertight, yet they are never so good as the simple tents we always took with us during our later expeditions. With proper ropes and everything fitted to enable us to raise these tents on cross poles in ten minutes, the two did not weigh more than twenty pounds, and afforded comfortable accommodation for our whole party of nineteen[169] people, with all our baggage, and on occasions our six guides took advantage of them also.

I had suffered severely from exposure on former expeditions, particularly when we ascended the Sakarang, and were eight days sleeping in the leaf huts hastily erected by our followers. Of the seven Englishmen who slept on shore, I believe only one escaped without some severe attack of illness, and I remember the late Mr. Brereton mentioning that on his return from a visit to the Bugan country, where his men had been greatly exposed, a fourth of his party died of various diseases. Another precaution I took was to carry myself a few night things, as a light silk jacket, a pair of loose sleeping drawers of the same material, a jersey, and a dry towel, so that if my men lagged far behind, I was not kept for hours in my wet clothes; and whilst travelling in these forests you are always wet, as if there be no rain there are sure to be many rivers to ford.

On my return, I tried to remember the geographical information that was given me before starting. I was told it would take six days from Blimbing to Madihit: leaving out the two days’ detention from freshes, it took us about three hours over the six days. Even the walking distance was really correct; it was only two days from the Adang landing-place, and seven from Madihit; as, although we took ten, yet for the first five days we did not do a fair half-day’s work on any of them. We were warned that it would be impossible to use rafts, and that the banks were almost impassable, and we indeed found it so.

Many months before starting, I was told that if I[170] wished to penetrate far into the interior, to try the Trusan, and not the Limbang, as the former was inhabited, the latter not. I went up the Trusan a few miles, but found it so small, I had no idea it penetrated to so great a distance. The fact is, that the rains run off very fast, and that the ordinary states of the rivers give no idea of the amount of water they bring down, but had we taken that route, we should have reached our farthest point with comparatively little fatigue.

The Orang Kaya Upit arrived at his house November 13th, twenty-five days after I reached Brunei; so that it is fortunate I did not wait for him. I may add, that on November 20th, some Bisaya chiefs set upon pañgeran Makota, the shabandar, and killed him. They were wearied with his exactions. The immediate cause of his death was seizing the daughters of seven Orang Kayas, one of whom he had in his curtains when attacked, and this caused his death. The girl pointed him out to her father, trying to escape in a small canoe. The alarm was given, and his boat tilting over while he tried to avoid the shower of spears and stones, he fell into the stream and was drowned; for he was the only Malay I ever heard of who could not swim. Such was the end of this clever bad man. The Sultan was furious, but his fury was not shared by his four viziers; so that the affair ended by a dozen lives being taken, instead of the hundreds the Sultan desired.

Brunei, February 8th, 1861.—Above two years have passed since I wrote this journal. The scheme[171] of building a fort at the Madalam mouth did not succeed, as the Sultan, after the shabandar’s death, was very unwilling to assist any of the aborigines. I was away during the year 1860, and in the course of that time, a party of the Muruts, from the upper Trusan, came over and encamped at the mouth of the Salindong stream, and from thence sent on three men in a bark canoe to tell their friends of their presence. These men met the Orang Kaya Gomba, a Bisayan, at Batang Parak, and were treacherously slain by him. The Muruts waited a long time at Salindong, hoping to be fetched away by their friends. They could not walk the whole distance, as they had their women and children and all their worldly goods with them, intending to remove to the lower Limbang, and live with the Orang Kaya Upit.

While thus detained, they were surprised by a large party of Kayans, and every one taken or slain. However, one of the prisoners afterwards managed to get away, and reached his friends, bringing this sad tale. The Orang Kaya Gomba declares that he mistook the three for Kayans, which is almost impossible, as no head-hunter would have been found paddling down a hostile stream in a bark canoe. Neither the Sultan nor any of the viziers will make the least inquiry into this affair, but the memory of it is treasured up in the hearts of the Muruts, and Orang Kaya Gomba may yet meet with a bloody death.

I have remarked that during all our wanderings near Kina Balu we only at one place found the dried heads of enemies hung up in the villages there, and during my journeys up the Limbang, I do not remember[172] noticing any, and yet Orang Kaya Gomba’s murderous action shows they do value them, which is confirmed by pañgeran mumin making a present of the head of the man he killed to the Gadang Muruts; and during my stay in Brunei, I have met small parties of head-hunters, but seeking only the heads of their real enemies. Yet I have always avoided spending a night in their immediate neighbourhood, and have kept our arms ready for instant service.

One evening, during a heavy squall, we took shelter in a little river to the south of Point Kitam, in the Limbang Bay, and to our exceeding discomfort found a Murut boat with eighteen armed men in ambush round a short turn of the stream; we knew they were not waiting for us, but having only four men, and a couple of fowling-pieces, we did not feel secure in their neighbourhood. As we rowed past them they took no notice of us, but no sooner had we anchored, than they pulled off towards our boat; but we should have felt little discomfort, had they not had their mat coverings stowed away, while all the Muruts had their arms ready for action. I told my men to show no sign of alarm, but keeping our guns within reach, waited their coming.

It was a great relief to find that they only came to ask for a little tobacco, but some of us had been accustomed to the neighbourhood of the Seribas and Sakarang Dayaks, who on head-hunting expeditions spare none, if of a weaker party. We found they were on the look-out for some of the Tabuns, who, flying before the Kayans, had established themselves at Batu Miris, near the entrance of the Limbang[173] river, and with whom they had an ancient feud. To show the apathy of the Bornean Government, I may mention that it permitted these skirmishes to take place close to the capital, and one day some of my men who were cutting wood near the Consulate, were startled by seeing two Tabuns rushing frantically past them; in a few minutes five Trusan Muruts appeared in full chase, and eagerly inquiring the direction taken by the fugitives, hurried at full speed on a false track purposely pointed out by my Manilla men.

Another fact I may mention is that many Bisaya labourers who go over to our colony of Labuan to seek for work have actually attempted to disinter the bodies of those of our countrymen and women who have been buried there. They have tried this to the great grief and discomfort of their surviving friends, but the Bisayas have generally, if not always, been disappointed by the great depth of the graves, and their inefficient tools. It appears a disgusting thing that there should be any necessity to watch over the graves of one’s friends to prevent them being desecrated.

I shall have occasion hereafter to mention the Secret Societies established by the Chinese, but as an illustration of the influence the members exercise over each other, I will tell the following story:—Perhaps those who have read my journeys to Kina Balu, and this Limbang journal, may be interested in the fate of my boy Ahtan, and I am sorry to say his conduct ultimately made me lose all interest in him. In the year 1858 the Chinese in Brunei started[174] a Secret Society, called there a Hué; they said they were a branch of the Tienti, or Heaven and Earth Society, that has ramifications in nearly all the countries in which the Chinese have spread. At first but few joined it, but by threats and cajolery they at last induced nearly all but the head traders to enter it, and on one of the great Chinese religious feasts, Ahtan asked my permission to go to it.

When he returned, it appeared to me he had a very hang-dog look, and next day I noticed he was very busy about my medicine-chest, and I found my laudanum bottle on the table. Being very much engaged at the time preparing my letters for the mail, I took no particular notice of his movements, but immediately after dinner, having taken coffee, I felt drowsy, and had scarcely entered my mosquito room, when I fell on the sofa, and remained in a stupefied sleep for thirteen hours. On my recovery, Ahtan came with a scared look, and said somebody had stolen my heavy iron chest, and it proved to be the case, but as I had six dogs, one of whom was a savage mastiff, my suspicions instantly fell upon my own people, and passing over my household servants, I fixed on my boatmen as the culprits.

The Sultan, however, sent and begged I would leave the matter in his hands, and on my expressing my willingness, instantly arrested two of my servants, Ahtan and a Manilla Christian named Peter. They were separated, and at dead of night the Sultan went himself with a drawn kris in his hand to the latter, and said if he would confess he would save his life, but if not——; he did not finish the sentence, as[175] Peter instantly fell on his knees, and clinging to the Sultan’s feet, begged that his life might be spared and he would explain all. It appeared that while he held and quieted the mastiff, Ahtan had taken a blacksmith and a carpenter to the chest, and they had carried it off. As these men were constantly employed by me, it explained the silence of the other dogs; but though he could tell how the chest was carried off, he knew nothing of what had since become of it. The Sultan then left him and went to Ahtan, but no threats or entreaties had the slightest effect on him, as he had sworn in the most solemn manner to be faithful to the members of the Tienti Hué, and would confess nothing. The two accused were seized, and as they also belonged to the Secret Society, suspicion was directed to it. I sent for the chief and the other officers of the Hué, and told them the whole story, and said, if the chest unbroken, with the 80l. in it, and all the papers, were not placed on the ground before my house within forty-eight hours, I would turn the Sultan’s attention on them. They protested their utter ignorance of the robbery, which was probably true, but they well knew how to influence all their members, and before the forty-eight hours were over, the chest, untouched, was thrown on the mud just above my house. Finding after a fortnight that the prisoners were receiving treatment totally at variance with English ideas of justice, I sent and begged the Sultan to pardon them, and turn his attention to getting rid of the Secret Society from his dominions. He complied, and it merely required a warm recommendation on his part to the chief[176] officers to break up the society, to induce them to do it, as he declared that every robbery in future should be laid at their door, and every crime committed should be avenged on them. As the officers were men doing a good business at the time, they quickly got rid of their banners and meeting house, and I heard no more of the Hué during the rest of the time I remained in Borneo, but during my last visit I found the chief officers of the society reduced to comparative poverty, as their partners and agents in Singapore, happening to be real British subjects, had refused to have anything further to do with them when they knew of their conduct.

I requested the Sultan to let the prisoners go, as all except Ahtan were kept in the stocks in an open verandah, exposed to sun and rain, and tormented the whole day by boat boys, who delighted in torturing those whom they considered as infidels: in Brunei they have no prisons whatever. Ahtan was better treated, as he was known to have been a favourite servant, though his conduct was very bad, particularly in dosing me with opium, yet I could not forget his kindness to me during our wanderings in the interior, and asked for his liberty on that plea. The Sultan’s answer was,—“The plea is good, but the stubbornness of that boy in refusing to confess when all the others had acknowledged their crime, deserves death.” I heard a few months ago that he was keeping a small shop in Labuan.

A man in whom I felt a very great interest, and was very sorry to part with, was Musa, my Manilla steersman and coxswain; as a boy he had been[177] educated as a Christian, but having been captured very young and sold by the Balignini pirates to the Mahomedans, he had been circumcised, and joined their communion. He had a particular antipathy to Signor Cuarteron, who returned the dislike, and used gravely to assure me that my quiet, respectful follower had a design to massacre him. When the priests first came to Brunei, all my Manilla men attended mass, but were suddenly disgusted with something which took place; and on my inquiring the cause, one of them said, “We don’t like to be told that if we don’t again join the Padre’s religion, he will send for a Spanish man-of-war to take us all off prisoners to Manilla.” If he really did threaten them, he made a great mistake, as some of them never went near the church again. Musa, though modest and gentle in his manner, was as brave as a lion, and would have followed me anywhere. Though very short, he was squarely built, and exceedingly strong; a very powerful swimmer, and good boatman. Many of these men excite a personal regard, and I have always felt that for Inchi Mahomed, my Malay writer, who was entrusted with the charge of the Consulate during my lengthened absences, and he well deserved the trust.

Picturesque Islands—Balambañgan—An old English Settlement—Large Monkeys—Optical Illusions—Flights of Birds—The Curlew—The way we shot them in Sarawak—Game—Banguey—Mali Wali—Cleared Hills—Fine Water—Sweet-smelling Jasmine—Cagayan Sulu—Intercourse with the Inhabitants—Appearance of the Country—Lovely Scenery—Market—Inhabitants—Insolent Traders—The Crater Harbour—Wall of Evergreen—Inner Lake—Climb the Cliff—Scenery—Alligators numerous—Sulu—Appearance from the Ship—Sugh, the Capital—Mr. Wyndham—The Watering-place—Suspicious Natives—Fugitives from Balignini—Reports—A Market—The Mountaineers civil—Walk to the Palace—The Stockades—Armed Crowd—Audience Hall—Absurd Reports—The Sultan and his Nobles—Dress—Politeness of the Sultan—Return to the Ship—Datu Daniel—The Racecourse—Effect of Dutch Shot—Tulyan Bay—Alarm of Villagers—Sulu Government—Laws—Feuds—The Mahomedan and the Pork—Population—Fighting-men—Slave Market—Dignified carriage of the Nobles—Dress—The Balignini—Dutch Attack—Appearance of the Country—Good Position of Island—Tulyan—Basilan—Numerous Islets—Samboañgan—Spanish Convict Settlement—Description of Country—Fort—Town—Shops—The Church—The Men—The Women—The Corner Shop—A Ball—Dancing difficult—Waltzes—Supplies at Samboañgan—A lonely Grave.

During all the voyages I have made, I have never beheld islands so picturesque as those scattered over the surface of the Sulu Seas, or whose inhabitants more merited notice. I will therefore give a short[179] account of the visits I made thither, before the attacks of the Spanish forces had altered the ancient state of affairs. I have already delineated the north-west coast, and will therefore commence my description from the island of Balambañgan, to the north of Maludu Bay, which must always be of some interest to Englishmen from our two unsuccessful attempts to form a settlement there.

We dropped anchor off Balambañgan, which at night appears a low wooded island. I visited it in the morning in a cutter, and vainly sought any fresh traces of human beings, though we found some old deserted huts of the fishermen who frequent this shore for tripang. Continuing our explorations, we noticed something moving along the beach, and there were various conjectures among our party, some affirming it to be a buffalo, others a man; I never was more deceived in my own estimate of the size of an animal, as it proved to be a large monkey, which with its companions was seeking shell-fish on the sands; it was certainly very large, but not of such dimensions as to warrant its being compared to a bull, but there appeared to be some optical illusion caused by its looming over the water.

Pursuing our path along the beach, the seamen at last thought they saw houses among the trees, but on landing we found we were again deceived by a row of white rocks, prettily overhung with creepers. Though no traces of inhabitants were to be found, yet animal life was well represented, innumerable monkeys swarmed at the edge of the jungle, while flights of birds of every kind kept rising before us.[180] I never saw more monstrous pelicans, but after having been so deceived by the monkeys, I must not attempt to estimate their height. The best birds, however, for culinary purposes, were the curlews, some of which are as large as small fowls: unfortunately we were not provided with shot, and ball fell harmlessly among them.

They are wary birds, but may yet be readily circumvented. There is a spot at the entrance of one of the minor branches of the Sarawak river, where the curlews congregate in thousands, but only at the height of spring-tides can you get profitable shots at them. There are broad sands there, and the birds spread over them to feed; by degrees the rising waters gradually press them back towards the wooded shore; and as beach after beach is covered, they fly screaming above in wide circles, gradually narrowing till they all settle on the spot near which the sportsmen lie concealed, either behind scattered bushes, or in a prepared bower of leafy branches. The evening has well closed in before the tip-top of high-water; and the loud scream of the myriads of birds deadens the detonation of the guns as they send their iron shower among them, enabling us to load and reload without completely scaring the birds. We once obtained ninety-five of the largest kind, and hundreds of smaller ones, to feast the crowd who were assembled near preparatory to a great tuba-fishing.

Balambañgan is admirably situated to command the China seas; however, if its position be superior to Labuan, the latter has coal to counterbalance that advantage. While strolling along the beach we came[181] upon the tracks of cattle, deer, and pigs, and another party from the ship had the good fortune to secure a large supply of excellent fish with the seine. This island, as well as the neighbouring coast of the mainland, appears to swarm with game; I landed on the latter, and found an extensive open plain, diversified with a few low eminences, backed by some cleared hills, and there the tracks of wild cattle, deer, and pigs were innumerable. The rhinoceros is also reported to be occasionally seen, but we came across no traces of it.

Continuing our voyage, we passed the island of Banguey, in the northern part of which there are fine peaked hills, with inhabitants, and plenty of good water, therefore far preferable to Balambañgan for a settlement; as if the harbours be not good, there is sufficient shelter against both monsoons.

The next island is Mali Wali, and here we anchored to examine it. We tried at many places, but found the little creeks shallow and lined with mangrove swamps; but by landing on the south side, at the east end of the stone beach, there is but a few minutes’ walk in dry forest between the shore and the cleared land. The appearance of the island is remarkable; for miles the hills apparently are clothed with grass, with only a narrow belt of jungle skirting the shingly beach; the reality, however, disappointed us, as we found that this verdant-looking land was but a heap of soft sandstone, with long coarse grass growing up between the crevices. However, there is a good supply of clear water from tiny streams and springs, and the tracks of deer were observed in many places,[182] while on all sides a species of wild jasmine grew in luxuriance, bearing a very sweet-scented flower.

This island did not tempt us to stay long, so we steered for Cagayan Sulu, which is a gem in the ocean; it has three peaks, wooded, but varied by grassy glades, groves of cocoa-nuts and fruit-trees, partly concealing and partly revealing scattered houses and villages. It is, indeed, a picturesque island from every view. Our first intercourse appeared likely to be unfriendly. Steering round to the south-west side, we landed at a place where we saw some houses close to the beach, and as we pulled ashore, we could see the inhabitants gathering in armed groups; however, we were received with great civility, and explained the object of our visit, which was to inquire what fresh provisions could be procured there. We did not stay long, as they promised to bring us down next day a good supply.

When we landed on the following morning, we found a very large party assembled with several fine bullocks for sale; while the bargaining was going on I wandered inland with a companion to have a look at the country. Wherever we went we found plantations of cocoa-nuts and plantains, and round the houses were small vegetable gardens, while between the dwellings were occasionally extensive tracks of long coarse grass, on which were herds of bullocks feeding.

At length we came to a spot which tempted us to rest. It was a rock overhanging a tiny bay, thrown into deep shade by the tall graceful palms which bent over it; while looking inland across the gently sloping[183] fields of long high grass interspersed with groves, we could see parties of natives marching in Indian file, with their bright spear-heads flashing in the sun, winding their way down to the extemporized market. We sat under the shade of some areca palms; which, though young, and not twenty feet in height, were yet covered with fruit and freshly expanded blossoms, which shed a delicious perfume through the whole grove.

Our bargaining prospered, as fine cattle were secured at thirty shillings a piece, ducks for two wine bottles, fine cocks and hens for one; as well as a couple of pretty ponies, cocoa-nut oil and nuts, plantains, limes, ginger, onions, and fruits. This island, though formerly a dependency of Sulu, is now independent, and is governed by some of those half-bred Arabs who corrupt and weigh heavily on these countries. It is finely situated in the Sulu seas, and it is both healthy and fertile. The inhabitants appear much the same as those I had seen about Maludu Bay, and, with the exception of some strangers, were civil. The latter were traders who had visited Samboañgan, Manilla, and other Spanish ports, and were there corrupted, by intercourse with the low Europeans and dissipated classes who usually frequent such places; and at one time these men were so insolent that I thought their conduct would become unbearable, till they were quieted by my shooting down a cocoa-nut, as mentioned in my Limbang journal.

The most singular spot in this island is near the old crater-looking harbour, mentioned by Sir[184] Edward Belcher, which we entered over a reef. It is almost circular, and is surrounded by lofty rocks clothed with trees, bushes, and hanging creepers, presenting a magnificent wall of evergreen. Rowing to the west side of the bay, and climbing to the top of a lofty bank, we had a splendid view of a remarkable almost circular, lake. The place where we stood was a gap between the lofty cliffs that rose on either hand, and appeared to have been formed by the inner waters bursting their boundary, and overthrowing the upper defences of this natural dam. The wooded cliff’s continue all round, forming a perfect barrier, now rising to a great height, then sinking to some fifty or sixty feet. The waters, elevated more than forty feet above the sea, lay in undisturbed repose, and presented for upwards of half a mile a clear mirror, reflecting back the rays of the sun and the deep shadow of the tall trees.

I mounted with some difficulty the top of the left-hand cliff, and had an extensive view through the tangled bushes. On one side were the waters of the crater, on the other the serene lake with the sea appearing beyond. We heard from the natives that alligators swarm in this secluded water, so that fish must be plentiful also, as few pigs could descend here. In the interior they say there is another more extensive lake of the same formation; this one was found to be eight fathoms deep at the edges, and forty in the centre.

Started from Cagayan Sulu, and after encountering rougher weather than we expected to find in this usually calm sea, lay to, as we thought we were[185] not far from the island we were intending to visit.

At daylight the two peaks of Sulu were visible; and as we approached, the summits of the other hills appeared, while all the rest of the island lay enveloped in mist; but the sun soon dispelled this, and showed us the west coast of the lovely island of Sulu. The slopes of the hills presented alternate patches of cleared grassy land, with clumps of trees scattered over its face, reminding one of a noble English park; while a long dense line of cocoa-nut palms skirted the beach, among which were seen many houses and groups of inhabitants, who were no doubt watching our approach with much anxiety, as they had already suffered from the attacks of the Dutch and Spaniards; but the sight of the English flag no doubt restored their confidence.

Anchored off Sugh, the capital of Sulu, which is situated at the bottom of a bay, and appears small; but among the existing dwellings we could distinguish blackened piles, the remains of portions of the city burnt by the Dutch. On the right of the town is a high hill, curiously peaked and well wooded. Farther off to the left, and at the back, are many high mountains, some peaked, others rounded; but, as a whole, forming a beautiful view. A white flag, with a castle represented on it, waved over the fort, and a pilot jack marked the residence of Mr. Wyndham, an Englishman, settled here for the purposes of trade.

Very few natives came off, until at length a messenger arrived from the sultan to know who we were;[186] we returned a suitable and, no doubt, a satisfactory reply, as the Sulus were in a state of great excitement, having suffered considerably from the recent shots of the Dutch ships. Having communicated with Mr. Wyndham, we went to see the watering-place about a mile to the west of the town, situated near the great tree to which I have alluded in my second account of Kina Balu, where we found the water bursting out of the sand, clear as crystal, and pleasant to the taste.

The tree is very fine, being at least thirteen feet in diameter, with a very sinewy stem. Mr. Wyndham walked with us a little way into the country, and showed us some of the houses, having much the same appearance as those of the Malays. These people are better-looking than most other inhabitants of the archipelago; but appeared to be suspicious, watching us at every point; in fact, we afterwards heard the fugitives from Balignini were scattered among them, and they had had no time to forget what they had suffered from the well-deserved attacks of the Spaniards. We then pulled to Mr. Wyndham’s house, a mere rough building, raised near the site of his former one, burnt by the Dutch—why or wherefore is inconceivable. The whole night after our arrival the country was in an uproar, reports spreading of the advent of innumerable ships, which made the inhabitants hurry their women, children, and goods up to the mountain. In the evening we took a friendly letter to the sultan.

28th.—Went with the watering-party, but were unable to penetrate far, on account of heavy rain and[187] the incivility of the natives, who waved us back. No answer, as yet, from the sultan.

30th.—Landed at the watering-place, where the mountaineers were assembled at a sort of market, bartering, buying, and selling. We walked about a little, and then returned to the beach, where we were surrounded by some scores of men, women, and children from the mountains and neighbourhood; the former are said to be of a different race, but we saw little signs of it. The women, on the whole, are better-looking than the Malays, and some of the little girls were quite pretty; they are civil enough, but anxious to know our business.

In the afternoon we went to an audience with the sultan. Having landed at Mr. Wyndham’s, who led us by a long shaky platform to the shore, where we found numbers of armed natives assembled, an officer from the sultan led the way along a broad rough road with a high stockade on the left, and houses on the right. We passed in, through ever-increasing crowds, to a market-place, where the women were selling fowls, fish, and vegetables, till we came to a creek, over which a rude bridge took us to the palace. Before crossing, we observed a large brass 24-pounder showing through an embrasure. The stockade continued on the left, until we passed a large gate, where on a green were assembled some hundreds of men, armed with muskets, spears, heavy Lanun swords, and krises, and defended by shields, and some brass armour, and old Spanish-looking helmets.

The audience hall was on the right, and the house of prayer on the left. The crowd opening, we mounted[188] some steps, and crossing a verandah thronged with armed men, found ourselves in the presence of the sultan. The audience hall is large, but perfectly bare of ornament, as all their valuable silks and hangings were packed up, and mostly sent to the hills, on account of an absurd report spread by the mate of the Spanish brig we found anchored near, which, when we came in sight, began to get under weigh, and stand out to sea.

On being questioned by the Chinese passengers, he said that we had given him notice to get out of the way, as we were about to bombard the town. The rumour having spread, the natives packed up their valuables, and spent the night in carrying their goods off to the hills, and in removing their women and children. This caused the suspicious behaviour of the people, and what tends to keep up their apprehensions a little is that the Spanish brig has not yet returned to her proper anchorage.

But to return to the hall. In the centre stood a round table; on the opposite side sat the sultan surrounded by his datus, and around were a number of empty chairs, on which we took our seats. After shaking hands, a few questions were asked, as, “What was the news? Was France quiet?” The sultan was very like the picture in Sir Edward Belcher’s book, and was dressed in light-flowered silk, with a very broad gold belt round his waist, a handsome kris, and gold bracelets, sparkling with jewels. Some of the datus were splendidly dressed in silks, gold brocades, handsome turbans and head-dresses, like golden tiaras; the young men were, as[189] usual, the most gaudily decorated, while the old were in plain white jackets, and crowds of the better class sat behind and around us.

Observing that Sir James Brooke, who had lately suffered much from fever, looked hot and tired, the sultan politely broke up the audience, and we returned by the same path we came, and after sitting a short time with Mr. Wyndham, went on board to dine with Captain Keppel, where our Sulu acquaintance amused us with stories about the natives.

Went on shore to Mr. Wyndham’s to meet datu Daniel; very little conversation passed. He appears to be a quiet, good-natured man; his brothers are very fine fellows, and very fair; with them we went to see the race-course. Passing through a portion of the town, we came to an open grassy field, where a few men were trying their horses by trotting them over the sward. None of the chiefs being present, there were no trials of speed.

2nd.—On shore early with our guide, but the people not appearing to like our penetrating into the country, we returned to Mr. Wyndham’s house, and as we passed the stockades, the Sulus laughingly pointed to some indentations in the wood where the shot from the Dutch ships had struck, but had done little damage.

3rd.—Weighed anchor and stood along the coast for Tulyan Bay; but wind and tide being against us, we let go our anchor; sailing again at three, we found ourselves towards seven in Tulyan Bay, much to the discomfort of the villagers, whose shouts and screams could be distinctly heard on board. At last[190] a couple of men came off and returned on shore after a few reassuring words from Mr. Wyndham, which appeared sufficient to pacify the inhabitants, as the noises ceased. Tulyan Bay is rather deep, and appears to be well protected, and takes its name from a pretty-looking island in the offing, which was ceded to the English in Dalrymple’s time—in fact, the inhabitants thought we were come to take possession.

4th.—I must now endeavour to give the little information I collected concerning Sulu. The government is carried on by a sultan, with his council of datus; at the present time the principal power is held by datu Molok, an elder but illegitimate brother of the sultan—a shrewd-looking man with quick, inquiring eyes. The sultan is said to be well-intentioned; but, being weak in character, is totally unable to subdue the turbulent aristocracy by whom he is surrounded. In despair he is reported to give way to his fondness for opium-smoking.

The laws are but little respected, and ancient customs are fast falling into disuse, particularly one resembling a voluntary poor-rate. Every Sulu trader used to present five per cent. of his yearly profits to a fund, which was divided among the poor of the island. The mountaineers acknowledge the supremacy of the sultan, but refuse to pay tribute, and a government which cannot enforce that is not likely to be able to suppress feuds, or effectually to put down disturbances. Mr. Wyndham pointed out a man who was notorious as a murderer, and one instance he had himself witnessed of his bloodthirstiness.

Again, two mountaineers, bargaining for a slice of fish, quarrelled; they mutually seized each other’s weapons; one held the handle of his opponent’s kris, the other his spear shaft; they struggled, a fight ensued, the crowd collected, some took one side, some the other, and in a few minutes seven men lay gasping on the ground. It is not to be expected that the dependencies of the island will obey, when all is in such confusion. The sultan’s power is very limited, though the datus still send parties to raise contributions from the neighbouring towns, villages, and islands. In all decaying states we find religion neglected, and here, I imagine, it is held but in slight respect; their houses of prayer being like a tumble-down barn, and the inhabitants indulging in the use of wine, and occasionally pork.

Mr. Wyndham told us an amusing story of an old datu, who, going on business to a Chinese trader, began to find a delicious odour insinuatingly creeping over his senses.

“Why,” he answered in a low voice, but cautiously surveying the room to see if he were watched, “yes, bring me a little.”

On tasting it, and finding it very good, he began to eat some more. Mr. Wyndham living next door, and hearing the old fellow’s noise, had removed some of the partition, and was watching him. He now coughed.

Our informant then went in, and, laughing, shook the Mahomedan chief by the hand, and congratulated him on his freedom from prejudice. He ever after had much influence with the old man, who feared being exposed. The inland inhabitants call themselves Islamites, but are very lax and ignorant.

The Sulu language is soft; it contains, I believe, many Malay words and expressions, but it is essentially different; though the upper classes understand Malay, and also many of the lower, there being here numerous slaves from Borneo. The population, they say, is 200,000; it is probably 100,000; not less, from the numerous towns and villages along the coast, and the number of houses detached in twos and threes. On an extraordinary occasion, they say they could bring some 15,000 or 20,000 men into the field; but, in general, 5,000 would be as many as they could assemble. In fact, when the day of trouble came, they had not, perhaps, 2,000 to defend the town; and this may be readily accounted for, as a large proportion of the population is in servitude, which is, however, generally an easy state of existence.

The slaves are collected from all parts of the archipelago, from Acheen Head to New Guinea, and from the south of Siam to the most northern parts of the Philippines: it is a regular slave market. The Sulus themselves are a better-looking people than any I have yet seen; they are daring and independent,[193] and the mountaineers, particularly, are a wild but polite people. Their young women and little girls are dark-eyed and good-featured, with easy figures; free, though not obtrusive, in their ways.

Bold and daring as the datus appear, they have much politeness in their manners, particularly datu Daniel and his brother; and on proper occasions their carriage is dignified and commanding. The lower orders are outwardly rough, violent, and fierce, yet have an inherent politeness, which, when inclined to show confidence, they display to much advantage. On state occasions the young men appear in splendid dresses, while the elder content themselves with plain clothes. The dress is the same as the rest of the archipelago—a jacket, trousers, sarong, and occasionally a shirt or under-vest. They all wear krises, and most of them also carry either muskets or spears.

The Balignini near the watering-places were the worst we met—insolent and inclined to pilfer; indeed, there was nearly a quarrel about some of the seamen’s clothes they tried to appropriate. To show their dislike, they planted sharp fish-bones round the watering-place, in the hope that our men, landing in the dark, might cut their feet. The Dutch burnt about two hundred houses, but did little injury to the stockades, which are, however, sadly out of repair. In proper order, well mounted with guns, they could make a good defence, as the walls facing the sea are about fifteen feet thick of mud and stone, encased with teak stockades. The rampart around the sultan’s palace is in the best repair, but not so thick as the others; and datu Daniel’s is by no means[194] contemptible. The men, too, would fight bravely, as they did against the Dutch; but their guns, except the brass ones, are mostly dismounted, and they have no carriages ready; the iron ones are said to be those taken at Balambañgan, when they surprised and captured our settlement.

The appearance of the country from the sea is very beautiful, many of the hills rising to a peak some 2,000 feet above the level of the sea; while others are lower and wooded, and form an agreeable contrast. Several of these eminences are forest-covered to the summit, while many present alternate patches of rice cultivation, pasture land, groves of cocoa-nut, palms, gardens, and detached clumps of forest trees. It is by far the most beautiful island I have seen. Sulu, in good hands, might be made to produce every tropical production, and become the centre of the commerce in these seas. Ships, by staying a little time, may obtain bullocks, fowls, ducks, vegetables, fruits, cocoa-nuts, and very fine water at a very good watering-place. The duties on goods are high; nevertheless, Mr. Wyndham and the Spaniards carry on a profitable commerce.

Tulyan is rather a small island, with hills to the north, but low land on the south: the former with a few trees and some bananas, with cocoa-nut palms at the foot; the latter a little woody. Dalrymple gives some account of it. In his time the Spaniards had driven the natives away, burnt their houses, and cut down their fruit-trees; but there is now a large village along the beach, with many cocoa-nut groves. The inhabitants are pearl fishers.

Next day anchored off two woody islets; the captain, as usual, shelling and dredging. Islands are to be seen in the distance all around us.

6th.—Anchored off Basilan. High hills and lowlands covered with woods, showing but few clearings. We counted eighteen islands at one time; among which were the late pirate haunts of Balignini and Tonquil. Beat about, and anchored off Samboañgan after dark.

We remained seven days at Samboañgan, walking and exploring in every direction, and enjoyed our stay there very much. Magindanau, as far as we have seen it, is very hilly and woody, with the exception of the neighbourhood of the Spanish settlement of Samboañgan, which has been cleared for some miles; though, for an old colony, not so much as might have been expected.

The town is situated on the west point of Lanun Bay, and from the sea appears much smaller than it is in reality. It presents no very striking features; the long, low, dark fort and whitewashed houses, intermixed with a few groves of cocoa-nuts, with forest on either side, and the hills, some cleared and some wooded, rising about seven miles inland, suggest a rough idea of this pleasant little town. The plain around is very well cultivated; as you walk along the roads—very much like English country ones—you have a continual series of large rice fields, cocoa-nut groves, now swelling into extensive plantations, then a few round a detached cottage, and intermixed with these are great quantities of bananas. Many small streams intersect the plain, adding[196] much to its fertility, and are spanned by covered bridges.

The fort is to the right of the town, and has rather low walls, mounted with a good many guns; against a native force it must be impregnable, but a little shelling would soon subdue it. It is garrisoned by about two hundred and fifty native soldiers. Leaving its gate, you cross a large green, beyond which lies the principal portion of the town, laid out in a rectangular shape, with streets intersecting each other at equal distances. The houses are in general mere native ones; others a little superior; and perhaps a couple of dozen of a better class, in which reside the Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, Commandant, and other officers. Almost every other house has a shop, in which cigars, spirits, chocolate, sugar, and various other articles are sold. The most respectable class keep retail shops, as well as the little traders.

Beyond this portion of the town is a little green, with the church—a long barn-like building. Seen within by the imperfect light of evening, it appeared destitute of ornaments, except round the altar, and beyond this are some more streets. The houses I entered had very little furniture; a small table, some chairs, a bedstead, and a kind of drawers, with a few shelves, complete the whole.

The people themselves are well worthy of notice. They are a mixture of Spaniards and natives; a few of pure blood, in the Government offices; the rest half-castes, mestiches, and natives. The men exhibit no remarkable features, except the Governor, Colonel Cayelano de Feguaroa, who was an agreeable[197] man, and spoke French. We were much pleased with his liberal ideas and gentlemanly manners, and the other officers were equally polite and attentive. The generality of the native men are kind and civil, but with fat, unmeaning faces. The women are much better. The Lieutenant-Governor’s wife, the only pure Castilian in the place, was a very pretty woman, with fine eyes and regular features. The mestiches have in general good eyes and dark hair; but, with the exception of a few, their faces are too broad.

There was a famous corner shop opposite the church, which contained good specimens of the race:—Gabriella, likewise called Romantica, one of the handsomest women in the town, with pleasing features, and her sister, with the usual flat face. Every one visiting Samboañgan made that shop their place of call, as the staid old mother and the girls were very civil and hospitable.

In the country one could always obtain cocoa-nuts, and many of us were invited in to eat fruit and drink chocolate and gin by the obliging residents, whose pretty houses, embowered in fruit-trees, were an ornament to the road side.

The officers of the Meander gave a ball. The quarter-deck was cleared of guns and surrounded with flags on all sides, and ornamented with green boughs. All the Spanish officers came, and about fifty of the townswomen, some young, others old. We danced quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas: the first caused much confusion, the second was well danced, while the third was quite new to most of them. The commandant gave one in return, which was kept up with[198] greater spirit. Many of the girls were fairer and better-looking than those we saw on board, and a few were in European costumes, with shoes and stockings, while the rest had Malay petticoats, and little jackets with scarfs. Dancing the polka with them was found to be very difficult, as, few having chemises on, the hand constantly coming in contact with the skin, it was impossible to obtain a hold; and their little slippers were flying in every direction.

Their own band played waltzes very well by ear; but nothing else. Indeed, it is almost the only dance they care for, as the girls find it difficult to try any other, on account of their wearing slippers without heels, some of which are very prettily ornamented with gold and silver embroidery.

Supplies were scarce, though I saw a great many oxen and cows, some goats, fowls, and ducks; but its being a penal settlement, trade is obstructed and carefully watched to prevent the escape of convicts, and none could come to the ship without a pass. The ponies are very good, except the hacks; the water buffaloes are large, and employed to draw a peculiar sledge along the smooth roads. The chief amusement of the men on Sundays is cock-fighting: crowds assemble to witness this cruel sport; and then they show some money, which at other times appears so scarce that few shops could give change for a dollar. We observed that the rice was trodden out by the buffaloes, on hard beaten ground. Washing was dear, being eleven dollars a hundred.

16th.—Started on our return voyage. Lay-to off a sand-bank not marked in the chart. A grave was[199] found there with four bamboos stuck round, one at each corner, in the midst of thousands of birds, with immense numbers of eggs, some of which were brought off, and proved good eating. I will omit the ground we went over on our return, and give an account of a second visit we paid this archipelago.

Reach Sugh—Mr. Wyndham comes on board—His News—Commercial Rivalry—The Stockades—Visit the Audience Hall—Appearance of the Sultan—Visit Datu Daniel’s Stockaded House—Guns—Datu Daniel—Appearance of the principal Chamber—The Bed—Boxes—Property—General look of Discomfort—Spittoons—Dismounted Iron Guns—Taken from the English—Excitement in the Town—Hereditary Hatred of the Sulus to the Spaniards—Their Treaty with Spain—Sandakan Bay—Supplies—Variegated Wood—Salute—English popular—An Exception—Death of a Sulu Lady from Grief—The Rumah Bechara—A Ship taken—Interview with the Sultan—Hope—Character of Datus—The Balignini—Capture an English Ship—Captives brought to Sulu—Result of the Action of the Nemesis—The Lanuns—At Magindanau and Cape Unsang—A narrow Escape—Mate to Lord Cochrane—Capture of the Maria Frederica—Cold-blooded Murder of the Captain—Jilolo Prahus—Their Rencontre with Sir Edward Belcher—Pirates off the Arru Group—Sulu Justice—Appearance of the People—Attack on the Spanish Gunboats—Public Audience with the Sultan—Private Visit to the House of his Bride—The Women—Opium-smoking—Invitation to revisit Sulu—The Spanish Gunboats—Samboañgan—The Corner Shop—Sunday’s Amusements—Appearance of the Neighbourhood—A Breakfast in the Country—Long Walks—People comfortable—Story of the Loss and Re-capture of the Dolphin—The Dolphin sails for Maludu Bay—Quarrels—Surprised—Death of Mr. Burns and the Captain—Murder of a Woman—Injury to Trade—Datu Badrudin’s Monopolies—The Tungku Pirates—Visit the chief Town of Maludu—Sherif Husin’s Account of the Surprise of the Dolphin—The Re-capture of the Vessel by Sherif Yasin—Arrival at Benggaya—Dolphin delivered up—Visit the Village of Sherif Yasin—His Appearance—His[201] Account of the Re-capture—His Position—Smoking over Powder—Delivery of the Cargo—Return to the Ship—Argus Pheasants—Meet with Baju Boats—Pearl Fishers—Retaliation—Fishing for Pearls—Mr. Edwardes’s Pearl—Story of the Datu, and his great good Fortune—The Mermaid Pearl—Present State of Piracy on the North-West Coast—Cruise of the Balignini in 1861—Ransom of Inchi Ngah—Names of present Haunts of the Balignini—A Mangrove Swamp—Present System of Balignini—Escape of a Native—The Lanuns—A Dayak’s Experience—A Slave Mart—Spanish Attack on Sugh—Severe Fight—Bravery of the Sulus—Capture of the Town—The Sulu Government retire to the Hills, and refuse to submit—A Teak Forest burnt—No Teak in Borneo—Elephants extinct in Sulu.

Started from Labuan in the steamer Nemesis; and passing over our old ground soon found ourselves in the Sulu seas. It is difficult navigation, but we passed safely among the shoals, steering south of Cagayan Sulu, and between the islands of Ubian and Peñgaturan, where there is a deep channel. The latter is a long and low island, of great extent, with a few small villages, palm groves, and near it we observed many fishermen’s canoes. The sea is studded with shoals and little islands, and I counted eleven at one time from the deck. It was misty weather when the island first appeared; but as we approached Sugh the weather cleared, and by the time we had anchored it was tolerably fine. Since our last visit many houses have been built, and the town is gradually assuming its ancient appearance.

A quarter of an hour after our arrival Mr. Wyndham, whom we had met on our previous visit, came on board, and brought us the little news he possessed, that Sulu was perfectly tranquil, and that the Dutch, with two small vessels, were gradually extending[202] their claims along the east coasts of Borneo, that the Governor of Manilla had protested against the Dutch interference in Sulu, and that the pirates of Balignini were utterly rooted out of their old haunts on the islands of Tonquil and Balignini. But it was a mistake to imagine that the Spaniards had killed or taken prisoners the whole number, for very many escaped and retired to Sulu. Mr. Wyndham was startled on hearing of the expected arrival of an European enemy, and uttered many exclamations as to the injustice and barbarity of attacking an inoffensive people, and asked many questions as to the profit of making this aggression, though he was scarcely surprised, as he had known they had long desired the eastern coast of Borneo, and that they are endeavouring to obtain a show of right for its seizure, as by them our ancient claim is no longer remembered.

At four, we left the Nemesis with Mr. Wyndham, to visit datu Molok, the prime minister. We pulled in for the little creek in the centre of the town, passing many new houses lately built by the Chinese. Mr. Wyndham told us that he found them very troublesome competitors; as, spreading themselves over all the neighbouring islands, they offered apparently higher prices for produce than he could possibly do; so he obtained from the sultan an order for their recall to the capital. I say apparently higher prices, for by means of false weights and the tricks usually practised by the Chinese, they were enabled to outbid the honest European. Yet I fear that in this there is much commercial jealousy, and that the injury done to the general trade by the[203] restriction is much greater than the profit to the individual.

As we passed before the fort I could see numerous guns displaying their adamantine lips through the embrasures; and I learned from our companion that the Sulus possess about 150 brass guns, besides innumerable iron ones. In the market-place, crowds of armed men were assembled, looking eagerly and anxiously at us. We landed at the little bridge, and learning that Molok was at the sultan’s palace, we proceeded thither, escorted by about half a dozen men armed with long spears, and followed by a crowd of men, women, and children. We soon arrived at the fort, and then entering the old audience hall, found it in much the same condition as before, quite as bare of ornament, with the old round table and white cloth, and the chairs arranged around. Datu Molok was present, with a few others; and we had nearly arranged about the salute when the sultan entered, and it was settled that it should be given the next day.

The news of the Dutch having taken Bali made them all look at each other with marks of great disquietude, and when they heard of the amount of the Dutch force which was expected to visit Sulu, their uneasiness was clearly to be seen under their assumed quietude. The sultan appeared in better health, but the heaviness of the lower part of his face gives him a stupid look, and his long jacket of white silk did not suit his pale appearance. Having taken our leave, we retired, and returned to the ship; but Sir James Brooke, being anxious to see some of the[204] datus that evening, sent us on shore again to arrange a meeting with Mr. Wyndham: but Molok, being then with the sultan, smoking opium, we went to datu Daniel’s.

For a couple of hundred yards from the shore the water was so shallow, that we were compelled to be dragged along over the sand in Mr. Wyndham’s flat-bottomed boat. Walking a few hundred yards inland to the left of the town, on the road to the race-course, we came to the house. It is surrounded by a stockade some thirty feet high; there were two long iron eighteen-pounder guns to defend the approaches, but only one was mounted, though there were two brass ones ready for service in his verandah. A wretched-looking pony, and a man with a chain round his neck pounding rice, were the most remarkable features of the place.

Having mounted some high steps, we entered the house, where we found datu Daniel lying down on his bed, suffering from an attack of intermittent fever. He sat up, however, and talked a little, expressed his regret that he was unable to come on board and see the Rajah, but sent one of his people to Molok to arrange a meeting. The room we entered was large, some fifty feet long by twenty broad, with a raised recess on one side fifteen feet square. A native bed, thirty feet long and twelve broad, occupied the greater portion of the room; it was divided in two by a curtain, and resembled more a large raised room than a bed. At the end were long shelves filled with packets of goods, small boxes, and innumerable articles which I could not distinguish, while around[205] were hung the datu’s handsome jackets, sarongs, trousers, krises, and other finery for state occasions. Four gun-cases were piled at the side of the bed, while in the recess above mentioned, and about the room, were forty or fifty boxes, containing his valuable property; there was a ladder, also, which led to the loft.

Chairs were provided for us; but, with the exception of the bed covered with beautiful mats and the handsomely-ornamented pillows, the whole place had an air of discomfort, a sort of musty look. The bed itself is no doubt the datu’s chief residence; we could only just see the head of the farther half, as a blue curtain was drawn across, concealing its beauties and its treasures. Around the room were arranged several dozen brass spittoons, as if the chief were accustomed to give large parties. Some of the women and young girls came to the doors to look at us; a few were tolerably good-looking, with their dark eyes and black hair, but the generality were like the Malays.

Returning, we were, as usual, very much stared at, but little followed. We walked behind some of the stockades, but saw that nothing had been done either to repair them, or to mount the guns, which lay grass-covered in every direction. As they were those captured from the English when Balambañgan was taken, it is probable they were too honeycombed to be of any use. We remained at Mr. Wyndham’s house waiting for Molok’s answer, which came at length, mentioning nine as the hour.

The news of the intended visit of their last European[206] enemy must have spread very rapidly; boats were plying to and fro from the palace and outside houses, bringing all the valuables on shore. As Molok sent a message that he could not come, we had a long talk with Mr. Wyndham, who frankly confessed he was a Spaniard in heart, as he thought they were more likely to settle the affairs of these countries than the English, but added, for some reason he could not fathom, there was an unconquerable prejudice among the Sulus against the Spaniards. It is no doubt an hereditary feeling, for these islanders and the Castilians have been constantly at war for the last three hundred years; the latter endeavouring to subject them, and the former supporting their independence with great determination.

By the treaty of September 23rd, 1836, the Spaniards offered their protection and the assistance of their army and navy to support the sultan and repel any enemies who might attack him, and the sultan of Sulu accepted their friendship and protection. This article the Sulus considered the Spaniards had failed to carry into effect, as the spirit and letter of the treaty bound Spain and Sulu to consider their respective enemies as perpetual foes, except that the Sulus were not required to support Spain in an European war.

Mr. Wyndham said that Sandakan Bay is exceedingly unhealthy, and that the whole eastern coast bears the same character during the south-west monsoon; but nearly every tropical place is insalubrious until cleared and drained. Sandakan is reported to be one of the noblest harbours in the world, perfectly[207] sheltered, with eight fathoms of water. Innumerable boats came around the steamer with vegetables, cocoa-nuts, eggs, fowls, fruit, krises, Sulu knives, Dutch 32-pounder shot, cattle, and excellent fish, particularly the red mullet; eggs on the whole very good; mangoes and plantains; but krises of indifferent quality; the Sulu knives, of very peculiar shape, are mostly made in China for this market; a tolerable one, with a sheath of clouded wood, and a handle with an Arabic inscription, I tried to buy, but they asked too much for it. The upper portion of the sheath was of the Kayu Kamuning, a beautiful wood from the island of Magindanau, which, if it could be obtained of large size, would be invaluable for furniture; but the natives said it was only the knots of the trees which were beautifully marked.

At one, we saluted the sultan with twenty-one guns. The echo seemed to commence at the first hill, and gradually, now with a deeper, then with a lighter sound, rolled round over the whole circle of hills and valleys. The sultan returned the salute from his various stockades.

The English appear very popular in Sulu, their only enemy being datu Boyak, the rajah Mudu, who was away. He felt aggrieved with the English on account of Sir Thomas Cochrane’s attack on Maludu Bay. His sister had married sherif Usman, its chief, who, during the fight, was shot in the stomach with grape, as he, being one of those whom they deem invulnerable, exposed himself to every fire, and fought to the last. His wife was inconsolable for his loss, refused to return to Sulu, retired into the[208] country, fell ill, and died. Her brother keeps this as a sort of canker in his bosom. The way these men prepare themselves to be invulnerable is different from that practised in Sarawak: here they rub their whole bodies with some preparation of mercury.

I asked Mr. Wyndham about the Rumah Bechara, or House of Discussion, mentioned by the American navigator Wilkes, but he said it was a mistake: there was no other council than the general one of the datus.

A Madras sailor, a British subject, coming on board, told us the following story:—That seven years ago he left Batavia in the Andrew,[10] captain and mate European, the crew twenty-five Lascars. The Lanuns attacked and took the vessel, killed the Europeans, cleared the valuables out, skuttled the ship, and carrying the crew off, sold them for slaves.

At three, we started in the gig and cutter to have an interview with the sultan. In comparison with the former visit, but few people were collected. I found that the musjid is situated within the first stockade, and the sultan’s hall in the second. Only thirty people were present; but as soon as we had entered, the place was crammed with new arrivals; the only difference we observed was that, except the sultan, none had on their state robes. They no longer thought it necessary to meet in form, but were more friendly and familiar. We conversed with the sultan, Molok, and Daniel, for some time on general[209] subjects, and they again eagerly asked questions about Europe, particularly about France, whether affairs there were settled.

After arranging some business matters, we left and returned to the ship. We have always a crowd of canoes around the steamer with articles for sale; among others, rope made here, which appears of excellent quality, and cheap, some twenty coils being offered for a dollar. The hemp grows like the plantain, and is of about the same size and appearance, and is said to be of the same species.

Marriages are here conducted in the usual Muslim fashion, and the wives have great influence over the proceedings of their husband. In the evening, our native secretary came on board, and after explaining what had occurred after we had left, told me he considered datu Molok to be clever; datu Daniel, good-natured, though not brilliant; and that the sultan had much ability, but was generally stupefied with opium; and from what I have seen and heard, I think his judgment in all these cases correct.

About eight p.m., Mr. Wyndham came, and we had a long discussion. He is well acquainted with these seas, and could give much information on eastern politics. He told us that before the attack of the Spaniards on the Balignini, the pirates could muster above a hundred and fifty boats of a large size, containing from thirty to fifty men each; that, taking the average at forty, they numbered altogether about 6,000 men. But besides their large war-boats, they had innumerable smaller ones, used for the capture of trading and fishing-boats. He had seen many[210] of the pirate prahus of considerable size enter Sugh harbour.

As an instance of the damage they did to commerce, he mentioned the following. Six years previously, the Sarah and Elizabeth, brig, anchored off Timor; and requiring wood, the captain sent three boats on shore to cut it, giving the men only their axes, and refusing fire-arms. They had not been there long, when three Balignini prahus passing that way, saw the ship’s boats drawn up on the beach, and immediately landed their crews to capture the men, in order to put them to ransom, as they are not like the Lanuns, who nearly always put their European prisoners to death. They first met the chief mate, who defended himself with his axe, until knocked down with a billet and bound. The other mate and a boy were also taken, but the men escaped into the jungle.

Whilst this was going on, it was observed that two boats were let down from the ship, which pulled immediately out to sea. The pirates, concluding that there could not be many men on board, determined to take her. On arriving alongside, they found only a dog on board: the timid captain having run away in so great a hurry as to leave both it and his watch behind. The latter was in datu Daniel’s possession at the period of our visit. The Balignini plundered and then burnt the vessel. One of the mates escaped; the other whites were brought to Sulu, ransomed, and sent home by Mr. Wyndham. This account was given both by the mate and the chief of the pirates.

Another story showed that the Sulu Government[211] was in regular communication with the pirates; for when the miserable remains of the squadron, attacked by the Nemesis off the Brunei river in 1847, returned to Balignini, the families who had lost their husbands in the action, came in their grief to request leave of the sultan to raise men or collect a force to revenge the death of their relations. The sultan, of course, refused their request, and laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

We heard at Samboañgan that the Spaniards had taken the whole of the pirates, but it was a very great mistake, for hundreds escaped, and were now distributed over the Sulu Archipelago, particularly at Tawee Tawee and the little islands which are situated in the neighbourhood, as Binadan, the usual residence of Pañglima Taupan.

The most powerful pirates of the present time are the Lanuns of Magindanau, and those who in Borneo reside on the streams flowing to the southern shore of Cape Unsang. It is at these latter stations that the Lanuns generally rendezvous. Mr. Wyndham describes these pirates as very fine men, brave, fierce, never giving quarter to Europeans, and cruising in vessels ninety feet long, propelled by from 100 to 120 oars. He had himself seen many of them at Sugh. The above are the largest class, most are much smaller. The Lanuns of Magindanau, it is well known, live on an extensive lake, with a very narrow entrance; and are still very powerful, no sufficient force having ever attacked them. They continue[212] their piratical pursuits to this day, though they appear to be gradually withdrawing from the north-west and north coasts of Borneo.

One of these marauders came to Mr. Wyndham, and, in selling his brass gun to him, said that since the English have been settled at Labuan, there are so many steamers about, it was no use pirating; so he sold his brass gun and returned home.

Mr. Wyndham told us he had once a narrow escape from them. He was sailing as mate to a Spanish brig near Wette, with the captain and most of the crew unwell. There was a light breeze blowing, when he sent a man to the mast-head to look out. Presently he shouted—“A prahu in sight—two, three, four; I cannot count them, sir.” Mr. Wyndham immediately went aloft with his spy-glass, and reckoned at least thirty-eight large prahus. Guessing who they were, he thought the bold course the best; and, getting the captain on deck, they dressed in some old uniform and walked up and down the poop; then bore down upon the pirate prahus, and, coming between the two largest, each of the same size as the brig, they observed their guns carefully covered up with mats, and but few men on deck, though they could see others peeping out from under the native awning. Mr. Wyndham immediately began questioning them; they said they were traders. He answered, “We have heard of some pirates down here, and are come to look for them.” They assured him they had seen none, and requested permission to keep him company, for protection,[213] to Makasar, to which port they said they were bound. He answered, they might if they could keep up with him. A breeze sprang up, and the brig went ahead, and towards evening were clear of them all. A calm came on during the night, but in the morning the traders were no longer near, they could be seen in the distance pulling away as hard as they could. The ruse had succeeded, and they all felt more comfortable, for they could not have defended their vessel ten minutes.

Mr. Wyndham had formerly served as a mate under Lord Cochrane, when he commanded a frigate in South America, and was with him when he performed some of his most brilliant actions, and having his old uniform perhaps saved his life. Mr. Wyndham also told us that, a few years ago, a vessel was brought into Sugh for sale by the Lanuns, which had been taken in the following manner:—The Maria Frederica, commanded by a man of the name of Andrew, was detained in a calm, when two Lanun boats approached and begged a few supplies. One of the men, who hated the captain, asked them why they did not come on board. The captain was unwell, and there was no one to stop them. Immediately forty of them sprang on deck, flourishing their swords, and drove the crew below, seized the captain, and brought the vessel to Tungku. They there buried the white men up to their waists in sand, and cut them to pieces with their swords. This it is said they did at the instigation of the traitor. Mr. Wyndham offered 150 dollars for him, but they would not part with him, fearing that the Englishman meant to put him[214] to death. The vessel, I heard, was bought by a Spanish captain.[11]

The Jilolo men are said to co-operate with the Lanuns in their excursions, and were the pirates who attacked Sir Edward Belcher. One of the men present on that occasion, who was living at Sugh during our visit, gave the following account: The sultan of Jilolo sent a fleet of boats to take prisoner a tributary rajah of New Guinea, whom they got on board and killed. In returning, they saw the Samarang boats, which the chief man mistook for native prahus, though our informant insisted they were Dutch boats, upon which the order was given to fire, and they were astonished by the severe thrashing they got from our blue-jackets, under the command of Sir Edward Belcher.

No doubt these men are always ready to pirate when they have a chance. Mr. Wyndham also told me that when he was at the Aru group, it was said that the people of New Guinea were also piratical. His companions pointed to a long light boat, that was on the look-out to catch fishermen: this account agreed with what we had formerly heard. These are a scourge to the natives, but not dangerous to European vessels, yet in the end equally mischievous to trade.

Accidentally we hear anecdotes that show more of the character of the government and people than even minute investigations. The following illustrates the degree of protection afforded by the chiefs even to their guilty followers, unless bribed beyond the value of the man. There was a slave here who was in the constant habit of robbing the Chinese, and had, in his endeavours to escape capture, killed several of them. The Chinese petitioned that he should be put to death, but could not obtain this favour until they had compensated the chief by giving him double the value of the slave; he then had him tied up and cut to pieces.

The slaves taken among the Philippines, who know how to read and write and possess education, fetch a much higher price than any others, as they are useful in keeping their master’s accounts; and the women, it is said, by conversing with them, have gained far greater knowledge than their husbands, by means of which and their affection nearly rule them. Forrest says that in his time the women were very free in their manners, and given to intrigue, but in Eastern Asia it is a custom not confined to Sulu; but my impression from all I heard was that they were more chaste than the Borneans. The most manly-looking persons here are those whom they call the mountaineers, who appear far healthier and more vigorous than the town’s-people; but those we saw may have been merely the cultivators. The inland people, I heard, are more of the Ida’an race. They wear padded jackets, and are very brave.

In 1845, a Spanish frigate and fourteen gunboats[216] were here at the watering-place, when a Bisayan slave went alongside of one of the boats to sell fruit: the moment the officer found he was a native of the Philippines, he ordered him to be seized and put on board, though he strongly protested against it. His master, who had a great affection for him, swore he would have his revenge and kill a Spaniard. Collecting about two hundred hill people, he rushed unexpectedly on the gunboats, all his followers advancing up to the middle in water, and hurling their spears: having killed several men, he was satisfied, and retired. The people are not really well armed; their spears, krises, and shields would be of little use against an European enemy.

We again visited the sultan, and found him in his hall, surrounded by perhaps about sixty or seventy people. We seated ourselves around the table, and free and easy conversation commenced. Presently chocolate was presented to us in tumblers, on plates, surrounded by native cakes; afterwards trays of sweetmeats—among others, some made by the sultana expressly for the occasion; then coffee, weak, and flavoured with cloves. For some time they conversed on various subjects, but presently datu Molok said that all business should be settled first, before any other conversation was proceeded with. When that was over, the sultan told us that, some short time back, the eastern coast of Borneo paid tribute to him, but that lately they had ceased, and asked the assistance of the English to endeavour to obtain the renewal of the ancient custom.

At ten we retired. The curtain hung at the end[217] of the hall this evening was half raised, and disclosed the huge bed, on which were sitting many of the principal women of the harim.

Went on shore at the watering place; had a short walk and a delicious bathe. I roughly measured the circumference of the big tree, and as I have elsewhere stated, it was above forty feet in circumference. In the evening we landed in order to have a farewell interview with the sultan. It was quite a private meeting; a few people only followed us who saw us land; and when we arrived at the sultan’s palace we found that he was in a small house, the residence of his young wife. While waiting, I looked about the place; all showed symptoms of decay. Near us was the skeleton of an old gaol fallen to pieces, and farther the timbers of the residence where the late sultan had died; for it is a custom of theirs never to dwell in a house where a great man has expired. Presently a couple of the datus joined us in our walk, and proceeding over a small stream along a roughly raised boarded path we reached the little dwelling of his bride.

We found the sultan resting on a bed filling nearly half the room. Taking off our shoes, we mounted, and reclined on numerous pillows brought by the attendants. After a few minutes’ conversation, a sort of window at the head of the raised platform was opened to allow the sultan’s ladies to obtain a sight of the English visitors. Their room was too dark for us to see more within it than a few dim shadows, and their candles give so imperfect a light, that I could not clearly distinguish the features even of[218] those women who came to the door; they appeared to have fat, laughing faces. Some more of the datus arriving, conversation became very animated, and their inquiries were very numerous with regard to European affairs and European discoveries. This was a little interrupted by the arrival of chocolate and cakes, with some spirit like spiced aniseed, and by the sultan’s frequent puff of the opium pipe with a barrel as thick as a large bamboo and a brass bowl. About five inches from the end this bowl had a small centre hole, in which, with infinite trouble, the sultan introduced the drug. They all appeared remarkably friendly, and said if we would only come and spend a little time there after the rice crop was in, they would take us up to the mountains to hunt deer on horseback; or if we liked a change, we might go shooting, or do anything we pleased.

I should in truth have liked very much to spend a month in Sulu. We stayed till about ten, and then shaking hands with all, left the house. On the whole, I was greatly pleased with these people; they appeared manly, and not too cunning. We returned to Mr. Wyndham’s house, and remained a short time with him. He was a shrewd man, entirely self-educated, and appeared anxious to assist us in every way. His leaning, as I have observed, was towards the Spaniards, but the natives had such a determined hatred both to the Dutch and Spaniards, that he could not alter their disposition.

Left at daylight. Even a distant view confirms my impression of the great beauty of the island. We stood on towards Basilan, where, in the Bay of[219] Maloza, seven Spanish gunboats were seen at anchor. From an officer who came on board we learnt that the Governor of Samboañgan was there. Sir James Brooke determined to meet him immediately, and left with the officer, while we followed and found the Governor looking as hearty as ever, rather tired from having been engaged in an expedition up the country against the pirates. After firing a few guns, the enemy had fled, leaving their houses and property to be destroyed.

The great fatigue was in making their way through the tangled, wet jungle, where the mire was so deep that they were occasionally up to their waists in it. The Spaniards are certainly an agreeable people to meet, and the officers looked intelligent. The Manilla troops were strong, fine men; the gunboats very effective for defence: they mount a 9-pounder or 12-pounder, and six, eight, or ten brass swivels, and are well manned; they are, however, too slow for pursuit.

The Governor was very much startled by the news of the expected arrival of the Dutch, of which he had not the slightest idea, thinking that Bali would occupy them this summer. He determined immediately to return and write to Manilla.

Passed Basilan, leaving the gunboats much astern, and reached Samboañgan. It appeared, of course, much the same, except that a hurricane had lately swept over the town, bringing down the church, thirty houses, and casting on shore four vessels, one of which remained there. From what we heard, several instances of piracy had lately occurred, but[220] the particulars we expected to learn from the Governor.

After dinner we landed, and took a walk. The open rice grounds, the groves of palms, the herds of buffaloes, the cows, the ponies, the regular roads, the stone bridges all showed that we were at a place where Europeans had for some time governed. Everything was much the same as when we left, even the hospitality, or rather conviviality, of the corner shop.

The day we arrived the priests baptized some natives, among whom were many children of the pirates and many of their little slaves, all captured during the last great expedition.

Walked out on the western road, and found it quite animated with crowds of people who were taking their Sunday’s amusement: dancing in booths and houses, collecting in groups chatting and laughing, playing the guitar and the flute; in fact, giving themselves up to enjoyment. In the evening we went to the Governor’s, and he took us to the Lieutenant-Governor’s. All spoke Spanish but himself, and he acted as interpreter.

A day in the country. The Governor asked us to breakfast at the government country-house. Some of us started at half-past six, and walked sharply out. On either side of us were rice fields, in which were grazing in the stubble a great many ponies, and bullocks, and buffaloes. The whole country exhibits different features from any other place I have seen in the East; it is much more European. I found, at a little distance from the town, almost every person’s[221] possession regularly fenced in, and to each house a little enclosed garden, though rather slovenly kept, still exhibiting signs of superior cultivation. At the back of the government house are the grounds, which are kept in order by the soldiers. They produce sufficient vegetables for the consumption of 350 men: potatoes, yams, sweet potatoes, beans, cabbages, onions, and garlic.

Passing the government house, we came to a stone bridge crossing a beautiful, clear river, bubbling and rushing over a sandy, pebbly bed. The banks are high, and the bridge is strong, to meet the immense rush of water which comes down in the rainy season. We wandered about till past nine—my companion sketching and I lazily taking a delicious bath in pure cold water, that made me feel as fresh as ever; and with an appetite sufficient to do justice to the very admirable and substantial breakfast set before us, of fish, beef, a magnificent ham dressed in a most inviting manner, good bread, curries, and a variety of little dishes, with coffee, wine (Spanish and French), and very excellent water. Nothing is more tranquillizing than a satisfactory breakfast. There is a species of yam at Samboañgan, which we were told by one of the officers occasionally weighs above a hundred and thirty pounds. After breakfast I strolled about, forded the river, and looked into every nook and corner, finding pretty cottages and gardens amid the clumps of graceful bamboos.

In the afternoon we made a cut across the country to the western road, and, following that, arrived at length at another river. The whole of the landscape[222] was very picturesque. We spent our last day at Samboañgan in a long walk to the westward, for above three miles, until we arrived at some extensive downs that border the sea, and strolled for hours over them, admiring the beautiful swell of the land, and the purling streams that flowed over their pebbly beds. The day before we started the Governor and principal officers dined on board.

From what I have seen of the people of Samboañgan, I should say they are contented and happy, well fed, and lightly taxed. They all look plump, even the very old exhibited none of that ugliness so conspicuous among the aged Malays. The children, particularly the girls, have pleasant, pretty faces, with an intelligent, confiding expression; the little ones, both girls and boys, were familiar and full of fun. There are apparently a great many schools: all the boys we met in the afternoon appeared to be returning with their satchels hanging at their sides. One I examined possessed a miscellaneous collection of lives of saints, crumpled paper, and fruit. The men have by no means a pleasant expression, but are a well-made, able-bodied race. The Governor told us he established one village in the mountains for the protection of the wood-cutters, another on the coast for that of the fishermen.

Before leaving the subject of these lovely islands, I will relate the story of the loss and recovery of the English schooner Dolphin, as showing to what kind of hazards traders are exposed in these peaceful-looking seas.

I was visiting the northern coasts in the Pluto[223] steamer in November, 1851, and had just cast anchor in Maludu Bay, when I heard the particulars of a frightful tragedy. Sherif Hasan came on board; Hasan is the son of the Sherif Usman I have before mentioned. He came down to the cabin with a sorrowful countenance, and when I inquired the news, he answered, “very dreadful.” I soon learnt from him that the English schooner Dolphin, from Labuan, had been cut off, and Mr. Burns, the supercargo, and the English captain, three sailors, and one woman killed. From all I could then gather, the particulars of the affair were as follows:—About a month ago, Mr. Burns agreed with Tuanku Hasan that he should pilot him round the east coast in order that he might find Kina Batañgan, but a quarrel arose between Mr. Burns and his captain, which came to blows. After this quarrel they agreed to return to Labuan, and giving up the idea of trading to the eastward, they set sail from the harbour, and anchored at a little distance from Limau-Limauan—a point on the north-western side of the bay.

There Memadam, a Lanun from Tungku, pulled alongside in a trading prahu, and saying he wished to barter some things he had, came on board with a party of nine men apparently unarmed, and brought camphor and other articles for sale. Whilst they were bargaining on deck, a man named Ibrahim handed a folded mat to Mr. Burns, who put out his hands to receive it; the man then suddenly drew a naked kris that had been hidden in the mat, and with one blow cut Mr. Burns’s head off; Memadam struck[224] at the captain, but hit his jaw only; the Englishman made a rush below, or, as others declare, out on the bowsprit, but was stabbed through the back with a spear. The pirates then killed the woman and three sailors, whom they came across, the rest who fled up the rigging they spared on condition of their navigating the ship. The pirates then set sail for the east coast, and arriving at Labuk Bay, the vessel was seized by Sherif Yasin, who, as Tuanku Hasan asserts, killed two of the pirates. The chief, Memadam, retired to the woods with two of the captain’s sailors. The reason they gave for killing the woman was that her presence on board caused disputes; one man seized her by the left arm, and declared she was his property, as he had seen her first; another denied his claim, and already they had drawn their swords on each other, when Memadam came up behind, and stabbed her through the back, saying she should belong to neither.

The Tuanku complained bitterly of the cutting up of the trade of the coast by the pirates; as many as fifty of their boats were cruising off the bay during the last season; they came from the Binadan islands, near Tawee Tawee. The boats from Tungku also occasionally infest this place, and many manned by the Sulus of Padang have been cruising here lately. Sherif Hasan, the son, as I have observed, of Sherif Usman, appeared deeply annoyed at the state of affairs at Maludu. He said that although the government rightfully belonged to him, yet datu Badrudin was continually intriguing, and he had left the town unable to withstand his machinations. The Dusuns, or[225] rather the Ida’an, were very dilatory in paying the rightful tribute, being interfered with by the datu.

It appeared true that this datu was a very bad man to hold the government, as he was shutting up the productions of all these districts, hoping to monopolize them himself, wishing to trade directly with Java or Singapore on a large scale, or to induce European vessels to visit the Bay. He deceived the ships that came to him, and no cargoes were obtained, so that he clogged commerce, and made little profit himself. The trade of this coast would be great if unfettered, and Maludu Bay is certainly as productive as any district.

Sherif Hasan stated that he has heard of two English ships besides the Dolphin being captured by the pirates of Tungku, but those instances were several years ago; the Europeans were murdered, the rest kept for slaves. The Tungku pirates generally plunder more to the eastward and southward, and make great havoc among the Bugis boats. Started at daylight in the armed cutter for the town of Maludu. The head of the bay for nearly four miles from the shore shallows from about two fathoms to scarcely sufficient to float a boat.

After three hours’ pull we arrived, poling our way up the narrow creek to the houses. The country is flat, but at the back the mountains soon rise: there are a few cocoa-nut and other fruit trees scattered about. We stopped at Tuanku Musahor’s house, as datu Badrudin’s was some distance up the river. We climbed the steps to a shabby passage, leading into the main room, where an enormous Malay[226] bed, some twenty feet square, as usual filled up a large portion of the space, on which mats were spread, and having shaken hands with the assembled company, our conversation commenced; there were present Sherifs Musahor, Abdullah, Jenalabudin, a Tringganu man, who backed Usman in his defence of his forts, and Sherif Husin, a brother of Sherif Moksain’s, of Sarawak.

Our conversation turned naturally on Mr. Burns, as I had come to make inquiries. Sherif Husin was present during the massacre, he had come on board whilst Mr. Burns was talking to the Lanuns and Sulus. By his invitation he stept aft, and while he was looking over the stern, and speaking to some men in his boat, he heard a noise, and turning, saw Mr. Burns fall before the kris of a Sulu, and the Lanun cutting at the English captain. He did not see whether or not any of the sailors were killed, but saved by his sacred character, the Lanuns did not meddle with him, and he hurried away into his boat, and the schooner was taken eastward. Sherif Musahor added, that he had received a letter about fourteen days before from Sherif Yasin, stating the men had brought the schooner to Benggaya, in Labuk Bay, and that he immediately seized it, after killing two of the pirates.

I heard, however, from Sherif Hasan that Yasin had divided the cargo among the Sulu rajahs of the river of Labuk and himself; and that at the latest dates Yasin had not destroyed the vessel, but had taken it up to the town, or rather village, of Benggaya. We talked a good deal over the affair, but nothing new[227] came out of it, except that Musahor said he sent a message to Yasin to preserve the ship and cargo until news arrived from Labuan.

Steaming along the coast amid the shoals somewhat delayed our passage; but arriving off Benggaya we tried to find the river; in this we failed, but the following morning two canoes pulled off from shore, and on reaching us proved to contain some of the crew of the Dolphin, and a messenger from Sherif Yasin. The men said the vessel was safe up the river, and that the cargo was on board, and at the village and untouched, and that they themselves had been fed and well treated by the chief of Benggaya. Starting again, we found the entrance very shallow; but as the tide rose we entered and pulled up the stream. It might easily be passed, as the branch to the right appeared the broader of the two. To reach the houses it is necessary to keep the left-hand branches for about ten miles from the sea, and then the first to the right, and you arrive at the village after about twenty miles’ more pull.

The flood tide moved us lazily along by banks of the everlasting mangrove and nipa, occasionally diversified by a little high land with heavy jungle trees. As we advanced, we met a boat with Sherif Idrus, Yasin’s father-in-law, coming to meet us. I told him we would ascend to the village, and he preceded us. About sunset we reached the schooner, anchored in a narrow part of the river; a dozen of the Tuanku’s men were on guard, and we found the hatches nailed down, and the door of the cabin secured, to prevent the goods being meddled with;[228] blood was sprinkled on the white paint in the cabin, and still darkly defaced the deck.

After a short conversation, I found that although the schooner was anchored above fifteen miles from the river’s mouth, the village was at least that distance farther off. To save a day, therefore, I determined to go up to the town myself that night in the Tuanku’s boat, and a friend accompanying me, we started. Before we stopped, I had reason to congratulate myself on my determination. Had we tried to ascend next day in the ship’s boats, we should scarcely have arrived by sunset, but a strong crew in a light canoe, pulling hard, enabled us to reach Benggaya village about half-past nine. The moon shone brightly through the trees, casting a clear light over a scene sufficiently curious. The narrow river was spanned by a light, rough wooden bridge, a shade better than a Dayak one. A few houses well lighted were on the opposite bank to the large dwelling of the chief. Sherif Idrus took us by the hand and led us up to Sherif Yasin, who begged us to be seated. It was the first time since a memorable occasion that he had seen an European. The room was very large, being, in fact, the principal portion of the house; there was a raised sleeping place on one side, and before us was the chief’s bed, where his women were hidden by a curtain that fell round it. The Sherif sat on the end, and we opposite, on boards covered with white cloth.

Yasin was a young man, pale, with a dissipated look, but quiet and pleasant in his manners. He was clothed[229] in a short dark cloak with arms, a dress peculiar to the people on this coast, half Chinese, half European. We entered into conversation on various subjects, but principally about piracy and his recapture of the English schooner. Of this he gave the following account. That having heard there was a ship off the entrance of the river, he made inquiries of a Lanun who had just come up to the village. The man said the schooner was his; afterwards he wished to make out he had captured it from the Spaniards, but the Tuanku being informed that it was an English vessel, endeavoured to seize the Lanun, but he resisted and escaped into the jungle, persuading the Portuguese cook and a Lascar to follow him. The Tuanku then sent down a strong force to retake the schooner, which he succeeded in doing; the only men who showed resistance were two Lanuns, whom he put to death for killing the white men; the Sulus he could not kill, as that might have excited the resentment of the Sulu rajahs. He brought the vessel up the river, and put a strong guard in her, fearing the Lanuns would return, Memadam, of Tungku, having threatened to come back and recapture the schooner.

All present made great complaints of Tungku and other pirate places, saying it was impossible to carry on their trade in safety. Tuanku Yasin had only lately come to Benggaya from Labuk river; he intended opening a new country; he would have lived on the sea coast, but feared piratical attacks. Such was the account he rendered. He furnished us with supper, cooked by my servant, Ali; omelettes, stews, sliced sweet potatoes, rice, soup,[230] which we enjoyed, and a bottle of wine made the meal complete.

Tuanku Yasin had unfortunately taken to opium, and this drug is doubtless the cause of his dissipated look. When I asked him whether we were the first Europeans he had met, he smilingly answered no, he had seen them once before. I afterwards found he had been a backer of Sherif Usman’s, and had defended the Maludu forts with great bravery, being the last man to quit the guns, and then only when the English force had cut away the boom and penetrated to the defences.

About one we intimated a desire to retire, and a comfortable raised sleeping place was provide for us, at the end of which three young chiefs slept with drawn krises, a guard of honour, I suppose, over us. Some of the people had never seen a white face before, and the town was in alarm, fearing all the sailors were about to ascend.

Nov. 1st.—At daylight I was up, writing out depositions, when I observed a number of men lounging near with lighted cigars; I drew my companion’s attention to the fact that these Sulus were actually smoking whilst leaning over twenty-five barrels of gunpowder. Soon after Tuanku Yasin made his appearance. He brought out the portion of the cargo which he had stowed away in his inner room, consisting of arms, guns, powder, cloths, and a number of small articles. After a good breakfast, and a friendly parting, we started. Argus pheasants were very numerous in the woods, and Sherif Yasin had constructed a large aviary under his house in which he[231] had about ten or twelve, and he presented me with a very handsome pair. The men who manned the canoe placed at our disposal by Sherif Yasin, pulled down with the ebb at a good pace, and yet we did not reach the schooner until about ten, three hours’ rapid moving, perhaps above fifteen miles. The river winds in the most extraordinary manner; one place, divided now but by heavy drift, took us a two miles’ turn to arrive at the opposite side. We found the ship’s boats pulling up to meet us, thinking, as we had not returned that some accident had happened. Got the schooner under weigh, and then started in the cutter, reaching the steamer about seven.

3rd.—Having prepared the schooner for sea, we set off, towing her part of the way on her voyage back. A fleet of boats was reported ahead; all rushed on deck, thinking they might be the Lanuns about to attack Benggaya. I went up, and looking through the spy-glass, they appeared war-boats of large size. We steamed towards them; they drew up on the beach, and presently we saw the crews hurrying with their goods on shore; as we neared, they gradually appeared smaller and smaller; we had, in fact, been completely deceived by their looming over the waters. When abreast of them we anchored, and I went off in the gig to see who they were, intending to hail them and speak; but as we drew near our guides declared they were Baju boats, and this we soon found to be the case. They were small, neatly constructed, and fitted up for the residence of a family.

As we closed with the beach we waved a white handkerchief to them, and hailed; presently three[232] men showed themselves, and came to us. One was a Sulu; two others were Bajus. They were rather big men, featured much like the Dayaks. They came from Banguey, and were bringing new boats to sell to Sherif Yasin. I invited them to come on board; they said they were in a great state of alarm, and men, women, and children rushed into the jungle, hiding their goods, as the Sulu man thought we might be Spaniards. They afterwards came on board. We inquired about clamp shells (the Concha gigas). They had never seen any longer than two feet. These Bajus were going to collect pearls at Lingkabu for the sultan of Sulu, who had made a contract to furnish some, I believe, to Mr. Wyndham. These men had never lived in houses.

I may conclude the story of the capture and recapture of the Dolphin schooner, by observing that an attempt was made to enter into communication with the Lanuns of Tungku, who, however, instead of respecting the white flag, fired on us, causing us some loss; we destroyed a few of their villages, but being only a desultory operation, it had no permanent effect. The British Government, hearing of the good conduct of Sherif Yasin, rewarded him liberally.

I have referred to those Baju boats going to Lingkabu, off the mouth of the Labuk river, to fish for pearls. The Sulu Archipelago furnishes, probably, a greater number of beds of valuable oysters than any other part of the world, and would, no doubt, be exceedingly productive, if proper measures were taken to develope them. At present, however, the natives[233] confine themselves to dredging with what has been aptly described as the fluke of a wooden anchor, and consequently obtain but few. In shallower water, they occasionally dive, but are not sufficiently practised to do so when the sea is eight fathoms deep. I heard of an Englishman endeavouring to send down men with a regular diving helmet, but it was said he found that the current was so strong as to prevent the air passing down the tubes, by flattening them; but there must have been some mismanagement.

Occasionally some very fine pearls are obtained, and brought to Labuan for sale; I heard of one which was remarkably large and well shaped, purchased by the Hon. George Edwardes, late Governor of Labuan, and was pronounced, by all who saw it in the East, as the best that ever had been brought under their notice. I have seen very handsome ones myself, some perfectly round, others slightly pear-shaped.

The natives tell a story of a certain datu, who was a great trader, and fond of sailing a prahu from Sulu to Manilla; during the course of his voyages, he made the acquaintance of an English merchant, who had, on various occasions, trusted him with goods and treated him very liberally, not an unusual circumstance in the East. At last the datu took to gambling, and squandered all his property, sold his houses, his slaves, and at last lost a large sum, and was obliged to place his wife and children in pawn as security. The only property he had preserved was a favourite slave boy, and with him he started in a small canoe to the oyster-banks. There they remained fishing, and had varied success, but every day increasing the[234] amount in the hollow bamboo in which the natives generally keep their small seed pearls. In the evenings the datu would talk over the tales they had heard from other fishermen, and the chief delighted to recount the story of the vast pearl which was seen by the men of old, and actually brought in its oyster into a canoe, but had slipped from the fingers of the incautious captor. The natives declare that the oysters containing the largest pearls are always open, until you approach them, and that by cautiously peering into the water, they may be seen.

One day the slave boy was preparing to dive, when he started back, touched his master’s sleeve, and with signs of great emotion pointed into the water; he could not speak. The datu looked, and there, seven fathoms below them, lay an oyster, with an enormous pearl distinctly visible. Without a moment’s reflection, he plunged in, and dived with such skill and speed, that he reached the shell before it closed, and actually had his fingers caught in it. He thrust hand and shell into his bosom, and, being an expert swimmer, rose quickly to the surface, and was helped into the boat by his anxious follower. They then forced open the oyster, and there lay a pearl, unsurpassed in size and of an extraordinary shape; they pulled back to Sugh, and selling all his smaller pearls, the datu redeemed his wife and children, and set sail for Manilla. There he went to the house of his English friend and said, “Take this pearl, clear off my debt, give me what you like in return, I shall be satisfied.” The merchant took the pearl, gave him what he considered its value, at all events, enough to make Sulu ring with his[235] generosity, and sent the pearl to China, and what became of it I never could distinctly trace; but I heard that what was called the “Mermaid Pearl” in Bengal originally came from China, and the Sulus say their one was like the body of a woman.

It is a very curious superstition in those countries, that if you place gold or pearls in a packet by themselves, they will certainly decrease in quantity or in number, and, in the end, totally disappear; but if you add a few grains of rice, the treasure is safe. With pearls they always do so, under the impression that they not only preserve the amount but actually increase the number. I have never yet seen a native open a packet of gold or pearls, or any precious stones, without noticing some grains of rice.

The instances I have given of piracy are merely referred to, to show what kind of mischief the pirates commit. I am aware they are not very modern instances, but they were fresh when I wrote them in my journal, and the same system is still pursued, though not to the same extent; but I may add a few remarks on the present state of piracy on the northern coast of Borneo. Once a year a fleet of Balignini pass down the coast on their outward voyage, or running before the south-west monsoon on their return home. In the month of July, 1861, a squadron of private prahus coming up from the southward, sailed across the deep Bay of Sarawak, and their light boats had a slight skirmish with a weakly manned Sarawak gunboat, but directly they found a twelve-pounder shot passing close to them, they pulled back to their[236] consorts, as it is a maxim with them to avoid all encounters where blows are likely to be obtained, as they say, “We seek to plunder, not to fight.” Continuing their course they reached Point Sirik, and there captured a boat containing several of our Indian British subjects, and giving Labuan a wide berth picked up a few fishermen off Mengkabong, and at last reached Maludu Bay. Here they met some trading prahus from Sulu, and with them they held friendly intercourse.

On board the Balignini prahus was a respectable native named Inchi Ngah, from one of the Dutch settlements on the west coast of Borneo, who had been captured off Pontianak: he immediately recognized some fellow-countrymen on board the Sulu prahus, who had been missing from their homes above a year. He now learnt that they had been captured by the Balignini during the year 1860, and had been taken to Sulu; that there the sultan, finding they were of high rank, had interested himself in their case, and taken care of them, and had now sent them back to Borneo as passengers, on board a Sulu trader on his way to Labuan. Inchi Ngah begged they would ransom him, but they had no property. At last they persuaded the Sulu trader to do it for them, and Inchi Ngah was once more a free man. They arrived in Labuan the latter end of August, just as the Rainbow steamer was about to start for Sarawak, and hearing that the great friend of the Malay race was on board, they came and laid their case before him. As he never refused his assistance where it was possible, he not only gave them all passages to Sarawak, but[237] refunded to the Sulu trader the money he had advanced to ransom Inchi Ngah.

Having been a fellow-passenger with these men, I had many opportunities of conversing with them, and they told me that when they were taken there were already a hundred and fifty captives on board the boats, and that the Balignini who captured them came from two places on the chief island of the Archipelago—Sulu itself—and that the names of their settlements were Dundong, and the little river of Kabungkul. They added, that the Balignini, in order to preserve themselves from attack, now always chose spots which were too shallow for steamers or men-of-war to approach, that these two settlements had to be reached through intricate channels leading through a mangrove swamp, and that the houses were completely hidden by the trees.

A mangrove swamp is one of the most unpleasant things to cross, and, therefore, affords great protection to settlements built within its mazes. The mangrove tree always grows in salt or very brackish water, and its roots lift it several feet above the soil, allowing the tides to flow freely between them: at high water canoes can be pulled among the trees, but at low tide it presents a tangled but open bunch of roots to each separate tree, and it can only be passed by springing from one slippery root to another, and by the assistance of the branches. The mangrove trees at a distance look to an unpractised eye much like other jungle, only they are of a more uniform height and appearance; yet the colour of their leaves can never be mistaken.

The fact that these Balignini have settled on the island itself, shows either that the sultan is indifferent to the spread of piracy, or is unable to check his subjects. But the fact is, probably, that as piracy is not looked upon as a dishonourable pursuit, native princes only discountenance it when they are under the dread of its drawing on them the vengeance of an European power. The principal other positions held by the Balignini, as I have elsewhere observed, are Binadan and Tawee Tawee.

The system pursued by the Balignini is admirably adapted for their purpose; although they cruise in large prahus, yet to each they have three or four attendant fast boats, and when they wish to surprise unwary fishermen, they anchor their large vessels out of sight of land, and send in the others to make captures; the most curious instrument they employ is a kind of huge double-pronged fork, with barbed ends, which they push over the neck of a flying enemy, and effectually stop his movements.

A few years ago, some followers of Amba de Rajah, a Bornean, residing in Sarawak, were pulling along the shore, when they suddenly came upon a Balignini fast boat; they immediately turned and fled, and were followed by the pirates, who shouted to them to surrender, but the Borneans took no notice. The chief of the Balignini kept up a fire from his rifle at the fugitives, and at last hit the steersman in the side, who took no notice, but continued to urge on the others to renewed exertions: again and again he was struck, but did not drop his paddle, but continued the flight; at last a large trading boat coming in[239] sight, the pirates gave up the pursuit, and the Borneans escaped. The brave fellow, who received the three wounds without flinching, though he suffered much, yet eventually recovered, and I afterwards saw him in Sarawak.

The Lanuns, though fiercer and more warlike pirates, have ceased for several years to infest the north-west coast, but have more confined their cruises to the neighbourhood of the Spanish and Dutch settlements.

I was once very much interested by hearing a Dayak converse of the times when he went out with the Lanun pirates. We had just returned to Sarawak from a mission to the Court of Siam, and were visiting the Sibuyau Dayaks of Meradang, when the chief asked us where we had been. The rajah answered, To Siam. Immediately an intelligent-looking Dayak said, “I know Siam, and the country of Annam as well, for I in former years used to go there in the pirate boats.”

On inquiry we found that when the Lanun fleets came down this coast, they had numerous places where they received a hearty welcome, among others at Sadong: the Sibuyaus were employed by them to row their boats under a promise of receiving the heads of all the slain, and a very small share of the plunder. Many of those present had been out with the pirates along the coasts of Cochin China, Cambodia, Siam, and down the Malay Peninsula as far as Singapore. But the tables were subsequently turned, and the Lanuns preyed on their former allies. After our attack on Tungku, a man came off to us, and proved[240] to be a captive taken at Sadong, but he evidently did not dislike his present position, as he went ashore again under the pretence of collecting other fugitives, and we saw no more of him; most probably he had married in the country. I have often heard the natives speak of a captain of an English man-of-war, named Morris, who committed suicide after an unsuccessful attack on the Lanun pirates at Sambas, about the year 1812, but I have never been able to verify the story.

Steamers, however, are beginning to disgust them with the life, and if a little combined and active effort were made by our steam gunboats, in conjunction with those of the Dutch and Spaniards, piracy might be effectually suppressed. Traders who were accustomed to the Sulu seas used to speak of the little island of Sarañgani, off the coast of Magindanau, as a mart where the pirates assembled to sell the captured slaves to those traders who frequented that port, and the latter were generally from Sulu, though occasionally a few Bagis prahus came in to purchase the women and children, but it is possible that many changes have since taken place.

I have before observed that Sulu was a great slave mart, and that pirates and slave-dealers of every kind were accustomed to resort there: it is not surprising, therefore, that the Spaniards should organize an attack upon it, but it was unfortunate that this attack should take place immediately after the sultan of Sulu had signed a treaty with the English, and I have little doubt that the object could have been better effected by a regular surveillance. But the[241] Spanish authorities thought differently, and early in 1851 they sent to make demands on the sultan, and on these not being immediately complied with, the men-of-war opened fire upon the town, which was promptly replied to by the shore batteries. I saw a letter from the sultan of Sulu, recounting this engagement. He said that after “an awful cannonading, by the blessing of God we disabled two of their vessels, and they retired.”

But this was only a preliminary attack. In the following month a large naval force came down from Manilla, with seventeen hundred troops, and landing near the great tree at the watering-place, marched upon the town while the ships shelled it from the harbour. The Sulus behaved with great courage, and though opposed to regular soldiers, and defending a comparatively unprotected part of the town, as they had reckoned on an attack by sea, and not by land; they held their own for several hours, and it cost their enemy one hundred and fifty killed and wounded before they abandoned their houses and retired to the hills.

Datu Daniel and his brothers defended their stockade to the last, and it was here that the Spanish suffered their severest loss; several of the young Sulu nobles were killed, and the stockade carried by assault. The Spanish troops behaved very well. The town was then garrisoned, but it would have taken an army to subdue the whole island, as on losing Sugh, the sultan and his ministers retired to the mountains, where the Spanish forces found it impracticable to follow them. A kind of truce was patched up, but they[242] have refused to acknowledge the supremacy of Spain, and have removed the seat of government beyond the reach of ships’ artillery, and I saw a letter from the sultan, in which he said he would rather die than hoist the Castilian flag. Last year I heard the sultan was most anxious to send his sons to England to be educated, but had no means of accomplishing his wish. The Spaniards soon found their conquest a very unprofitable one, as they only held those spots which were actually in the possession of their troops; they soon, therefore, abandoned the island, though they for some years had a garrison, I heard, on the little island of Tulyan.

I pitied the sultan and his nobles, as with all their faults they were capable of much better things, and had a little judicious influence been used to guide them well, and a little power exercised to destroy the actual pirate haunts, there would have been no occasion to destroy the pretty town of Sugh.

I do not think I have mentioned elsewhere, that when I first saw this picturesque island, there was a forest, dead in appearance, on the right hand of the town, covering the slopes of one of the high hills. This was an extensive wood of fine teak trees. A long drought had rendered everything as dry as touchwood, when an incautious islander lit a fire among the trees, and the dead leaves and twigs around being perfectly dry soon ignited, and the flames spread in every direction, and charred and burnt the trees, stripping them of their luxuriant foliage; but five months after, I again visited this spot, and found that many of the apparently dead[243] trees were now putting forth buds and young leaves, as the fire had not completely destroyed all.

It is a very singular circumstance that the teak is not found in any of the forests of Borneo, although in former days it was said to exist on the north-east coast, but I made very particular inquiries of the Sulus whom I found there, and they said they had never seen it except on their own island. It is a matter of regret, as although Borneo possesses some very fine woods, yet none equal to the teak.

Remembering Forest’s statement that elephants were found in his time in the forests which clothed so much of the soil of the island, I asked Datu Daniel about it; his answer was, that even within the remembrance of the oldest men then alive, there were still a few elephants left in the woods, but that, finding they committed so much damage to the plantations, the villagers had combined and hunted the beasts till they were all killed; I was pleased to find the old traveller’s account confirmed.

Its Nominal Extent—Its Government—The Sultan—The Viziers—The Shabandar—The inferior Officers—Their Influence—“The Abode of Peace”—Poverty-stricken Gentlemen—Possessions of the Nobles—The Country parcelled out among them—Distant Dependencies becoming independent—Oppression of the surrounding Districts—Divisions among the Nobles—Poverty of the Nobles—Population of Brunei—System of Plunder—Sale of Children—Handsome Brass Guns—Their Fate—No Justice—Crime nominally Punished—No Possibility of Improvement—Anecdotes—System of Local Self-government—The Parishes—Their Names, and the Occupation of their Inhabitants—Fishing—Shell Heaps—Asylum—Treatment of a Slave Girl—Political Parties—Religious Schism—An attempted Explanation—Followers of each Party—Difference of Length of Fast Month—Visiting the Graves of Ancestors—A pretty Custom—Search after Excitement—Story Tellers—Conjurors—Their Arts—Practice of Abortion—The Egg-cooking Trick—The Sultan’s Palace—Its Inhabitants—His Wife and his Concubines—Their Treatment—Bold Lovers—Anecdote—Tragical Termination—The Women deceive their Lords—The Inverted Language—Education neglected—Sight of a Harim—Mutual Disappointment—Rajahs pleasant Companions—Their Customs—Tenacious of Rank—Decay of Brunei—Exactions suffered by the Aborigines—The Kadayans—Tradition—Hill Men united—Commotion—Kadayans have great Influence—Lovely Country—Kadayans removed to Labuan—Short Description of that Colony—Excellent Position—Coal—Telegraphic Communication—Good Effect of our Colony—Trade Increasing—Pepper—Exports—Cotton—Fine Jungle—Method of Collecting the Camphor and the Gamboge in Siam—The Coal-fields—Revenue of the Sultan—Brunei Government no Power—Crime unpunished—A Bold Thief—Makota and the Fire—Nominal[245] Punishments—Cutting off the Hand—The Fail of Ashes—Singing Fish—Curious Method of Catching Prawns—Tuba Fishing—Superstition—Money—Coinage of the Capital—Cloth—Iron—Gun-metal—Good Manufacturers of Brass Ordnance—A 12-pounder—Similarity of Customs—The Sultan—The Heir to his Subjects—Makota and his Gold.

Borneo Proper is one of the few Malay kingdoms that remain in the Archipelago possessing the semblance of independent government; and as a type of what was, and what we may hope is passing away, it is worth a short description.

Nominally, this kingdom extends from Sarawak to Maludu Bay and the islands to the north of it; but, in reality, it possesses no power, and exercises little influence over its dependencies.

The government consists of a sultan, now dignified by the higher title of Iang de per Tuan, freely to be translated by “He who governs.” The office is at present held by one who has no claim by descent, but was chosen to avoid a threatened struggle between the popular, but illegitimate, sons of the late sultan and the more legal aspirant to the throne. He is in general a well-meaning man, but tainted by a grasping avarice. Neither in theory nor practice is the sultan despotic: he must consult on all great occasions with his chief officers, and all important documents should bear at least two of their seals.

The four principal officers of state are: the bandhara, for home affairs; the de gadong, for revenue and government stores; the pamancha, for home affairs likewise, and who on certain occasions may supply the place of the bandhara, and transact business for him; and the tumanggong, who is supposed[246] to protect the coast and lead all warlike expeditions.

There is a fifth officer, of lower rank, the shabandar, to look after the affairs of commerce, and regulate the intercourse with strangers frequenting the port.

Each of the four great officers is entitled to eight assistants of noble blood, besides others of inferior rank; but, as the sultan feelingly observed, the glory of Brunei, called by themselves Dar’u’salam, the Abode of Peace, has departed, and he can only find a few who care to be promoted to these offices, which bring neither profit nor consideration. The names are there, but the reality is gone.

There is a class of officers who possess very great influence in Borneo; they are the ministers chosen from the ranks of the people, the chief of whom is called the orang kaya de gadong. Seldom is anything of importance undertaken without consulting them, as they are known to have a powerful following, and greatly to influence the minds of the people. At the demise of a sovereign, their influence is especially felt, and if they were united, I believe they would carry out their views in spite of any opposition.

The present orang kaya de gadong is now very old, but all his life he has been a consistent opponent of any intercourse with Christian nations; and when forced by business to sit and converse with Europeans, the expression of his face is most offensive, and he looks as if he loathed the duty in which he was engaged, and he is one of the few natives I have met who appeared to long to[247] insult you. He was one of the most active of those engaged in the conspiracy to assassinate the rajah Muda Hasim, partly on account of his supposed attachment to the English alliance.

Every descendant of a noble family, whether legitimate or illegitimate, is entitled to call himself pañgeran, or ampuan, which causes the country to swarm with these poverty-stricken gentlemen, who are a curse to the industrious classes.

Nearly every district belongs to some particular family, which by usage possesses an almost unchallenged power over the people, and is thus removed from the control of the government. Many districts are divided among various families, who have each certain villages, and live on the amount they can obtain by taxes or forced trade. The sultan possesses a large number, and each of the principal nobles has several, while many, formerly wealthy, have dissipated their property, and sold their rights to others. Those who do not possess any particular districts, endeavour to obtain a living by pressing from the aborigines all that their Malay chiefs have left them.

As, however, the central government is gradually falling into decay, the more distant dependencies are throwing off the yoke of the absent nobles, and asserting an amount of independence which is measured by distance and their own power. Agents of the nobles still visit them, but the produce collected is but small. This, however, tells heavily on the districts nearer the capital, and the unfortunate Muruts and Bisayas are ground to the dust to support[248] a useless and idle population. I have given some anecdotes of this state of things in my journal up the Limbang.

The divisions among the nobles themselves prevent them ever uniting to regain an influence over their distant provinces, which one by one are falling from them. There is a poverty among these men which is almost inconceivable in a rich country, as whatever the amount obtained from the neighbouring villages, it can but support the idlers who throng round the chiefs.

Brunei contains at least 25,000 inhabitants, half of whom depend, directly or indirectly, on the nobles, and in their name carry on a system of plunder unintelligible in other countries. If the followers be sent to make a demand on a certain village, they will obtain double the amount for their own shares. If the inhabitants refuse to pay, their children are seized; and if their means are really exhausted, the little ones are carried off into slavery.[12]

I knew a man, named Sirudin, who at one time brought over seventeen children obtained in that way from the people of Tutong, and this occurred during the spring of 1857. The parents laid their complaints[249] before the sultan; but Sirudin had sold them off to the principal nobles, and no redress was to be had. The sultan pretended to be very angry with the man, but put the chief blame on the pañgeran de gadong, who, he said, was beyond his power. The aborigines have often risen in insurrection; but being disunited, they have not thereby improved their condition: the Bornean Government always threatening them with calling in the Kayans to subdue any opposition. The Muruts and Bisayas of Limbang are the most impoverished people I have ever met, excessively dirty, both in their persons and their houses, covered with scurfy skin diseases, and their children much troubled with ulcers.

Before the Kayans commenced their inroads into the districts situated on the banks of the Limbang river, the Muruts and Bisayas were much more independent than they now are, were more wealthy and better armed. I have heard my old friend the chief of Blimbing describe with great minuteness three beautiful brass guns his father had inherited from his ancestors, which had silver vent holes, were covered with scrolls and inscriptions which the most learned haji could not read. These arms were the pride of the village, but on an evil day, the late sultan thought of them, though with all his faults he was not a gross oppressor of the aborigines; so he sent for the orang kaya of Blimbing, and tried to cajole him out of the guns. For months the chief was firm and would not part with them, but at last, ceding to his sovereign’s entreaties, and to the offer of double their value, he gave way and delivered them up. As soon as the[250] sultan had secured them, full payment was found to be inconvenient, so the chief was never able to get even their original cost, though if he dunned long enough, the sultan would pay him an instalment, and with many flattering words dismiss him; very different treatment from what a chief who dunned would get from the present race of rulers. In fact no country could have existed half a century under the existing system. The three guns were doubtless of Spanish make, and were among those which were taken from the late sultan, after the capture of Brunei by Sir Thomas Cochrane, and were sent to England; there I heard they were melted up during the late war, and helped to construct some of the cannon which were sent to the Crimea. The present orang kaya of Blimbing said, it reconciled him to the loss of the guns to know how well the English had thrashed the Borneans.

Even in the capital itself justice is not to be obtained. The instances which came to my knowledge were innumerable. I will mention a few to illustrate my meaning. In 1859, I was one day standing near my wharf, when my attention was called to a boat passing, in which there were one dead and one wounded man. I inquired the cause: it appeared that a Bornean, named Abdullah, pulling by a canoe in which two men were fishing, stopped on seeing them, and accused one of attempting to escape to our colony of Labuan, affirming that he was a slave. The man denied both statements; upon which, Abdullah began beating him with a paddle. His father, the other man, interfered to protect his son,[251] when Abdullah seized a spear, and drove it through the old man’s body, and then severely wounded the son. There was much excitement among the relatives of both parties, and they assembled in great numbers, but the sultan and ministers interfered and promised inquiry. The result was, they inflicted a fine of 120l. on Abdullah, at which he laughed contemptuously, and never paid a farthing. He was considered to be under the protection of the de gadong, and no one would interfere to punish him.

All attempts at improving the neighbourhood of the capital are stopped by such cases as the following. Another man, also named Abdullah, made a small plantation of cocoa-nut palms, and carefully tended them for seven years. Just as they were about to bear fruit, he was visited by a relative of the de gadong who claimed the plantation on account of its being made on his land. Abdullah appealed to the sultan: it was apparent on the face of it, he had used waste land, to which he had a right, but the case was decided against him. He asked permission to visit his property to remove his goods, and next day called on the pañgeran to say the ground was at his service. He went to take possession, but found only the land, every tree had been deprived of its cabbage, and consequently died, and jungle soon grew up there again. Abdullah placed himself under the protection of the tumanggong, who quietly chuckled at the joke. The same thing would have occurred to one of my own servants had I not remonstrated.

I will only mention another. A Chinese boy robbed[252] his Chinese master of a large amount of goods, and carried them off to the house of the head Mahomedan priest, whose son he asked to secrete them for him. The boy was subsequently seized, but escaped punishment by turning Mahomedan, and the imám’s son was considered far too respectable to be punished, or even to be compelled to restore the goods.

When such cases are of common occurrence it is not to be expected that the city should be otherwise than in confusion, being without a government able or willing to do justice. It is only kept together by the sort of local self-government which obtains in all the kampongs or sections of the city, and by the strong feeling which unites all the branches of a family, and often prevents crimes from the fear of vengeance. I may here notice that Brunei is divided into kampongs (sections or parishes).

Ascending the river and entering the city, the first kampong on the left is called Pablat, and is the residence of some of the most sturdy of the inhabitants; they are the fishermen, who have their fixed nets on the banks of the rivers, and on the extensive sandbanks which stretch across the bay, inside Muara Island. Although they are constantly at work, they are not very enterprising, as they never place their nets in water deeper than two fathoms. Haji Saman, an intelligent man, but notorious for his piratical connections, once tried the experiment in five fathom waters, and his great success should have tempted others, but as yet they have not followed his example. Their nets are made of split bamboo, and are of various heights: the lower are fixed near the bank,[253] and the longer are added on as they enter into deeper water, so that the summits are of uniform height. The fish ascending or descending the river, and meeting with this obstruction, follow it to the end, and enter a very simple trap, being simply open spaces with narrow passages leading into them; and their prolonged sides prevent the fish easily discovering the way out. As soon as it is low water, a basket which fits the bottom of the inner trap is raised, and the fish are put into baskets, and the men start for the capital in the fastest canoes I have almost ever seen, and never appear to draw breath till they have reached the town, eight to seventeen miles’ distance from their nets. Their wives and daughters are waiting their arrival, and immediately pull off to the floating market to dispose of the day’s capture. There is much rivalry as to the arrival of the first boat, as the profit realized is greater, and for that reason they will seldom stop to sell their fish during the transit. I imagine that it is on account of their being constantly in the water that their skins are so scurfy.

The next kampong is Perambat, from rambat, a casting-net, and constant practice has given these men wonderful proficiency, as standing on the bows of a small canoe, they will throw a net that has a spread of thirty feet, with such perfect accuracy that its outer edges fall in a circle on the water at the same time, and they thus catch a large amount of small fish and prawns.

Then follows a large parish, Membakut Pañgeran Mahomed, which contains the houses of many of the principal nobles, as well as the residence of the late[254] sultan’s widow, all very tumble-down looking structures; but above them and at their back is a kampong of blacksmiths and kris-makers, called Pemproanan. Then follows Membakut, raised on firm ground, and here are a few Chinese and Kling houses, which have been raised since the fire of 1856, to which reference is made in a subsequent paragraph. Kampong Saudagar, or the merchant’s parish, derives its name, it is said, from a Portuguese trader from Makau having resided on that spot about sixty years ago, but is now the residence of two nobles, Maharajah Lela and Sura. Kampong Padaun, from daun, a leaf, employed in converting the leaf of the nipa palm into roofing mats; Pasir, rice cleaners, and makers of rice mortars; Sungei Kuyuk, wood-workers and prawn fishers, but more for themselves than the market; Pemriuk, workers in brass, from priuk, a brass cooking-pot; Menjaling and Pemukat, occupied by fishermen, as the names imply—jaling, a fishing-net, pukat, a kind of seine or drag-net. Burong Piñgé is the name of the last kampong on the left side in ascending, and is inhabited by the principal traders and wealthiest men in the town.

In ascending the river the first kampong on the right hand is called Terkoyong, from koyong, a shell; and its inhabitants were the principal collectors of the pearl oyster, which was at one time so plentiful near the entrance of the Brunei river. I may remark that when the collection was very paying, the heaps of shells which were thrown from the houses, after extracting the pearl, rose several feet above the level of the floor, although, originally the houses were built on posts[255] in the water; now, however, they appear to have sunk in the soft mud, and are completely concealed by the deposits of the river; but the level of the bank is greatly raised. I have heard surprise expressed at the natives taking the trouble to bring home such cumbersome articles as heaps of shells, when the products they seek might be all contained in a small paper packet; they, however, not only seek the pearl, but eat its contents the oyster, and a Malay does not much care for bad smells. And this holds especially with the aborigines; they positively appear to have no olfactory sense at all. I have seen them collecting shell-fish on the beach which they intended to transport in their boats to their villages, perhaps fifty miles up a river, and in the warm tropical sun. The flesh by that time would be nearly decomposed, yet they appear to enjoy it the more keenly; in fact, any man who can eat with relish an egg, black with rottenness, can have little sense of smell. I think all the shell heaps which are found in these parts of the world may be accounted for in this way, though as the aborigines of Borneo keep pigs, no high shell heaps are raised, as these indefatigable routers spread them about in every direction.

Labuan Kapal, or the ship’s anchorage, is the next kampong, and opposite to the houses there is deep water up to the wharves, so that ships can load without boats. The inhabitants are much employed making the kejangs, or mats of the inner nipa leaf, used to cover boats, and make the walls of houses. Kampongs Jawatan Jeludin and Khatib Bakir, traders and blacksmiths. Peminiak, from miniak, oil, manufacturers[256] of that article; and it is also the residence of the two viziers, pañgerans de gadong and pamancha. Kampongs Pañgeran Ajak, and Ujong Tajong, general traders; Sungei Kadayan, right-hand bank ascending, is the residence of the pañgeran tumanggong, and the orang kaya de gadong, and various other government officers; many of the people are employed casting brass guns, or are goldsmiths or general traders, and latterly their women have commenced the manufacture of expensive and handsome gold brocade. In this parish the heterodox haji Mahomed lived, and his mosque is situated; while on the opposite side of the little Kadayan river is the orthodox musjid, which, though built on firm ground, and of brick, is a mean-looking building. Then follows the palace, with its attendant houses, the bandhara and his people, and a kampong sometimes called Pasar, or the bazaar.

The remaining parishes are small, and consist of Tamui, Panchur Brasur, Kandang Batu or Prandang, Alañgan, Blanak and Tamasik, and are inhabited by traders, gardeners, and a few blacksmiths, with a small section called Pañgeran Daud’s kampong, who are entirely engaged in making mats. Some of these kampongs occasionally vary their names, particularly when they depend on those of the principal people who reside there.

I am afraid this is a dry enumeration, but it gives an idea of their mode of life, and the sort of corporations into which they are divided, and who support the cause of their individual members, whether right or wrong, and often take the part of a fugitive criminal who may cast himself at the feet of a chief man and[257] ask his protection. Ten years ago a man committed a murder in Membakut Pañgeran Mahomed, and fled to the Burong Piñgé kampong, whose people refused to deliver him up; several times the two parishes mustered their forces, but never came to blows, particularly as they belonged to the same political parties. In 1859, after seven years escaping all traps, he fell into the hands of pañgeran Suleyman, whose follower he had murdered, and with the consent of the sultan he was immediately executed.

I was one day walking in the grounds near the consulate, when I was annoyed by a most offensive effluvia rising from a line of low trees which skirted the river’s bank. I found that some one had placed there the body of a young girl of thirteen. I reported the case to the sultan, and heard that two women had agreed to exchange slaves, a boy for a girl, but had not yet carried out the arrangement. The owner of the female slave noticing she was ailing, sent her to the owner of the boy, who refused to receive her in that state. The unfortunate child was bandied about between the two in an open canoe during a whole day, exposed to sun and rain, and at night a mat was thrown over her, and the canoe tied to the wharf of the owner of the boy. In the morning it was discovered she was dead, and her mistress, to save the trouble of burying her, threw her corpse where I found it. The woman was nominally fined—not for her cruelty, but for neglecting to inter it.

The capital is divided among the partisans of the sons of the late sultan, who hold the offices[258] of tumanggong and pamancha, and are supported by their uncle the de gadong; leaving the bandhara, the highest minister in rank, though not in power, as the mainstay of the opposing faction, who support the sons of the late Muda Hassim, whose death is described in Captain Mundy’s volumes on Borneo. The tumanggong is the popular candidate, and he, or one of his family, may succeed to the throne without bloodshed, as the opposing candidate is daily losing ground. I liked both of them, but the former is more likely to keep things together than the latter. It is a government, however, beyond all hope of improvement.

To add to the difficulties of the country, a religious schism has appeared. It is curious, though very difficult to be understood. I will endeavour to give a clear account of my view of the case. About twenty years ago, a Bornean haji, named Mahomed, taught that God had no personality; to say he had, was to acknowledge oneself an infidel. Being pressed for an explanation, he said, the personality might be allowed in the thoughts, but to express it in words was to compare the Deity to a human being, which was a gross impiety. The religious world, shocked at this heresy, sent a deputation to Mecca, who returned denouncing haji Mahomed as a false teacher. He replied by accusing the hajis of deceiving the people; that his was the true doctrine, as taught by the elders of the Church, and that he would go and inquire for himself. After an absence of two years, he arrived full of Arabic and learning to uphold his former opinion. The controversy waxed hotter[259] and hotter, deputation and counter-deputation went off to Mecca; but each party always asserted that the learned doctors had decided for them. Rival mosques were built, with their rival imams and preachers. The people of the capital, not understanding the question, ranged themselves under their chosen leaders, and added to their political differences their religious quarrels.

The present sultan, and the family of the late rajah Muda Hassim, with about a tenth of the city, but nearly all the hajis, support the orthodox or personality theory; while the pañgeran tumanggong, the rest of the family of the late sultan, and most of the sections of Brunei, are followers of haji Mahomed’s doctrine. This controversial haji died about four years ago, and the present sultan was very loth to permit him to be buried in the usual cemetery; but his friends mustered too strongly to be resisted, and all opposition was withdrawn. The two parties have a difference in the length of the fast month: one reckons it at twenty-nine days, the other at thirty; and both are ready to apply the term infidel to their opponents.

I may mention, whilst speaking of the fast month, that on its termination the sultan and rajahs proceed in gay procession to visit and have cleaned the graves of their ancestors. It is a pretty sight: some fifty long prahus, urged on by from ten to fifty paddles, gliding over the waters, with gay flags, bright-coloured umbrellas, in which the royal yellow, and the white, black, green, and red of the viziers are[260] conspicuous. Gongs and drums are beaten, and the crews shout, to give life to the scene.

There is a very pretty custom among the Malays, to visit their friends on the great feast-day that terminates the fast, and to endeavour to do away with any ill-feeling, jealousy, or animosity, that may have arisen during the past year, by asking pardon of all their friends for any shortcomings. They do this to all, as they thus avoid any peculiar notice of the offence, and seek forgiveness also for any unintentional annoyance they may have given.

Anything that varies the monotonous life led by the people of the capital is seized upon with avidity. They, therefore, delight in story-tellers, conjurors, and dancers. There are several female professional story-tellers, who go from one harim to another, relating, in a sort of chant, metrical tales of former days. They are supposed to improvise, and may occasionally vary the tale and embellish it with fresh incidents, but they generally rely on the Malay versions of Indian poems. These women are eagerly sought after by the court ladies, as they not only thus amuse them, but are the collectors of the news and scandal of the day. I have occasionally listened to them, but not with much interest.

There are also women who pretend to be possessed with a spirit, and whilst under its influence are supposed to speak in an unknown tongue—uttering unearthly sounds, and making violent contortions of their faces. They likewise pretend to be able to discover stolen goods, and to cure diseases; they will even assist a jealous woman to destroy[261] the life of another by incantations, making a little wax image, and as that melts away so does the woman fade whom she endeavours to destroy. She compounds charms and philtres for the love-sick, and will make some mysterious marks on a bit of paper, which, placed near the sleeping-mat of man or woman, will suffice to change the affections of the occupant of that bed.

Many are also adepts in the art of procuring abortions, and practice has given them so much perfection that, by mechanical means, they succeed in their designs without injuring the patient. They drive a thriving trade in the capital, and prevent the necessity of infanticide, which therefore very rarely occurs. When it is considered that the rajahs part with their concubines after the birth of one or two children, it is not surprising that a favourite should take any means to uphold her influence. They are never taught morality when young, and they follow eagerly in the footsteps of their elders.

More than half the daughters of the nobility cannot procure husbands, as they are not allowed to marry a person of inferior rank, and must receive a large marriage portion. There is very little restraint on the conduct of these girls, none but such as they place upon themselves, as it is quite impossible, with their slight houses, to prevent nocturnal visits of lovers; but should they prove with child, it is considered a great scandal. I believe Brunei to be the most immoral city of which I have heard.

But to return to the conjurors. When they give notice that it is their intention to receive visitors, as[262] the spirits will most probably enter into them, their houses are crowded by young men and such women as can get there, but they often confine their performances to some sleight of hand. I watched one do a trick, and she did it cleverly. She began by telling me she knew I disbelieved in her power, but she would convince me, by cooking one of my own eggs from simply breathing on it. I sent for one, and taking it in her hands, she appeared suddenly to be possessed by the spirit: she uttered unearthly sounds, pretended to desire to attack some one who laughed at her, so as to require two women to hold her back, until the indignant comments of the bystanders caused the scoffer to hide her face; she then commenced putting her features through such contortions as effectually to prevent my watching her countenance, but I kept my eyes upon her hands; presently she became quiet, and began breaking the egg; it was certainly cooked; she carefully collected the shell, and then eat its contents. She then breathed on the fragments of shell, and almost immediately opened her hand with my uncooked egg untouched.

Though it is not my object to give an account of the Malays, I will enter slightly into the condition of the women. In Brunei, the wives and daughters of the sultan and of the nobles are much more concealed than holds with the Malays in other parts of Borneo, and one can only describe a harim from hearsay. It is nothing like the gorgeous palaces of Western Asia; the sultan’s house consists of a long building like a rough barn, raised on posts in the water, and is perhaps seventy feet long by thirty in[263] breadth. It is one story high, though in the roof are some rough attics: in this residence he keeps his wives, his concubines, and his female slaves; so jealous is he that no one shall see them, that when the house requires repairs, he will work with his own hands rather than permit the labourers to enter the inner rooms: the only man in whom he has confidence is a very old decrepit pañgeran, who assists him in the work. He has seventy women confined in this small space: his principal wife has a large room, elegantly hung with silk hangings, and well matted; she is permitted luxuries denied to all but three or four favourite concubines. The other unfortunates are allowed a little rice, salt, firewood, and water, and once a year a cheap suit of clothes; for everything extra they must depend on their families or their lovers.

The palace is, as I have said, like a rough barn, but the flooring is simply slips of a palm stem, tied together with rattans, and can be opened with facility; through the interstices every kind of refuse is thrown, to be carried away by the current.

This offers temptation to the bold lover, who comes in the dead of night, and by the signal of a white rag hung through the floor, knows the coast is clear: sometimes the girls get bold, and as they are all in league to deceive the sultan, they can occasionally leave the house without being discovered. The daughters of the late Muda Hassim, in 1859, absented themselves for three weeks and were not found out. Sometimes it causes a tragedy. I will mention one which occurred during my residence in the capital (1858).

There were two sisters living in the sultan’s harim, the eldest was his concubine. He one day entered her room and found her absent with her mother, and, on inquiry, he heard that she was in the habit of fetching both her daughters away for the purpose of intrigue, as the sultan allowed them nothing but what I have stated as the usual fare. He determined to make an example: so when she brought back the girls, he told her the pañgeran shabandar wanted to speak to her; she went, and, on entering the room saw on the table the fatal instrument, the garotte; she guessed her fate, but fell on her knees before the pañgeran and begged for her life, offering to confess the names of those who had received her daughters at their houses: upon this, pañgeran Mahomed, a dissipated young man, struck her on the mouth with his slipper, and, the signal being given, the assistants slipped the skein of thread over her head, fixed the board at the back of her neck, and turning a short stick, strangled her, and then delivered the body to her astonished husband.

The board used has two holes in it, through which the thick skein of brownish thread is passed, and once the latter is round the neck, it is easy to tighten it by the stick fixed behind.

The eldest daughter was expelled the harim, and given in marriage to the sultan’s old favourite, while the younger one was disgraced to slaves’ duties.

The pañgeran tumanggong, discovering a woman assisting his concubines from the house, slew her with his own kris, in the presence of his wife.

The sultan’s wife and favourite concubines dress[265] well in European silks and satins, and possess an abundance of gold ornaments, but the others are, as I have said, poorly provided for.

The women delight in every practice that can deceive their lords, and they have invented a system of speaking to each other in what may be called an inverted language—in Malay, “Bhasa Balik.” It is spoken in different ways: ordinary words have their syllables transposed, or to each syllabic another one is added. For “mari,” to come, they say, “malah-rilah;” they are constantly varying it, and girls often invent a new system, only confided to their intimate acquaintances; if they suspect they are understood by others, they instantly change it.

As might be expected, the education of the women is very much neglected; few can write, and none spell correctly. I often had love-letters shown me by amorous but ignorant swains, who were afraid to trust the discretion of any native writer, and they have invariably been ill-written and worse spelt; this, however, is not said in disparagement, as few of the men can either read or write.

The women are fond of making vows, and to that practice I am indebted for my only glimpse of a Bornean harïm. During my first expedition to Molu, my boat snapped on a snag, and I was left to return through the jungle. The report spread that I was dead, and various vows were made; among others, the wives and daughters of some of the rajahs made a vow, if I returned in safety, I should visit them and be showered over with yellow rice for good luck’s sake. The pañgerans consented, thinking I was[266] dead; but, on my safe return, the ladies insisted upon carrying out their vow; they were anxious to see a white man within their walls.

The nobles came and asked me; I at first declined, but, on being pressed, consented. The whole place was very paltry; about twenty middle-aged women were present, while a crowd of young girls, half hidden by a curtain, occupied the lower end of the room. On my displaying the most perfect indifference as to whether I saw them or not, they gradually emerged. I observed no pretty faces, and constant confinement to the house had rendered their skins of a very light yellow. I am afraid we were mutually disappointed, as the only remark I heard them make about me was, “How very dull his eyes are;” and so they were compared to their flashing black ones.

Full of faults as the Bornean rajahs doubtless are, oppressors of their subjects, and totally unfitted to rule, yet they are, in my opinion, the most agreeable natives I have ever met. As a companion, few Europeans could be more interesting than was the shabandar, the Makota of Keppel’s book, and “the serpent,” as he was popularly called. I never wearied of his society, and always enjoyed the little picnics to which he invited me. His death, which I have related in my Limbang Journal, was tragic, though he deserved his fate. They all display, in the most exciting discussions, a propriety of behaviour and gentleness of manner that wins those who have dealings with them. Procrastination is their greatest fault, and sometimes trying to the temper.

They are very tenacious of their dignity, and only[267] the royal family can use yellow; and for a trader to fly streamers or flags from the mast-head is a great offence to the nobles. It used to be, and will probably be again after the present sultan’s death, a punishable offence for a person of inferior rank to pass the palace steps with his umbrella spread, or to sit in the after-part of a boat, that being the place for nobles. A man wearing yellow would be punished, while even the slave girls may dress in that colour. The distinctions of rank are kept up with great strictness, yet the sultan will talk to the people with perfect familiarity, but they always reply in a most respectful tone; though during the evening free conversation is encouraged.

The sultan and nobles deplore the decay of their country, but cannot, or rather will not, understand that it is their own unreflecting rapacity which destroys the springs of industry.

There are no fixed impositions, but the aborigines suffer from the exactions of all, until, they have told me that, in despair, they are planting yearly less and less, and trusting to the jungle for a subsistence. The price of uncleaned rice has risen four hundred per cent. during my experience of Brunei. This partly arises from the ravages of the Kayans, who have lessened the agricultural population, and greatly narrowed the area of cultivation; and partly, as I have observed, from the dependencies ceasing to yield so much to the nobles, they are compelled to depend more on the neighbouring tribes.

I have not yet mentioned the people who inhabit the hills which surround the capital; they are called[268] Kadayans, and are evidently aborigines converted to Islamism. It is a tradition among them that they and the Perambat and Pablat sections of the city inhabited by the fishermen were formerly Muruts, and joined the Mahomedans about four hundred years ago. In digging near the consulate, I found a large jar, with the remains of bones and a skull, almost dissolved by time, very similar to the ones used for the same purpose by the Muruts of the present day. It is supposed by the Kadayans to have been buried there before their conversion.

As a rule, these hill-men are never oppressed; a few, however, who seem to have had claims over them, originating in debts due by their ancestors, were seized in April, 1861, by the widow of the late sultan, and put in irons until some demands of hers should be satisfied. The whole city was thrown into confusion by this proceeding; all the Kadayans assembled under their chiefs, stopped the supplies of food, and threatened an attack from the neighbouring hills; deputations of nobles waited on the lady, and begged her to let go the men, but she sturdily refused. For three days every man was prepared to defend his portion of the town; business was suspended, and fears and panics prevailed; till at last her relations gave way to the anger of the rest of the inhabitants, and insisted upon her letting her prisoners go.

The Kadayans have great influence in the city, on account of their agricultural pursuits; they supply large amounts of rice, and nearly all the fruit and vegetables. I have wandered over their districts, and never have I seen more lovely spots than are to[269] be found at Upper Butil, Limapas, and in the interior of the Kadayan river. The groves of fruit-trees are immense, and no idea can be formed of them, unless we imagine our pear and apple trees of the size of the most gigantic elms. They are generally planted on the gentle slopes of low hills, and the cool and well-shaded paths among them are dry and pleasant to tread.

The Kadayans are devoted to the pañgeran tumanggong, and will not, I believe, consent to any other noble succeeding to the present sultan. They are not a warlike race, but they are united. In commercial affairs this may be especially noticed: a meeting of their chiefs takes place, they settle the price of rice, and none of their followers will swerve from it.

About a thousand of these men have lately gone over to our little colony of Labuan, to settle there as planters, and the heavy forest is falling in all directions before them. Having mentioned this island, I will make a few remarks upon it. Labuan possesses one of the finest forests I have seen in Borneo, and is admirably situated for three objects—to suppress piracy, to influence the neighbouring countries, and to increase commerce by many means. Among the last, I may mention the numerous coal seams which are found in the island; that they have not been yet developed is no matter of surprise to those who are familiar with the early management; and that they will be hereafter of the utmost importance is the confident belief of those who are best acquainted with the island. My own opinion is, that the working[270] will prove a most lucrative speculation, if proper care be taken in the choice of those who are to conduct the affairs of the new Labuan coal company.

No better spot could be chosen as one of the stations for the telegraph wires on their way’ to China. From Singapore, stated in round numbers, to Sarawak is 400 miles; to Labuan, 350 miles; to Manilla, 600 miles; to Hong Kong, 600 miles more. If Manilla be avoided, a station might be formed on one of the isles off Palawan.

Labuan, managed by an officer who made himself well acquainted with the character of the people inhabiting the neighbouring countries, might, with a slight support from the navy, exert great influence. I must mention one good Labuan has already done: it has changed the character of slavery. Formerly, the Bornean masters could treat their dependants as harshly as they pleased; now it is a common saying, “If we are not gentle towards our slaves, they will run to Labuan.” In fact, latterly very little restraint was laid on the freest intercourse with this island on the part of the masters, as far as concerned the males; but the females they tried by every means to prevent leaving. Yet hundreds of women visit Labuan, and can stay there if they please.

The trade of our colony is small, though it is increasing, while that of Brunei is rapidly decreasing, and recent arrangements will tend to accelerate its fall. I should mention that there are many districts in the neighbourhood of Labuan in which pepper is cultivated, and this produce is slowly increasing in quantity in the market; but could the Governor of[271] Labuan have the means at his disposal to influence the neighbouring coast, the pepper cultivation would rapidly advance. It is now grown in the districts of Kalias, Bundu, Tanah Merah, Qualla Lama, Membakut, Papar, Mengkabong, and Tawaran.

Sago at present is the principal export, though some valuable products, as white birds’ nests, camphor, wax, rattans, and occasionally pearls are brought from the north. No place could be better situated than Labuan to draw to it the trade of the Sulu archipelago and of the north-east coast of Borneo, and its doing so will depend on the amount of influence it is permitted to exercise.

It is a curious circumstance, that the natives of many of the districts to the north of Labuan assert that before civil strife and pirates drove trade from their coasts, they used to supply the Chinese and Javanese markets with a large amount of cotton. This plant is still cultivated, though to a very limited extent.

I have referred to the very fine forest which clothes the surface of Labuan: among the forest trees are the camphor and the damar; the former produces the valuable Kapur barus of commerce, and is a very handsome tree, rising in a fine stem ninety or a hundred feet before it throws out a branch, and then presents a well-shaped head, with dense foliage. Its timber is lasting, and is much liked for planks and beams of houses. In the forests of Labuan I have often come across fine trees felled by the natives in search of the camphor, as this product can only be obtained by destroying the tree, as it exists in a concrete form in[272] the interstices of the trunk. But I have heard natives say, that occasionally they cut down one which has a decayed portion, and in this they find the finest camphor. It is possible that these decayed portions may arise from former seekers cutting holes in the tree to discover whether there were sufficient camphor to render it worth while to fell the tree, a practice they carry on to the present day. An oil is also collected from this tree, which rubbed over a chest of drawers will effectually prevent the invasion of insects.

This method of obtaining the camphor is very wasteful compared to the way gamboge is collected. I have never seen an account given of it, so I will introduce it here:—The tree is found in Kambodia, the province of Chantibun in Siam, the islands on the eastern coast of the Gulf of Siam, and the southern part of Cochin China. The small plants which were brought to Bangkok were woody, with thick ovate leaves; the tree in full growth is large, measuring often five feet in circumference, and rising to a considerable height. At the commencement of the rainy season, the gamboge seekers start for the forest in search of the trees, which are occasionally plentiful. Having found a full-grown one, they make a spiral incision in the back round half its circumference, and place a joint of bamboo to catch the sap, which percolates slowly from it for many months. When it first issues from the tree, it looks like a yellowish fluid, which after passing through a viscous state, hardens into the gamboge of commerce with a crystal-like fracture. The flowers of the tree are said to[273] resemble those of the egg-plant, and the fruit is small and globular. The time of gathering it depends much on the fancy of the people, as some declare that it is injurious to seek it in wet weather, and prefer the very driest months. The trees grow both in the valleys and on the mountains, and an average one will yield three joints of bamboo, twenty inches in length, by one and a half in diameter. The tree appears to suffer no injury if the gamboge be collected every other year, but if it be tapped each season, it shortens its life. Like every other nation, the Kambodians are fond of adding adulterations, and mix with it rice, flour and sand, while others pulverise the bark, to add to its weight; but this last operation is soon found out, as it imparts to the article a greenish tinge.

The damar trees in Labuan are remarkably fine. I have seen one measured one hundred and twenty feet to the first branch, and eighteen feet in circumference above twenty feet from the ground. Labuan is also stocked with excellent trees for spars. I may add that petroleum is found in considerable quantities floating on the surface of water in the jungle; but I think no examination has been made as to the probable yield of these oil-springs.

Before concluding my observations on Labuan, I may remark it possesses a very excellent harbour, of easy approach. The great success of our colony will depend, however, on its yield of coal.

The coal-fields of Borneo are as extensive as the island. It is reported in Maludu Bay; found in Gaya Island; is everywhere discoverable on the mainland opposite Labuan; has been traced in Baram,[274] in Bintulu, through the Sarawak districts to Banjermasin on the southern coast. They must some day prove of the greatest importance.

Continuing my notice of the capital, I may explain that the whole direct revenue of the sultan does not exceed 2,500l. a year, except what he may obtain in produce from his dependent tribes, which scarcely supports the current expenses of his household.

The Brunei government possesses no armed force beyond the power of calling out the population as militia, who rarely respond to the call, as they are neither fed nor paid during their time of service, and are generally required to perform acts repugnant to their real interests. It possesses neither war boats nor police, and is incapable of organizing an expedition to attack a neighbouring district, and is, without exception, one of the most contemptible semblances of power that ever existed. As I have said before, it has the name of government, but not the reality.

Crime is unpunished, if committed by a relative or a follower of a high noble, as no one will act against him for fear of the enmity of his chief. There is a man in Brunei, named Sirudin Buñgkul, who is the most notorious thief in the capital. He lives in very good style on the result of his achievements, and is admitted into the best society. He is never punished, as he is a follower of the chief minister, the pañgeran bandhara. He appears to be clever, as he manages to quiet the dogs, and has never been taken in the act of robbery; in fact, few would dare to attempt to seize a man naked to the waist, well oiled, and carrying a drawn kris in his hand. When in[275] want of funds, he makes a visit to the different shops to inspect; he is always treated with a kind of familiar deference, and the Chinese are kept in a state of nervousness till his coup has come off. Petty thefts are common, but few extensive robberies; and yet it is not difficult to get into leaf-houses, particularly of the Chinese, who sleep heavily after their opium and spirits.

It is not surprising that these men occasionally commit crimes when an example is set by the highest officers of state. Makota, who was in the habit of getting into debt, and seldom troubling himself about payment, owed a Chinese trader, Si Panjang, a considerable sum of money. The constant dunning of this creditor at last produced a quarrel, and the Chinese used some expressions which Makota considered very insulting; so next morning he sent the Bindari, one of his officers, to affix a notice to Si Panjang’s door, giving notice that he was no longer under the protection of government. Five days after a fire burst out in that dwelling, which not only consumed the trader’s house, but extended so as to burn down half the Chinese quarter, and the loss was estimated at 20,000l. Though long suspected, the fact was not made clear till after Makota’s death. The fire took place in July, 1856, two months before I took up my residence in Brunei.

Thefts and robberies are nominally punished by cutting off the hand, but this penalty has fallen into disuse since the advent of the English. There are, however, two men to be seen about the town who have lost a hand as a punishment. Sometimes a fine[276] is inflicted, but generally the culprit is let off after a few days in the stocks.

It is an interesting fact, that the sultan and many of the older men always fix an event by saying this occurred before or after the fall of ashes, referring to that awful eruption which took place in April, 1815, when the mountain of Timboro in Sambawa burst forth and covered every country near with a fall of ashes. Sir Stamford Raffles has given a graphic account of it in his “History of Java”, and I only mention the fact now, as Brunei, where some of the ashes fell, must be above nine hundred miles from the volcano. At Sarawak it is also constantly referred to.

I have described in a previous chapter the appearance of the river, but I have not mentioned that here I have most often heard the singing or hummingfish, which sticks to the bottom of the boats, and produces a sound something like that of a Jew’s-harp struck slowly, though sometimes it increases in loudness so as to resemble the full sound and tones of an organ. My men have pointed me out a fish about four inches long as the author of the music. It is marked with alternate stripes of black and yellow across the back.

They have a curious method of catching prawns in this river: a man sits in the stern of a canoe, a little on one side, so as to make its edge towards the bank almost on a level with the water, and but a foot from the mud. On the same side he has an immense comb fastened at the stern, which, at an angle, stretches beyond the bows of the canoe, and sweeps the[277] bank. The prawns congregating at the very edge of the mud, make a spring to avoid the teeth of the comb; and in doing so, nearly always fall into the boat. The comb is simply a long bamboo, with holes drilled into one side, into which are inserted pieces of thin bamboo or wood about two feet long at the farther end, and gradually lessening as they approach the fisherman.

I may also mention that the Malays are very fond of the following sport. They collect many hundred bundles of the roots of the tuba-plant, and beat them out in their canoes, keeping them wet, and permitting the juice, which has an intoxicating property, to flow into the bottom of their boats. When they have sufficient, they throw it into the water at the mouths of the rivers just at the turn of the flood-tide; and the fish, feeling its effects, either rise to the surface completely intoxicated, or, in the case of the large ones, sufficiently stupefied to be easily speared. It is an exciting sport when several hundred men in light canoes are engaged in it. It is a superstition that while they are occupied in this amusement, should a boat pass the mouth of the river, and the crew beat the water with their paddles, the tuba would lose its intoxicating power.

Until late years, the general use of money was unknown in the capital. When I first visited it, ordinary commercial transactions were carried on in pieces of gray shirting, valued at 12s. 6d.; of nankin, valued at 10d.; and of bits of iron, worth about a farthing: the last were manufactured by cutting off pieces of an inch long from a bar of[278] English iron, the common size of which was an inch and a half in breadth by half an inch in thickness. Now, neither the nankin nor the iron circulates, their places being taken by English copper coin and China cash. The gray shirting still holds its place, but its value is fallen, and lately it has ranged from 6s. to 8s. The Brunei government, to prevent the constant disputes that arose, made it a legal tender at 6s. 8d. Mexican dollars are now becoming plentiful.

One other article is also much used as money, and that is brass guns. In buying and selling you constantly hear, “I will give so many pounds, or hundredweights, of gun-metal.”

The Borneans are famous for their manufacture of brass guns, which are constantly cast in their frail houses to the imminent danger of the neighbourhood. They principally turn out small wall-pieces, and now trust much for their metal to selected Chinese brass cash. The Malays are clever at this work: a Javanese has lately cast an excellent 12-pounder brass howitzer for the Sarawak Government. Sulu used to be very famous for its krises; now Brunei is attempting to rival her, and has produced some very handsome weapons. In both places they prefer the iron that is taken off the bales of English cotton goods, as the toughest and the best.

The custom my brother Bayle mentions in his Levantine Family of preserving an article for years, rather than lower its price, is very common in Brunei. Jeludin Hitam, a rich trader, purchased, in his younger days, a large quantity of camphor, white birds’ nests, and pearls, and received, in payment of some other[279] goods, several hundred pieces of gray shirting, at 12s. 6d. The breaking out of the Chinese war of 1841 lowered the price of all articles intended for that market. He tried to sell at former rates, but no one would buy; he refused to lower his price, so kept the goods till his death in 1859. On examining them it was found that the gray shirtings were rotten, and had to be thrown away, while all his other goods were sold for half their former value. A native always asks a higher price than he intends to take, as he knows his customer will “tawar,” or cheapen.

I may add that on the death of Jeludin Hitam the sultan declared himself his heir, and succeeded to all his property, which, however, did not amount to half that was expected, as it was whispered the daughter concealed a large amount of the gold. When Makota was slain, the sultan took possession of his property, but the most active search failed in finding any gold, though it was well known that he had been accustomed to invest all his money in moidores. But the fact was, Makota did not trust his wife, and therefore always carried his wealth about with him in a box, and after his death it was secreted by one of his sons who happened to be in the same district at the time his father was killed.

First Visit—Appearance of the Country—Scenery—Lovely Isles—Turtle—Method of Securing their Eggs—Their Enemies—Fish—The Dugong—Method of Capturing them—Graves of Englishmen at Po Point—First Evening in Borneo—A Welcome to the Rajah—Boats—Salute and Manning Yards—The Muaratabas Entrance—The River—The Town of Kuching—Sunset—Arrival—A noisy Procession—Extent of Sarawak—A well-watered Country—The Rejang—Extent of fertile Soil adapted to Sugar—Its Inhabitants—Different Races and Tribes—Population—Kuching, the Capital—Increase—Trade—Sago districts—Cotton—Seed sent by the Cotton Supply Association—Imported Labour required—Increased Production—Inferior Cultivation—Soil adapted to most Tropical Productions—Water communication—Minerals—Coal, Antimony, and Gold—Indications of other Minerals—Former Condition of the Country—Difficulties of Management—Forced Trade—Comfortable Position of the Dayaks—Influence of New System on the Malays—Distant Voyages—Remarkable Honesty—Anecdote—System of Government—An Unteachable Chief—Sons of Patinggi Ali—Their Good Conduct—Effect of Associating the Natives in the Government—The System introduced into all the Dependencies—Effect of Sir James Brooke’s Government—Anecdote of an old Chief—Gradual Development—Necessity for Support—The Chinese an Industrious and Saving Nation—Soundness in the System of Government—England with a Chinese Colony—Future of Borneo—Chinese amalgamate with Native Population—Female Emigration from China—Administration of Justice—The Sarawak Courts—Character of the Malays.

Sarawak and its dependencies next claim my attention, and I will give an account of my first visit to that place, as the notes I then made are more likely to present a true picture than any written subsequently. On August 31, 1848, we came in sight of Borneo; it was a dull and misty day, and the shores were not clearly visible, but the next morning it was bright and showed us in all its perfection the lovely country that skirts the shore between Datu and Sipang points. At first it appeared a confused mass of mountains, but the eye soon began to distinguish its varied features. The massive and lofty range of Poé bounded the scene to the westward, while the Matang occupied the centre of the picture, and the peak of Santubong and the Sipang hills completed it to the eastward. Between these are many lower ranges, and beyond could be seen various ridges and single mountains forming a background.

Though these high lands first attract the eye, yet it rests with greater pleasure on the beautiful valleys between, and none more beautiful than that at the foot of the Poé mountains, which stretches as far as the eye can reach, and imperceptibly mingles with the neighbouring hills. Taken as a whole, it is a very beautiful bay, and lovely are the isles scattered about it. Every traveller is enthusiastic about the appearance of these little gems, which rise verdant from the water’s edge to the very summit; or rendered more bright by a narrow beach of shining yellow sand that skirts the shores.

The first two are called Talang Talang, and on these are collected the turtles’ eggs. From the larger a broad sandy flat extends to the southward, and on this, during the prevalence of the south-west monsoon the turtles lay their eggs. There are men on the look-out near, and as soon as the[282] animals have dug holes, deposited the eggs, and carefully covered them over, the watchers stick little flags in the sand to mark the spots. In the morning they open them out and procure immense supplies of these eggs, which are exported to all the neighbouring countries. Though the turtles do occasionally frequent the surrounding isles, it is only here that they are plentiful.

The Malays are eager in the search, yet fortunately very many nests escape their rapacity. But the dangers to the turtle do not end here: when the little things burst up from the sand, they find enemies in every direction. The voracious kites soaring above pounce on their defenceless prey, even the land crab seizes them and bears them away, and when the remainder escape to the water, hundreds of sharks and other voracious fish are there to devour them; it is astonishing that so many elude their enemies. A turtle’s egg tastes to me like a stale and fishy duck’s egg. The sandy beaches of these isles are always to the southward, as they are not exposed to the fierce blasts of the north-east monsoon. The next islets near the Santubong entrance of the Sarawak river, are Sampadien and the two Satangs. On all are at present extensive groves of cocoa-nut trees, which form a marked contrast to the neighbouring jungle.

It is very curious that the fish should frequent this bay so very irregularly. Some years the supplies are ample, at other seasons it scarcely pays to search for them. The dugong, called by the Malays duyong, is occasionally secured off the small islands in this[283] bay; there is a famous fisherman in Sarawak, named Pa Sipi, who is expert in all accomplishments appertaining to his craft, and I have heard the natives say that when a duyong is seen, he used cautiously to approach it, and being always the foremost man, he hurled his fishing spear at it, and very shortly after, if he were obliged to let go his hold of the weapon, the animal would rise again to the surface. The fishing spear is called a sarampang, and is usually made with a treble-pronged iron point, fitted loosely into the end of the spear, and secured by a stout lashing of rattans to the wood. When the iron has entered into the animal, it comes loose from the shaft of the spear, which is then only held to it by the rattan rope, and it would be impossible for an animal thus encumbered to escape far. Pa Sipi brought us once a very fine duyong, which measured nearly eight feet in length, and its flesh tasted very much like coarse beef.

We moved along under easy sail, and anchored near the Muaratabas entrance of the Sarawak river. The land here is very bold, particularly Sipang and Po points.

We sent a boat up the Santubong as we passed the entrance, to give notice at the town of our arrival, and in the evening we landed for a walk in a deep nook to the westward of Point Po; here, just above the sandy beach, were the graves of several Englishmen, among others of Lieutenant Mathews, of H.M.S. Iris: a simple granite stone marked the spot; the wild pigs, however, had desecrated the graves and overturned the tablet; so the latter was subsequently removed to the church-yard in Sarawak. We amused ourselves about the[284] edges of the forest in searching for a good watering-place. To me this evening was inexpressibly delightful, as I wandered about this quiet pretty spot, and thought how agreeable an introduction it was to Bornean life. After dark we waded to our boats, and the crews enlivened the evening by singing in chorus till we neared the ship. Twenty deep voices sounded well over this still and starlit sea. For the first time I saw some Lingga Dayaks to-day, and as they happened to be dressed as Malays, my first impression was that it would be difficult to distinguish between them.

About ten o’clock the following morning native war-boats commenced issuing from the Muaratabas, and sailing towards us. They were the Sarawak people come to welcome back their English rajah. There were twenty long light war prahus with tapering masts and lateen sails, ornamented with flags and streamers, and all the chiefs and crews were dressed in gala costume. The principal men came on board, and it was interesting to observe the warmth they showed to their adopted chief. Some of the Sarawak men were striking-looking, but the nobles from the capital were the most insignificant creatures I had ever seen; they were only remarkable for the gold lace with which their jackets were profusely ornamented, and that they were very gentlemanly, and more polished in manner than their provincial neighbours.

About one o’clock Sir James Brooke left the Meander under a salute, and the manning of the yards; the latter has always a very pretty effect, and rather surprised our native visitors. When the firing was[285] over, the blue jackets gave three hearty cheers, and swarmed down the rigging. Now was the turn of the war-boats, and they kept up a desultory fire for an hour.

The Muaratabas entrance of the Sarawak river is a very fine one, and has a depth of three fathoms and a half at the very lowest water at spring tides; the contrast of the banks is striking: to the right a high bold shore and pretty isolated hills; to the left a low flat plain with mountains showing in the distance.

We pulled up with the flood tide, our way being enlivened by races between the native prahus, but the frigate’s barge had no chance against them; near the entrance is a rock that marks the watering-place; it was here that Sir James made his first acquaintance with the Dayak pirates, who attacked a Malay prahu under the very guns of the Royalist.

With few exceptions the banks of the Sarawak river are uninteresting; for many miles nothing but swampy ground and low jungle of mangrove trees and nipa palms, with occasional glimpses of distant mountains. Near the town, however, it improves, the land becoming dry and bearing heavy jungle; between the mouth and the town there were only a few fishing huts, and not a sign of cultivation. Evening was closing in as we approached Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, and the sun set brilliantly behind the Matang range, gilding as it disappeared as wild and picturesque a scene as I had ever witnessed. Our barge led the way up the broad reach, and was followed by the twenty war prahus, and dozens of Dayak and other boats that had joined the procession:—not a decorous[286] Lord Mayor’s pull on the river, but in the utmost confusion, amid gun-firing, gong-beating, racing, wild and frantic yells of delight, shouts of laughter and of anger, as one prahu ran into another in their eagerness to be in the foremost rank. As we rounded the last point we were surprised to find the whole town brilliantly illuminated, and as all the houses are built on the water’s edge, which reflected back the lights above, the effect was very fine. Crowds were assembled to witness our arrival, and yell, and answering yell, increased the confusion. Having described my first arrival at Sarawak, I will proceed to give a short account of its present position.

Sarawak, including its dependencies, extends from Cape Datu to Kidorong Point, a coast line of about three hundred miles, and presents every variety of surface, from the low fertile soil skirting the river’s banks to the lofty mountains which rise in every direction throughout the various districts.

It is one of the best watered countries in the world, possessing several rivers of the first class, as the Rejang, the Sarawak, and the Batang Lupar; and many of the second, as the Samarahan, the Sadong, the Seribas, the Kalaka, the Egan, a branch of the Rejang, and the Bintulu; rivers of the third class are also numerous, as the Lundu, the Mato, the Oya, and the Muka.

The last three, though small, are still very important, as they run through the great sago-producing districts, possessing forests of that palm, which are as yet perfectly unexplored, having only lately been ceded to Sarawak.

The finest river, however, is the Rejang, which has a deep entrance, not less than five fathoms at high water, and, when inside the bar, never carries less, for above one hundred and thirty miles. A geographical description of the country, however, is not necessary, as I have in previous chapters given an account of the principal districts, nearly all of which I visited in the course of my tours.

Sarawak possesses an immense extent of fertile soil, a very large amount being composed of alluvial deposit stretching for miles on either side of the banks of the Samarahan, the Sadong, the Batang Lupar, and nearly all the rivers before named.

Much of the soil is especially adapted for sugar cultivation, being of a similar quality to that on the banks of the Pontianak, which I have been informed by Dutch officers and planters has been found far superior for sugar cultivation to the best in Java. In fact, nothing but the want of labour has prevented the extensive cultivation of the cane in the Pontianak districts: Chinese could be introduced with facility, but these people have already given the Dutch so much trouble, as to render the Netherlands government very jealous of any increase in their numbers.

But before entering on the subject of products, I must briefly enumerate the various tribes speaking different languages who are now subject to Sarawak.

The Malays are scattered along the banks of almost every river and creek, but the largest number is assembled at the capital, Kuching.

The Chinese, of whom I shall treat hereafter, are principally found in Sarawak, though a few hundreds[288] are now working gold on the Batang Lupar, and traders abound at every place where profit can be obtained.

The Land Dayaks occupy a portion of Lundu, with the entire interior of Sarawak, Samarahan, and Sadong.

The Sea Dayaks include the Sibuyaus, who are scattered through the various districts, and the inhabitants of the Batang Lupar, the Seribas, Kalaka, and the branch streams on the left-hand bank of the Rejang.

The Milanaus occupy the mouths of the Rejang, the Ova, the Muka, the Bintulu, and various lesser streams.

The tattooed races, as the Kanowits, Pakatans, Punans, and others, live towards the interior of the districts lying between the Rejang and the Bintulu, and border on the Kayans, who occupy the Balui country as the interior of the Bintulu and the Rejang is called.

All these groups of tribes speak separate languages, and each has also various dialects.

It is very difficult to obtain even an approximate estimate of the amount of population, but I will state it at the most moderate rate.

In stating these numbers I am convinced that I am very much underrating them, as the more inquiries we make the thicker appears the population of the Sea Dayak districts.

The capital of Sarawak is Kuching, and, considering the circumstances of the country, the rise of this free port has been rapid. When Sir James Brooke first reached the spot, there were few inhabitants except the Malay rajahs and their followers, who subsequently for the most part removed to Brunei, the residence of the sultan. I saw Kuching in the year 1848, when it was but a small place, with few Chinese or Kling shops, and perhaps not over 6,000 Malay inhabitants; there was little trade, the native prahus were small, and I saw some few of them. The jungle surrounded the town and hemmed in the houses, and the Chinese gardeners had scarcely made an impression on the place. As confidence was inspired, so the town increased, and now, including the outlying parishes, its population numbers not less than 15,000.

The commerce of the place has kept pace with it, and from a rare schooner finding its way over to return with a paltry cargo, the trade has risen till an examination of the books convinced me that it was in 1860 above 250,000l. of exports and imports.

The articles constituting the exports are for the most part the produce of the jungle; the principal exception is sago, which is imported from the districts to the east of Cape Sirik, to be manufactured at Kuching into the sago-pearl and flour of commerce. The trade in this article has for many years been injured by the constant disturbances, ending in a[290] state of chronic civil war, which desolated the producing districts. Now, however, that they have been ceded to Sarawak, and a firm government established, a great development should take place in this branch of trade.

An article which might become of great value is cotton: it is cultivated among many of the tribes residing within the Sarawak territories, particularly by the Dayaks of Seribas and Sakarang, who manufacture from it a durable cloth. The Cotton Supply Association is sending out some Egyptian seed, which, if it arrive in good condition, may tend to increase the produce. I am convinced, however, that no cultivation will have great success in Borneo which does not at first depend on imported labour, and as China is near, the supply could be easily and regularly obtained.

The amount of rice produced will also greatly depend on imported labour; at present the natives but rarely export any, and during some seasons scarcely produce sufficient for the consumption of the people. There is one thing to be observed, however, that as the country is becoming year by year more settled, the inhabitants in the same ratio give greater attention to acquiring wealth. The Sea Dayaks are very acquisitive, and would soon imitate the Chinese methods of cultivation. I have elsewhere remarked that the agriculture to the north of the capital is far superior to anything found in Sarawak or its neighbourhood, and this has most probably arisen from the large number of Chinese who formerly inhabited that country.

The use of the plough, the harrow, or the buffalo in cultivation is, except by report, entirely unknown in Sarawak; the natives will, I believe, be much surprised at the results produced by a good English plough, which is about to be tried on some fields of sugar-cane in the neighbourhood of Kuching, and it may do much good by showing them the methods employed by other nations. At present the Malays and Dayaks use no other instruments than a long chopper, an axe, and a pointed stick.

The soil and the varied heights on the hill-sides, would render Sarawak a fine country for coffee; which grows freely, and so do pepper, tapioca, arrowroot, and almost every product cultivated in the neighbouring islands; but these things are not yet grown in sufficient quantities to render them worth mentioning as articles of export. Of the jungle produce I may name the principal: they are fine timber of many varieties, gutta-percha, india-rubber, wax, and rattans, and the last are to be obtained in the very greatest abundance and of the best quality in the districts lately ceded by the sultan to the government of Sarawak.

Sarawak has a very great advantage over many countries, having water communication from the far interior, down to her coasts, and inner channels communicating with many of the outlying districts.

The mineral products known to exist in sufficient quantities to be worth working are not numerous; they are coal, antimony, and gold. Coal seams have long been known to exist, but in situations that necessitated a considerable outlay; within the last[292] few months, however, coal has been discovered close to the water’s edge in the districts lately ceded, but I have not yet heard of the result of the examinations which have just been made. Antimony of the best quality can be procured in sufficient quantities to supply any demand, and a new mine has been secured to the Sarawak government by the cession of Bintulu.

Gold is only worked by the Chinese, who wash the surface earth in a way which I will afterwards describe. No deep sinkings have been attempted, nor has quartz yet been discovered in large quantities, and it is not likely to be while nine-tenths of the country are still clothed with forest.

Indications of many minerals exist, but until found in greater quantities they are scarcely worth referring to, except to encourage a careful examination of the mountain and hilly districts. Sufficient silver has however been found to render it probable that a mine exists not far from the Bidi antimony works. The Dutch beyond the border are said to be working a copper mine to great profit; and in Sarawak indications of that mineral, as well as of lead, have been several times discovered: but no great importance can be attached to them at present. Manganese and arsenic have been found in considerable quantities, but they are not yet worked.

The most remarkable thing connected with Sarawak is the change which has come over the aborigines; from all the accounts I could gather they were twenty-five years ago in a much more miserable condition than the Muruts and Bisayas in the neighbourhood[293] of the capital. The country was in a state of complete anarchy, and Malays were fighting against Malays and Dayaks against Dayaks. Even before the civil war broke out the condition of the latter was miserable in the extreme; they were exposed to every exaction, their children were taken from them, their villages attacked and often sacked by the Seribas and Sakarang, and hunger approaching to famine added to their troubles.

Even when Sir James Brooke succeeded to the government and peace was restored, it took years to eradicate the belief, founded on long established practice, that the Dayaks were persons to be plundered by every means. When it could not be done openly, it was carried on by a system of forced trade. Sir James Brooke’s attention was constantly directed to this subject, and he found that as long as the Malay chiefs were paid their salaries by receiving half the rice-tax, some of them had an excuse for continuing the old practice. I have mentioned the tours of inspection undertaken under his direction by his nephew, Captain Brooke; shortly after these were concluded a new system was introduced, and the chiefs had their salaries paid to them in money. Since which time few complaints have been made by the Dayaks.

As far as material comfort adds to the happiness of man, the Dayaks have reason to be thankful: whatever they earn, they enjoy; a tax of four shillings on every family is the amount levied on them by government: after that is paid they are free from every exaction. Not only have they the produce of their[294] industry, but the wealth derived from their forests of fruit-trees, a market for which can always be found among the Chinese and Malays. Many of the caves likewise produce the edible bird’s nest, which is another source of profit.

The Malays, however, have benefited equally with the Dayaks by the change of system. Formerly the chiefs employed a crowd of relations and followers to collect their taxes and to oppress the aborigines; and, as at Brunei now, if the master asked for a bushel of rice, the man demanded two more for himself. The system had a debasing influence on all; no doubt many suffered a little by the change, but as a rule all these men turned to legitimate trade, as soon as they found that to oppress the Dayaks entailed fines and punishments.

The impetus given was great, trading prahus were built, and voyages undertaken which their fathers had not thought of. Singapore, Java, the Malay Peninsula, and even a portion of Sumatra were visited. This brought wealth and increased activity, which was shown in the improved dwellings, the larger prahus, the gayer dresses, and the amount of gold ornaments that became common among their women.

There is one thing I must particularly mention, the remarkable honesty shown by these traders in all their intercourse with Europeans. An Englishman, who greatly facilitated their commercial transactions by loans of money at a rate of interest which in the East was considered remarkably moderate, told me that, in all his experience, he had only found one Malay who attempted to cheat him. He never[295] demanded receipts, but simply made an entry in his book, and his loans with that one exception were all repaid him.

He told me a story of a Malay trader that singularly illustrates their character. The man borrowed a small sum and went on a voyage; in a month he returned, stating he had lost both prahu and cargo, and asked to be entrusted with double the amount of his former debt; it was given him. Again he returned, having been wrecked close to the mouth of the river. He came to this Englishman and clearly explained his misfortune, but added—“You know I am an honest man, disasters cannot always happen to me, lend me sufficient to go on another voyage, and I will repay all I owe you.” My informant said he hesitated, but at last lent him the whole amount demanded. The trader was away three months, and his smiling face, when he came back to his creditor, showed he had been successful; he paid off the principal portion of the debt, and afterwards cleared off the remainder, and was, when I heard the story, one of the most flourishing traders in Sarawak. I thought the anecdote was honourable to both, and illustrates the kindly feeling that exists in that country between the European and native.

This confidence, however, was the growth of some years, and the result of the system of government which I will now describe. In treating of the capital, I have shown the practice established there. In all the former dependencies of Brunei there were local chiefs who administered the internal affairs of their own districts. In Sarawak there were originally[296] three, and that number Sir James Brooke continued in their employment, and permitted and encouraged them to take part in everything connected with the government of the country, obtaining their consent to the imposition of any new tax or change in the system of levying the old, consulting them on all occasions and allowing their local knowledge to guide him in those things with which they were necessarily better acquainted than he could possibly be.

It was not to be expected that his teaching and influence should suddenly change these men, accustomed to almost uncontrolled sway, into just and beneficent rulers, and he failed in moulding the datu patiñggi, the principal chief. As long as Sir James Brooke was himself present in Sarawak, he could keep him tolerably straight; but no amount of liberality could prevent him oppressing the Dayaks on every possible occasion. His rapacity increasing, he took bribes in his administration of justice, and it was at last found necessary to remove him. The third chief behaved much better, and the second, patiñggi Ali, was killed during one of Captain Keppel’s expeditions.

The last named left many sons, two of whom would have adorned any situation in life; the eldest, the late bandhar of Sarawak, was a kind, just, and good man, respected in his public capacity, and beloved in all social intercourse: his only fault was, a certain want of decision, partly caused by a rapid consumption that carried him off about two years since. His next brother succeeded him, and appears[297] to have all his brother’s good qualities, with remarkable firmness of character. In fact, a generation is springing up, with new ideas and more enlarged views, who appear to appreciate the working of their present government, and have a pride in being connected with it.

By associating these men in the administration, and thus educating them in political life, and by setting the example of a great equality in social intercourse, Sir James Brooke laid the foundation of a government which stood a shock that many of his best friends expected would prove fatal. I mean the Chinese insurrection. None of the predicted results have followed. Trade and revenue have both actually increased, and a much better system of management has been introduced.

The example set in the capital is followed in all the dependent districts, and the local rulers are always associated with the European in the government. The effect has been to prevent any jealousy arising; and the contempt of all natives, which appears a part of our creed in many portions of our empire, is not felt in Sarawak. Nothing appears more striking to those who have resided long in Sarawak than the extraordinary change which appears to have been effected in the character of the people, and also in that of individuals. There is no doubt that Sir James Brooke was working in soil naturally good, or these results could not have taken place, but yet when we know the previous history of men, how lawless and savage they were, and yet find they have conducted themselves in an exemplary[298] manner for twenty years, the whole circumstances appear surprising.

I will tell an anecdote of one of the very oldest of the chiefs, to show the apparently stubborn materials which had to be moulded. The man relating the story himself, said that about thirty-five years ago he was cruising near Datu Point when he observed a small trading boat passing out at sea. He immediately gave chase, and when near her noticed the crew were all armed, and preparing to defend themselves, so his own followers advised him to sheer off, but he made them push alongside, and springing on board the trading prahu with a drawn kris so effectually alarmed the hostile crew that they all ran below. There were six of them, but he killed them all, and added, one only did he pity, as in their distress five called on their mothers, but one only begged mercy of God. And yet that man has behaved well for the last twenty-five years, and much better, in my opinion, than many others of far greater pretensions. It never appears to strike him that he had committed a bloodthirsty and wicked action, perhaps he considered that to conceal his piratical act any means were justifiable; but however that may be, he has completely changed his conduct, has been faithful under great temptations, and has always proved himself a brave and trustworthy man since a regular government has been established in Sarawak.

Few would have undertaken the responsibility of ruling a country with such materials, but to render the task easier, there were some excellent men to leven the multitude, and a retired pirate is[299] generally a good servant, if you can turn the energies that led him to a roving life into a legitimate channel.

It is obvious, however, that where a government depends for its stability on the individual character of its officers, and where a change in the system may be introduced by the head of the government not following in the footsteps of his predecessors, men will not risk their capital in the development of the country.

I have watched the gradual development of Sarawak with the greatest interest; I have seen districts once devoted to anarchy restored to prosperity and peace by the simple support of the orderly part of the population by a government acting with justice, and it is not surprising that all its neighbours appeal to it, when their own countrymen are seen to exercise so great an influence in its councils.

The experiment so happily begun might be carried on with great results, had the Sarawak government more material force to back it. At present nine-tenths of the country are forest; I believe the largest portion of that may be cultivated with great success, but population is wanting. There is but one people who can develope the islands of the Eastern Archipelago, and they are the Chinese.

They are a most industrious and saving nation, and yet liberal in their households, and free in their personal expenses. They are the only people to support an European government, as they are the only Asiatics who will pay a good revenue. In Sarawak there are not above 3,000 Chinese, and yet they pay in indirect[300] taxes more than the quarter of a million of Malays and Dayaks pay altogether. There is room within the Sarawak territories for half a million of Chinese cultivators, without in any way inconveniencing the other inhabitants; and these Chinese could pay without feeling the pressure 2l. a head in indirect taxes: as those levied on opium, spirits, tobacco, and other articles.

There must be soundness in the system pursued in Sarawak, or it could not have stood alone for so many years, exposed as it has been to successive storms. A similar, or a modified system, supported by our national power, would produce great results. No one can judge of the consuming power of the Chinese abroad, by the Chinese in their own country. Abroad he clothes himself in English cloth, he uses English iron; he sometimes takes to our crockery; he when well off drinks our beer, and is especially partial to our biscuits. He does nothing in a niggardly spirit, but, as I have said, is liberal in his household.

I believe if England were to try the experiment of a Chinese colony, where they had room to devote themselves to agriculture, to mining, and to commerce, the effects would be as great in proportion as those displayed in our Australian colonies. The Indian Isles are not far distant from China, and emigrants from them are always ready to leave on the slightest temptation.

I have lived so many years in the Archipelago that I hope my information may be found correct. I certainly expect much from the future of Borneo, if the present experiment should be aided or adopted,[301] as it possesses the elements of wealth and prosperity, and can obtain what is essential to success, a numerous and industrious population.

The Chinese have no difficulty in amalgamating with the native inhabitants, and to a certain extent can always obtain wives, as Borneo, like England, appears to possess a redundant female population. The men are, of course, exposed to many more dangers than the women, and these latter are so fond of their own homes that they seldom remove far from their parents. But now there appears to be no difficulty in procuring female emigrants, and if the present rebellion continue to desolate China we might remove all the inhabitants of a village together. I have heard men say that they have seen as much misery in some of the provinces of that vast empire as they saw in Ireland during the famine, and when that is the case, there will be no difficulty in inducing these people to emigrate. A calculation has been made that, if Borneo were well cultivated, it would suffice for the support of a hundred millions of Chinese.

The administration of justice is a subject of vital importance in all countries, but especially so in an Asiatic and a mixed population. The simple forms adopted in Sarawak are admirably suited to the country, and the care displayed in inquiries has won the confidence of the people. There are three courts established in Sarawak: a general court, a police court, and a native religious court. The last has charge of all cases in which a reference is required to the laws of the Koran, as in marriages and divorces; an appeal lies, however, in certain cases to the general[302] court. Ten years ago the native judges gave no satisfaction to the people and inspired no confidence, as it was known the principal chief took bribes, but since his removal, it is rare indeed to hear of a decision giving dissatisfaction, as both the late bandhar and his brother, the present bandhar, really take a pride in their court, and look into the cases. They also regularly attend the general court, and have thus been educated by the example set by the English magistrates of the most patient investigation. The general court takes cognizance of all the principal cases both civil and criminal, and in serious trials there is a kind of jury of the principal English and native inhabitants.

Cheap, and above all, speedy justice is what is required in the East, where they never can understand our wearisome forms. It reminds me of the Malay tried for murder in one of our English courts; he was asked the question, Guilty or Not guilty, and answered immediately, Guilty. He was advised to withdraw it and plead not guilty, but he steadily refused, saying, “Why should I plead not guilty, when I know I committed the murder; when you all know that as well as I, and mean to hang me, so don’t make a long fuss about it.” They very often confess even the most heinous crimes. The police court has cognizance of the same cases as would come before similar courts elsewhere, with a little mixture of the county court.

The Malays, except the followers of the Brunei nobles, are found on the whole to be very truthful, faithful to their relatives, and devotedly attached to[303] their children. Remarkably free from crimes, and when they commit them it is generally from jealousy. Brave when well led, they inspire confidence in their commanders; highly sensitive to dishonour, and tenacious as to the conduct of their countrymen towards them, and remarkably polite in their manners, they render agreeable all intercourse with them. Malays are generally accused of great idleness; in one sense they deserve it; they do not like continuous work, but they do enough to support themselves and families in comfort, and real poverty is unknown among them. No relative is abandoned because he is poor, or because an injury or an illness may have incapacitated him for work. I like the Malays, although I must allow that I became weary of having only them with whom to associate.

Sarawak appears to the natives of the western coast of Borneo what an oasis must be to the wandering Arab, and it is often visited by the people of the neighbouring countries to examine as a sort of curiosity. A party of Bugau Dayaks from the upper Kapuas once arrived in Kuching after fifteen days’ journey, merely to discover whether or not it were true that the Dayaks of Sarawak were living in comfort; but a more curious incident was the arrival of a chief from the Natunas to lay his case before the Sarawak government. A near relative of the Sultan of Linggin had yearly visited that group, which was subject to his authority, under the pretence of collecting taxes, but instead of confining himself to that, commenced a system of gross extortion. The natives submitted patiently, but not content with that, he[304] seized their young girls, and when his passions were satisfied, sent them again ashore, and forbad them to marry, under the pretence that they must consider themselves in future as his concubines.

At last he proceeded so far as, during a chiefs absence, to take up his residence in his house and to seize on his wife and family. On the orang kaya’s return, he was received with shots from his own batteries. His wife, evading the watch kept on her, rejoined him; but after vainly endeavouring to recover the rest of his family, he brought his complaints to Sarawak. As the Sultan of Linggin was under the suzerainty of the Dutch, it was impossible to interfere actively in their defence; but as there was no doubt of the truth of these representations, as they merely confirmed the accounts which had been previously received from the officers of one of our vessels which had surveyed that group, the whole case was laid before the Dutch authorities at Rhio, with an apology for the apparent interference in their affairs; but although naturally disposed to think that there was much exaggeration in the native accounts, they acted promptly, sent a vessel of war to the Natunas, whose captain fully confirmed the report forwarded, and giving the young noble an order to restore all his plunder, and come on board within an hour, they set sail with him to one of the fortresses to the eastward, where he remained several years. This energetic action had a most beneficial effect, and, although many years have passed since, I have not heard of any complaints from the inhabitants of that very lovely group.

The relatives of the Sultan of Linggin acted in[305] the same way as the Bornean nobles, who really appear to be convinced that they have a right to treat the poorer natives as they please, and do not understand any other method, but Makota’s cruel nature delighted in it for its sake. He used to say, “I know that the system of government pursued in Sarawak is the right system, and that in the end we should obtain much more from them by treating them kindly; but I have been accustomed all my life to oppress them, and it affords me unmixed satisfaction to get even their cooking-pots from them;” and he chuckled over the remembrance.

As the Malays increase in wealth, they are gradually taking more to the fashion of making pilgrimages to Mecca, though the sufferings they undergo in the crowded ships are almost equal to those endured in the middle passage. Some of the Arab ships are so crammed, that each pilgrim is only allowed sufficient space for a small mat on the deck, and there he remains during the whole voyage, except when he cooks his meals. One year, of the twelve who started from Sarawak on the pilgrimage, but five returned, though now it is not so fatal, as our authorities in the east are preventing the over-crowding of those vessels which leave our ports.

They have a custom in Sarawak which is rather curious: to insure good hair to their girls, they throw gold dust on it, and then send the child out among the crowd, who with scissors endeavour to snip out the precious metal.

It has often been noticed that the Malay language is very concise, and as a proof, I have heard the[306] following anecdote related. I have not yet seen it in print, though it may be. An English judge was condemning a man to death for a barbarous murder, and earnestly dwelling on the dreadful nature of the crime, he lengthened his discourse to twenty minutes. Then turning to the court interpreter he told him to translate what he had said into Malay. The official looked sternly at the prisoner, and addressed him thus: “The judge says you are a very wicked man; you have committed a great crime, therefore you must be hung. Sudah (I have done),” and then quietly retired to his place, to the astonishment of the judge, who could not comprehend how his learned and affecting discourse had been so briefly translated; he could only ejaculate, “Certainly the Malay is the most epigrammatic language.”

As I am concluding this chapter with miscellaneous remarks, I will tell a short anecdote told me by a Spaniard of a Balignini pirate. After the expedition from Manilla, in 1848, had captured the islands of Tonquil and Balignini, they removed most of the prisoners to an island to the north; among others, there was the wife and children of a well known buccaneer, who had been absent on a cruise during the attack, and returning home, found his house burnt and his family gone. He immediately went to Samboañgan and surrendered to the authorities, saying he was tired of the wandering life he had led, and was anxious to live as a quiet agriculturist with his wife. The governor trusting his story, sent him to the north, where he joined his family, and set to work with great energy cultivating the soil; the authorities kept a strict watch[307] over him, knowing his enterprising character, but just before the rice harvest was ready to be gathered, they became less vigilant, as they thought no one would abandon the result of a year’s labour; but at dead of night, with a few companions to whom he had imparted his secret, he fled with his family to the shore, where, surprising a boat, he pulled off to his old haunts and reached them in safety.

I have already treated of the Land and Sea Dayaks, and will not dwell further on the subject, but give a short account of the Chinese on the North-west coast of Borneo.

Intercourse between China and the Northern Part of Borneo—References to the Chinese—Names of Places and Rivers—Sites of Gardens and Houses—One of the original Settlers—The Sultan’s Recollections—Chinese numerous in his Youth—Reasons for their Disappearing—Anecdote of a Murut Chief—Aborigines speaking Chinese—Mixed Breed—Good Husbands—Chinese at Batang Parak—At Madihit—Pepper Planters—Origin of the Borneans—Chinese Features observed also among the Aborigines—Careful Agriculture—A remnant of Chinese Teaching—Traditions of a Chinese Kingdom—Effect of Treaty with Brunei—Unsuccessful attempt to revive Pepper Planting—Chinese scattering on the North-west Coast—A Spark of Enlightenment—Attempt to prevent Intercourse between the Chinese and Aborigines—Decay of Junk Trade—Cochin Chinese—Conduct of the Chinese—Papar—Anecdote—Fatal Result of Insulting a Woman—Skirmish—Misrepresented in Labuan—Question of British Protection to the Chinese—Their Insolence—Anecdote—Unpleasant Position—A Check—Difficulty of obtaining Information—Cause of former Disputes—Insurrection of the Chinese of Brunei—Sarawak—Early efforts of the Chinese to establish themselves there—Lawless Malays—A Murder—Retaliation—Defeat of the Chinese—Arrival of Sir James Brooke—Mixed Breed in Sambas—Form Self-governing Communities—Defeat of the Dutch Forces—Subjugation of the Chinese—The Pamangkat Agriculturists—Flight into Sarawak—Change in the appearance of the Country—Mission School—Visit the Interior—Kunsis, or Gold Companies—Appearance of the Country—Method of Gold-working—The Reservoir—The Ditch—The Sluice—Wasteful method of working—Abundance of Gold—Impetus—Failure of first Agricultural Schemes—A great Flood—Troublesome Gold-workers—Successful Scheme—Disturbance in Sambas—Flight of Chinese—Illiberal Regulation—Tour through the Chinese Settlements—Agriculture—Siniawan—Chinese[309] workings—Hot Spring—Gold at Piat in Quartz—Antimony Works—Extensive Reservoirs—Arrival of Chinese from Sambas—Denial by the Kunsi—Hard Work at the Gold Diggings—Scenery—Path to Sambas—Chinese Station—Numbers of the Chinese before the Insurrection.

The first thing that strikes an inquirer into the intercourse which was formerly carried on between China and the northern part of Borneo, is the prevalence of names referring to these strangers. They are called in Malay, Orang China; by the Land Dayaks of Sarawak, Orang Sina; and by the Borneans, Orang Kina, men of China; and north of the capital, we find Kina Benua, the Chinese land, in Labuan; Kina Balu, the Chinese widow, the name of the great mountain; Kina Batañgan, the Chinese river, on the north-east coast; and we have Kina Taki, the name of a stream at the foot of Kina Balu and Kina Bañgun, a name of a small river of the north north eastern coast. Around Brunei we continually come across terraces cut on the sides of the hills, where the pepper-plant was grown, particularly on the eminence below the Consulate: and the places where the Chinese had levelled the ground on which to build their houses are often to be met with; one of the most distinct was in my own garden. Their graves are also numerous, and may easily be traced on the slopes of the hills, though time has worn down their edges, and left but a slightly swelling mound.

My object is not to write a history of the Chinese intercourse with Borneo, but to notice what impress it has left on the manners and thoughts of the people,[310] and what remembrances of them may still be gathered. At present there are scarcely any of the original settlers left. I only remember one very old man, who cultivated a garden a few miles above the town; and although he had lived there for sixty years, arriving as a child, he had not mastered the language of the country, and could only say that in old days the Chinese were numerous.

The reigning sultan used often to converse on the subject, and told me that his own father was the nobleman appointed to superintend the Chinese; and that about fifty years ago they were very numerous to the westward of the town, and that when he was a youth, he was fond of strolling in their pepper and vegetable gardens. He did not know “how many there were, but there were many.” He accounted for their almost total disappearance by saying that for the last sixty or seventy years they had received no recruits from China, and that the Chinese gardeners near the town seldom had wives, but those up the country and in the neighbouring districts lived among the Murut and Bisaya tribes, and that their descendants had mixed with the native population and adopted their dress and habits.

An occurrence which took place whilst I was in Brunei tended to confirm this. A Chinese pedlar, married to a Murut girl, came to me one day to complain of the conduct of a Bornean nobleman who had been oppressing the aborigines. I sent him with the Malay writer attached to the Consulate to explain his case to the sultan, as I could not interfere myself.

The following week the chief of the Murut tribe arrived to support the complaint, and went with the pedlar into the shop of the principal Chinese trader in Brunei, baba Masu, who began questioning him in Malay. The man answered in a stupid manner, as if he scarcely understood him, upon which the baba turned to the pedlar and said in Hokien Chinese, “What is the use of your bringing such a fool to support your case?” The chief’s face brightened directly, and he observed, in good Chinese, “I am not such a fool, but I don’t understand Malay well.” The trader, very much surprised to be thus addressed in his own language by a Murut, made particular inquiries, and found that this was the grandson of an immigrant from Amoy, who had settled among the aborigines, and had taught his children his own language, and his eldest son marrying the daughter of an orang kaya, their son had succeeded to the chieftainship of the tribe.

Subsequently, I questioned some of the Chinese pedlars who were accustomed to trade in the districts on the coast to the north of the capital, which are known by the general name of Saba, and they found there were many of the Bisayas and Muruts of Kalias, Padas, Membakut, and Patatan, who could speak Chinese very fairly, and who acknowledged their mixed descent from the Chinese and the aborigines. Wherever the former settle, they always seek wives among the people, though few comparatively have the good fortune to procure them. However, when they do, the women soon become reconciled to them as husbands, and find a manifest improvement in their[312] condition, as the Chinese do not like to see their wives do more than the real domestic work of the house, performing all the more laborious duties themselves, even to cooking the dinner.

My friend, the orang kaya of the village of Blimbing, on the Limbang, said he remembered the Chinese living at a place called Batang Parak, about eighty miles from the mouth of the river. He himself could only call to mind seven who were cultivating pepper-plantations in his time, but his father had told him that before the insurrection the whole country was covered with their gardens. Of this insurrection, I could obtain few particulars, though they pointed out a hill at the mouth of the Madalam where the Chinese had built a fort, but had been defeated by the Bornean forces.

A hundred and fifty miles up the Limbang, on the banks of the Madihit branch, and beyond all the worst rapids, the Muruts told us the Chinese formerly had very extensive pepper-plantations; but within the remembrance of their oldest men, they had all died away, no new recruits joining them, and their descendants were lost among the surrounding tribes.

There is but one objection to the theory that the Borneans derive their origin in great part from the former Chinese settlers: it is that they are even darker than the other Malays; otherwise, the squareness and heaviness of feature, particularly observable among the lower classes, would seem to mark them as descendants of the labouring Chinese who form the bulk of the emigrants from China, though I have[313] often observed that many of the children of the undoubtedly mixed breed were very dark. I have noticed in my account of our first expedition to Kina Balu the fact of the young girls at the village of Ginambur having the front of their heads shaved after the manner of the Chinese. I do not remember having seen any female of the other tribes of aborigines disfigured in the same way. When we were at the village of Kiau, at the base of Kina Balu, we continually remarked faces which showed distinct indications of being descended from the celestials.

I have before noticed the superior style in which the natives to the north of Brunei carry on their agricultural operations. I find my description of the method pursued by the Bisayas of Tanah Merah in cultivating pepper exactly agrees with that of the Chinese mentioned by Forrest in his account of Borneo Proper. And the natives of Tawaran and Tampasuk cultivate their rice as carefully as the Chinese, following their example of dividing the fields by low embankments, so as to be able to regulate the supply of water; and in no other part of Borneo are to be found gardens as neat as those we saw on the plain of Tawaran. It is evident they have not yet forgotten the lessons taught to their forefathers by the Chinese, though their improved agriculture appears to be almost the only impress left on the people. Instead of their following the more civilized race, the latter appear to have completely blended with and become lost among the numerous population around.

The tradition is still well known among the natives,[314] of the whole country being filled with those immigrants; and they say that in very ancient days there was an empire ruled by one of the strangers, and the Sulus have still the tradition current among them that in former days these islands formed a part of a great Chinese kingdom, whose seat of government was in the north of Borneo. Forrest having mentioned that the Sulus in his day had such a tradition, drew my attention to it, and it may refer to the time subsequent to the invasion of the country by Kublai Khan’s general. The following is an extract from the genealogy of the sovereigns of Borneo, which is in the possession of the pañgeran tumanggong:—“He who first reigned in Brunei, and introduced the religion of Islam, was his Highness the Sultan Mahomed, and his Highness had one female child by his wife the sister of the Chinese rajah, whom he brought from Kina Batañgan (Chinese river), and this princess was married to Sherif Ali, who came from the country of Taib, and who afterwards governed under the name of his Highness Sultan Barkat (the Blessed), and it was he who erected the mosque, and whose Chinese subjects built the Kota Batu, or stone fort.” This appears to refer to some kind of a Chinese kingdom.

In 1846 there was scarcely a Chinese left in the capital; but no sooner was our treaty made in 1847, than traders from Singapore began to open shops there. At first, it appeared as if a valuable commercial intercourse were about to commence, as it was supposed the Chinese, as of old, would soon begin to form pepper-plantations, and the expectation[315] was partly fulfilled. A rich shopkeeper obtained permission from the sultan, and a grant of land having been made, he set to work to form a garden. He planted fruits, vegetables, and pepper, the last grew luxuriantly, though the soil appeared unpromising; but no sooner was it known to be yielding, than crowds of idlers from the capital flocked there, and soon stripped it of everything eatable. In despair, he gave up his project, and no one has had the courage to try again; in fact, it would be useless as long as the present system of government holds.

Since our colony of Labuan was established in 1848, a few Chinese have left it to spread along the coast. As yet they have had little effect, since most of them have married into native families, and done little else than carry on a petty trade, or manufacture arrack. Lately, however, a few have commenced pepper-gardens, but the districts are too unsettled to promise much, yet it is a movement to be encouraged. When I have asked the Chinese why they did not emigrate there, the invariable answer has been, “Will you afford us protection? if not, as soon as our plantations are productive, the nobles will force the produce from us.”

The sultan, in a moment of enlightenment, determined to encourage planters, and actually sent for a dozen from Singapore, paid their expenses to Brunei, and promised a monthly allowance till the produce of their vegetable-gardens enabled the Chinese to support themselves. These regular payments, however, soon became very distasteful to him, and every month be gave them less, till at last from want of[316] food they all dispersed, and the experiment has not been tried again.

The Brunei government makes every effort to prevent the Chinese mixing with the aborigines, as it tends to destroy the monopoly of trade they seek to establish, and they fear also the teaching of the Chinese, who would never counsel submission to oppressive rulers, though when employed by the nobles as agents, they can be more systematically grinding than the Malays.

It is evident that the intercourse between Borneo and China, which undoubtedly was once very active, has been decreasing for above a hundred years, and the cause was doubtless the anarchy into which the country fell and the consequent want of protection. Fifty years ago, the junk trade appears entirely to have ceased; and even in 1775 it had been reduced to about seven a year, although they continued to build vessels at Brunei.

With regard to the accounts of old travellers, that the north of Borneo was formerly peopled from Cochin China, I have heard nothing to support the theory, beyond the tradition that in ancient days a great trade was carried on between Annam and the north-west coast, when many Cochin Chinese settled in Borneo. In fact, in the Champa country, in the southern portion of the Kambodian peninsula, there is a people whose language contains a considerable number of Malay words; so that the effect on these two countries may have been mutual, though Champa, doubtless, was more influenced by settlers from the Malay peninsula.

I have before alluded to the Chinese wandering from our colony of Labuan to settle in small numbers in the districts on the coast to the north of that island. A favourite place was Papar, as the Dusuns there were wealthy, and, being numerous, cared little for their nominal ruler, pañgeran Omar; and among the Chinese settlers were two men, who lived in a small house on the banks of the river. One day, early in the year 1859, the wife of the chief of a neighbouring village was passing that way, when one of these men attempted to pull off her petticoat, which constituted her only covering. Her screams bringing some friends to the spot, the man let her go and ran into his house. In the evening, the chief came to demand satisfaction for this very gross insult, but said, as the offender was a stranger, and perhaps did not know the customs of the country, he should only fine him the value of a goat. The two Chinese ordered him to leave their house, and, to enforce it, took up their carrying-sticks, with which the one who had insulted the woman struck him. The Dusun chief, who had his spear in his hand, stabbed the offender and wounded his companion, who came up to join in the attack. This affair caused great commotion in the district, and all the Chinese clamoured for vengeance.

Pañgeran Omar inquired into the case, fined the Dusun, and ordered the amount to be paid over to the dead man’s friends. They were not, however, satisfied with the amount of the fine, and determined to revenge themselves. Collecting a body of about twenty of their countrymen, on the pretence of a[318] pig hunt, they marched to attack the chief’s village; upon which the Dusuns, beating the alarm gong, soon apprised their neighbours that they were in danger; and the Chinese, as usual, arrogant when there was no opposition, but cowards in circumstances of peril, immediately on finding their first volley did not frighten their enemies, fled with precipitation, and were pursued by the Dusuns, and the larger portion of them killed.

The case was misrepresented in Labuan, and some demands were made for satisfaction; but it was evident the Chinese had brought this disaster on themselves; and I know of no worse policy than to consider all those, whether British subjects or not, who leave our colony to settle on the coast as entitled to our protection. If we can be of service to them, it is as well to use our influence to insure them the best treatment, but we should never let the Chinese imagine we intend to give them the protection of the British flag on all occasions. Yet it is a subject which requires delicate handling, for, if we entirely abandoned their interests, they would be plundered and massacred; and without them there will never be any progress on the coast, or developement of trade and agriculture on a large scale; and if we claim them as British subjects, which a few are in reality, their insolence to the natives is often unbearable.

I have generally found that those Chinese who come direct from their own country are better adapted to succeed with the native chiefs than those who have resided long in our own settlements, where they acquired[319] an independence almost amounting to lawlessness. I once nearly lost my life through the reckless conduct of one of these Singapore Chinese, who had been accustomed to treat the Malays there with great contumely. When he arrived in Brunei, he did the same thing with a crazy man belonging to the Pablat section of the town, and the Chinese quarter was thrown into confusion. I sent both men to the sultan, but in the meantime the report spread among the Malay’s relatives that the Chinese had ill used him, and 150 men immediately came down, shouting that they would run amuck among the Chinese. A respectable Bornean trader came hastily into my room, saying, if I did not immediately go down to the scene, there would be a massacre. I caught up my sword and hurried to the Chinese village, to find the Pablat men in the act of assaulting the strangers; and had one wound been given, there would have been no stopping the mischief.

I need not dwell on all the particulars, but it was with the greatest difficulty I turned the Malays back from their purpose. To me they behaved with great civility, after the first excitement was over; but the glare their chief gave me, when I put the hilt of my sword to his breast to prevent him using his spear on an unfortunate Chinese trader, who had nothing to do with the quarrel, was a very savage one. His hand in a moment sought his kris; but on my saying, in a very quiet tone, “Don’t draw your kris on me,” he dropped his intention at once, and although his followers drew their weapons and urged him to the attack, he began to explain to me the[320] reason of his coming with that force at his back. I knew if I could check the rush for five minutes, things would be safe, as by that time some friends, who were staying at the house, would be down with all my armed followers; and so it proved. But the insolence of the Chinese was effectually checked by this demonstration, and I had no further trouble with them, as they thought I might not always be there to stand between them and death.

This is but a meagre account of the results of that extensive Chinese intercourse with the northern portion of Borneo, which was carried on for so many hundred years; but in a country so uncivilized there are no antiquities; and although the tradition exists among the people that formerly numerous immigrants arrived and settled, still they can relate few facts concerning them. There can be little doubt, judging from the character of the two people, that the nobles would endeavour to squeeze out of the foreign planters as much as possible; that they would fine them heavily for very slight faults, till they would drive the Chinese to resistance, and insurrections would as surely follow among a people who always unite against other races. They are no match for the Malays and Dayaks in wild warfare; and it is only their organization which enables them to offer any resistance to the desultory attacks of their enemies.

It has been said that in the great insurrection of the Chinese the Muruts joined them, and that the Borneans were compelled to seek the assistance of the Sulus to repress it, but I did not hear any[321] mention of the latter statement, and it appears improbable. Internal dissention is the more likely cause of the failure of the attempt to throw off the yoke of the Malays, the Muruts being bribed to leave their allies. At all events, the Bisaya tribes were engaged in its suppression, as the grandfather of the orang kaya of Blimbing assisted in taking the fort at the entrance of the Madalam river. The Chinese insurgents, driven from the lower country, attempted to make a stand on a rounded hill there, but lost their fort, either by a panic or by treachery, my informant did not appear certain which.

Between Brunei and Sarawak the Chinese do not appear to have established themselves; but to the latter country the gold-workers of Sambas occasionally sent parties of men to try the soil, as auriferous ore was reported to be plentiful. But during the distractions consequent on the civil war, they found it impossible to pursue their peaceful industry, and those who were successful in obtaining gold were exposed to the attacks of lawless Malays.

One man, who is now a very respected member of society, a haji of mark, who has for the last twenty years conducted himself in the most exemplary manner, was once tempted to commit a crime by the report that a party of Chinese was returning to Sambas with sixty ounces of gold. He and a few of his relations waylaid the travellers, and, surprising them in the dark forest, murdered them and obtained the treasure.

This naturally aroused the anger of their countrymen, and an expedition was fitted out at Sambas to revenge the deed. They marched into the Sarawak[322] territory, and advanced nearly as far as the town of Siniawan, then occupied by Malays, but found a strong stockade built across the path. The Chinese numbered about seven hundred men, while their opponents were at first scarcely twenty, but protected by their position and numerous guns. Confident in their numbers, the assailants rushed to the attack, almost reaching the foot of the defences, but receiving a severe fire from the guns in position, loaded with nails, bits of old iron and shot, they were beaten back. The Malays acknowledge the Chinese kept up the attacks all day; but, after their first repulse, they principally confined themselves to a distant fire, though they occasionally made attempts to turn the position, but were repulsed by the ever-increasing numbers of the Malays.

Towards evening the Chinese withdrew to the banks of the river, and made preparations to pass the night; while the Malays, who had been reinforced by many of their friends, determined to try the effect of a surprise. They were commanded by the gallant patinggi Ali, whose exploits and death are recorded in the Voyage of the Dido; and just at sunset they started in their light boats with a gun in each, and pulled with an almost silent stroke towards the Chinese encampment, where they found their enemies cooking rice, smoking opium, or shouting or talking, in fact, making so great a noise as to prevent the possibility of hearing the sound of paddles, cautiously pulled.

When all were ready, patinggi Ali gave the signal to fire, and the next moment they yelled and sprang ashore. The startled Chinese fled, and were pursued[323] relentlessly by the Dayaks, who had come down from the hills to share in the struggle. It is said half the invading force was destroyed, and that the old, dried skulls I had noticed in the Dayak villages were the trophies of the fight.

Being thus exposed to every kind of ill-treatment, it is not surprising that the Chinese did not care to settle in the country; but, after Sir James Brooke was established in Sarawak, they began to increase in numbers, though always inclined to be troublesome. When I arrived, in the year 1848, it was considered there were about six hundred living there, mostly engaged in gold-working, and even these were much inclined to have an imperium in imperio, though too weak to carry out their views. They had formed themselves into an association called the Santei Kiu kunsi, or company.

I must notice that these Chinese are not the pure emigrants from China, but the half-breeds, descendants of the early settlers, who obtained Malay and Dayak wives, and are more warlike in their habits than the pure Chinese, and many have much of the activity of the aborigines. Settled in Sambas before the arrival of the Europeans in those seas, they gradually formed self-governing communities among the weak Malay States around, and by intermarriage with the women of the Dayak tribes in their neighbourhood, formed both political and social alliances with them.

It was not to be expected that this state of things could long exist without serious disputes arising with the Malay chiefs; however, they generally managed[324] to prevent a total estrangement; but when backed by the Dutch officials, the Sultan of Sambas endeavoured to coerce them into submission, the Chinese gold-working communities refused to obey, attacked the small force sent against them, captured the forts, and drove the Dutch troops to their steamers, and left in their possession little more than the town of Sambas. This, of course, roused the officials, and a strong expedition was sent from Java, which within a year subdued the refractory Chinese, who, in fact, submitted with very little opposition. But during their success they managed to give Sarawak a considerable lift.

At the mouth of the Sambas river there is a place called Pamañgkat, where several thousand Chinese agriculturists were engaged in raising fine crops of rice. These men had not joined their countrymen in their resistance to the Sambas Government, and were therefore marked out for punishment during their brief success. In their alarm, the Pamañgkat Chinese fled to Sarawak, arriving in great numbers during the year 1850, whilst I was absent with Sir James Brooke on his mission to Siam; some came by sea, others fled overland to Lundu and to the interior.

I found on my return in October, after nearly a year’s absence, that a great change had taken place in the appearance of the town of Kuching: dozens of fresh houses were built and building, while the surrounding forest was falling rapidly before the axes of the fugitives. Many of them had arrived destitute of all property, and I learnt that three hundred and ten families were entirely supported by the food and[325] money furnished by the Sarawak government, besides hundreds of others having received presents of tools and temporary assistance. It was calculated at the time that about three thousand had arrived, many of whom immediately joined the gold-workers in the interior. We found also that the mission school had received a great addition in the form of about twenty remarkably intelligent-looking little boys and girls, whose destitute parents had gladly handed them over to the care of the clergy.

Sir James Brooke, hearing that there was much confusion in the interior, from the numerous freshly-arrived Chinese, and from the Dayaks being alarmed by this sudden influx into their neighbourhood, started with a party to visit it. We soon reached Siniawan, the little Chinese trading town I have previously described, which was but now advancing to importance. We continued our course up the river to Tundong, where there is a ghàt used by the gold-working company to land their supplies. Nearly all the gold that is worked in Borneo is done by kunsis, or companies, which sometimes numbered several thousand men; in fact, they say that at Montrado nearly the whole of its Chinese population and that of the neighbourhood, estimated at 50,000 men, were included in one kunsi. Generally, however, they consisted, as at Sarawak, of a few hundred members, though they might still be in connexion with the parent company. The great influx of Chinese had now, however, swelled the Santei Kiu kunsi to inconvenient dimensions.

At Tundong we found a few store-houses and a very tolerable path leading over to Bau, the principal[326] Chinese settlement. The views on either side of us, as we advanced, were sometimes exceedingly picturesque; for, as we reached the summits of low hills, a fine undulating country was spread out beneath us. The path led through shady forests, then open Dayak clearings, along the sides of hills, and over pretty streams spanned by very primitive bridges.

As we approached the town of Bau we met a band of Chinese musicians who had come forth to greet us, and gun after gun was discharged in honour of the rajah’s visit. Our procession was a very motley one, half a dozen Englishmen, followed by a long line of Malays, Chinese, and Dayaks, marching in Indian procession, some carrying spears, others muskets, or flags.

At last we reached the kunsi’s house, prettily situated in the valley of Bau, which was on two sides flanked by black-looking perpendicular hills. The house itself was a substantial one, built of ironwood posts and good planks, and roofed with excellent ironwood shingles.

I will describe one of their gold-workings. They dammed up the end of the valley at the back of the kunsi’s house, thus forming a large reservoir of water, perhaps a quarter of a mile in length. The dam was very neatly constructed, being completely faced with wood towards the water, and partially on the outside, to enable it to resist the very heavy rains which fall in this country. A ditch, about four feet broad, was cut from the reservoir towards the ground which the overlooker of the company had selected as a spot likely to produce a good yield of gold, and a well-made sluice-gate was constructed in the dam to supply the[327] ditch with as much water as might be required; minor sluice-gates to the main ditch enabled the smaller ones also to receive supplies of water. When this was all prepared, the sluice-gates were opened, and the earth in its neighbourhood thrown into the ditch, and the rushing water carried off the mud and sand and allowed the particles of gold to sink to the bottom. After three or four months they cleaned out the ditch and carefully washed the residue, which generally yielded them sufficient to make a tolerable division among the workmen after all the expenses had been paid.

It is a very wasteful system of working gold; in fact, when we were there, all the women and girls, lately arrived from Sambas, had the privilege given them of washing the earth which had been swept away by the rushing water, and I believe they obtained as much in proportion to the number working as was divided among the men, who had had all the labour of constructing these extensive works. No one has yet taught them deep sinking; in fact, it is to be regretted that none of their countrymen accustomed to the method of procuring this precious metal in our Australian colonies have yet visited Sarawak.

That there is an abundance of gold to be found there I verily believe, and, as an instance, I may notice that in November, 1848, a great landslip took place, and the face of the Trian mountain was laid bare. Some Malays, observing small pieces of gold mixed with the clay, began a strict search, and having great success, the news soon spread, and several thousand people flocked to the spot, where they worked[328] till the heap of earth and stone was cleared away. All had fair success, and we heard of none who got less than an ounce and a half per month. The work lasted above six weeks. I saw one nugget picked up, which weighed about seven ounces.

The influx of the Pamangkat Chinese gave great impetus to the search for the auriferous ore, and new reservoirs, dams, and ditches, were appearing in every direction; but yet the new-comers, being only accustomed to agriculture, did not take very kindly to gold digging. Sir James Brooke was anxious to remove a large body to some district which they could cultivate; but they were too poor to be able to support themselves while waiting for their crops. The gold company was not willing to part with these people, and promised them every assistance if they would stay at Bau.

Nearly all the early efforts to assist these immigrants in developing the agricultural resources of the country had but little success. They commenced rice farms at Si Jinkat on the Muaratabas, and also at the foot of the Santubong hill; but though they were supplied with food and tools by the Sarawak government, they abandoned both attempts, and scattered themselves either among the gold-workers in the interior, or removed to the district of Lundu, where, as I have already mentioned, they made beautiful gardens. It was a matter of regret that they should have abandoned Santubong, as the soil is of a very fine description. I believe the non-success, however, arose from defective management and inefficient superintendence.

Everything appeared to go on very quietly till January[329] 1852, when a fortnight’s continued rain rather injured their reservoirs, and laid the country under water. Such a flood, they say, never before or since came upon them. At Kuching it was necessary in the Chinese town to move from house to house in boats. At Siniawan it rose to so great a height that the inhabitants had to abandon their houses, and an unfortunate Chinese, seeking safety in his garret, was drowned, being unable to force his way through the roof; and up the country we saw afterwards the dried grass left by the stream at least forty feet above the usual level of the river.

In 1853, the gold company gave the government considerable trouble, and had to be curbed by a great display of armed force; but they submitted without any necessity of proceeding to extremities. The case was this: the government had issued an order to the company that they should not make any fresh reservoirs or gold-workings among the Dayak lands without obtaining permission from the authorities, as on several occasions quarrels had arisen between them and the neighbouring tribes, on account of their taking possession of the best farming ground in the country.

The Pamangkat Chinese were never quite satisfied with their position as gold-workers, and constantly made applications to the government for assistance in order to recommence their old style of living as rice cultivators. At last they fixed on a good spot, and food and rice were supplied to several hundreds. This well-managed movement might have been increased to any extent, as all the late immigrants preferred a quiet rural life; and by the commencement[330] of 1856 nearly five hundred were established at a place called Sungei Tañgah, about six miles above the town.

I may observe that during the four previous years the Dutch had kept the Chinese within the boundary of their settlements in very strict order; but, in 1856, some dispute taking place, a Dutch officer and a party of troops were cut off by the workmen of the Lumar kunsi, one of the large gold companies, about three hundred of whom escaped over the borders into the Sarawak territories, while the rest were captured, and many suffered condign punishment for their crime.

I will notice here a regulation which obtains in the Dutch territories of Sambas and the other border states, which is so illiberal that I can scarcely believe it to be authorized by any of the superior authorities, but must be the work of a very narrow-minded local official. No Chinese, whether man, woman, or child, can leave the Dutch territories without first paying a fine of 6l.; so that as very few workmen can save that amount they are practically condemned to remain there all their lives, unless they can evade the blockade kept upon them, thus running the risk of the cat-o’nine-tails, a fine, and imprisonment. The reason for this regulation is that no Chinese in Borneo would willingly remain under Dutch rule who could possibly escape from it; and if liberty were given to them to leave the country, nearly every man would abandon it. Therefore, gunboats watch the coast, and on the frontiers soldiers, Malays, and Dayaks, are ordered to stop any Chinese who may attempt to escape from the Dutch territories.

In the spring of 1856, I made a tour through the Chinese settlements established in Sarawak, commencing with the rice plantations and vegetable gardens established at Sungei Tañgah. I have never seen in Borneo anything more pleasing to my eye than the extensive cultivated fields which spread out around the scattered Chinese houses, each closely surrounded by beds of esculent plants growing in a most luxuriant manner.

Every day appeared to be adding to the area of cultivation; because, as the agriculturists became more wealthy, they invited the poorer gold-workers to join them, and were thus enabled to employ many labourers. Already the effect of this increase of produce was perceptible on prices, so that vegetables, fowls, and ducks, were beginning to be bought at reasonable rates. On the other side, the right-hand bank of the river, near the little mount of Stapok, about forty Chinese had commenced gardens without any assistance from Government, and appeared to be very prosperous. To this spot a road had been cut through the forest from the town, which afterwards became memorable in Sarawak annals. Altogether, as I have before observed, there were about five hundred people assembled here engaged in a war against the jungle.

Continuing our course towards the interior, we met with no Chinese houses until we reached the village of Siniawan, at that time governed by the guns of the little fort of Biledah, admirably situated on a high point jutting into the river, and on the same spot where the Sarawak Malays during the civil[332] wars had their strongest stockade. The town was remarkably flourishing, and we here heard a confirmation of the reports that a great many Chinese were arriving from Sambas. As we were anxious to be thoroughly acquainted with the actual condition of the gold-working population, we determined to walk across from Siniawan to the head-quarters of the gold company at Bau. The paths were in very good condition, quite suited for riding over, except when we reached the bridges thrown across the deep gullies which intersect the country.

From Siniawan all the way to Bau, a distance of ten miles, there was a constant succession of reservoirs and gold-workings; and judging from the new houses springing up in every direction, we felt sure the population was increasing. About a third of the way along the road, a branch path led to a place called by the Chinese “Shaksan,” where there was an excellent hot spring, over which Mr. Ruppell had built a little house. We diverged to this spot to indulge in the unusual sensation of a hot bath, and found the temperature of the water so warm that it was almost unbearable; but for any one suffering from rheumatism it would be excellent. We noticed in the neighbourhood many limestone rocks water-worn into fantastic shapes, exactly similar to those I subsequently observed near the base of the mountain of Molu.

There are near the main path some large reservoirs in which very fine fish are found, and the road being led along the banks, or over the broad dams, it was very picturesque, particularly near the[333] limestone hills of Piat, where we found a large party of Malays seeking gold in the quartz which lines the crevices and the caves of these hills. A very pretty specimen was shown us with the particles of gold sparkling as if imbedded in crystal.

As it was my companion’s duty to inspect all the stations, we diverged to the right to visit the antimony mines of Busu. We found there upwards of fifty Chinese apparently working at the rock on the steep face of a hill, burrowing here and there in the limestone. The rocks were very much like those of the mountain of Molu, and climbing over their sharp surface into little out-of-the-way corners, we found two or three Chinese scattered here and there, picking out lumps of antimony from the crevices of the limestone, or perfectly imbedded in it, and requiring much labour to procure.

These are not really mines—no vein is found, but merely lumps of ore scattered in every direction.

Just at the foot of the hill in the forest we came upon two Malays who had just discovered a lump of antimony weighing several tons which was but a few feet below the surface, and having cleared away the superincumbent earth, were now covering it over with dry wood, in order to split the metal, by first raising the temperature by fire, and then suddenly reducing it by water.

Near Bau the reservoirs increased in number and extent, while the population became more numerous, and as at each Chinese house there were several ferocious dogs kept, it was necessary to be perpetually on one’s guard. The town of Bau was much more[334] extensive than I could have supposed; I counted above one hundred shops, and there were many houses besides.

Our attention was particularly drawn to one long, enclosed shed, filled with Chinese, who evidently, from their appearance and conduct, were strangers. On arriving at the gold company’s house, we made inquiries respecting these late arrivals, and the principal people positively denied any had reached Bau, which was evidently untrue. These kunsis are regular republics, governed by officers selected by the multitude: a common workman may suddenly be elevated to be their leader. They generally choose well, and look chiefly to the business character of the man put up for their selection.

Though, perhaps, gold-working pays on the whole more than other labour, the men are kept so very hard at work that the ranks are not easily filled; yet they are allowed five meals a day, with as much rice as they can eat, a good supply of salt fish and pork, and tea always ready. At their meals the Chinese are very fond of drinking their weak arrack, or samshu, raw, but as nearly approaching a boiling state as the lips can endure.

Our tour then led us to the neighbourhood of the antimony mines of Bidi, where the Bornean company are at present working that metal with success.

The country here is very picturesque: fine open valleys bordered by almost perpendicular limestone hills, and with an admirable soil. Occasionally the whole length of a precipice is undermined, forming extensive open caves, with huge stalactites hanging[335] down at the extreme edge, giving a beautiful yet fantastic appearance to these natural dwellings.

We spent a night at a village of the Sau Dayaks, whose long dwelling was built on a steep hill on the banks of the Sarawak river; and from thence on nearly to the borders of the Sarawak territory, was an admirable path constructed by the Chinese to facilitate their intercourse with Sambas, but unfortunately for travellers, they had not completed it to Bau.

A four hours’ walk brought us to the last Chinese station, which was evidently more intended as a resting place for wayfarers than because its inhabitants were actually much engaged in gold-working there. We ascended the hills to the village of the Gombang Dayaks, and heard that a continual stream of small parties of Chinese was constantly passing within sight of their village. So there was little doubt that the Chinese population was increasing.

From all the inquiries we made as to the numbers engaged directly and indirectly in gold-working, we considered there were nearly three thousand living between the town of Siniawan and the border. There were about five hundred agriculturists in Suñgei Tuñgah and its neighbourhood, and perhaps eight hundred in the town of Kuching, the sago manufactories, and the surrounding gardens; but these were soon after recruited by the three hundred fugitives from Sambas, to whom I have before referred; so that the Chinese population of Sarawak amounted to above four thousand five hundred before they rose in insurrection, and while seeking to overthrow the government, ruined themselves.

Secret Societies—Extensive Intercourse—Smuggling—The Gold Company fined—Punishment of three of its Members—Arrogance of the Kunsi—A Police Case—Real Causes of the Insurrection—An Emissary from the Tien Ti Secret Society—Reported Encouragement given by the Sultan of Sambas—Sambas Nobles speak Chinese—Their Nurses—The Nobles conspiring—An Emissary arrives in Brunei—Proposal—Knowledge of the intended Insurrection—Proposed Attack on the Consulate—The Tumanggong’s Threat—The Emissary before the Court—Letter from the Tien Ti Hué—Rumours of intended Insurrection—Preparations and Inquiries—Commencement of the Revolt—Useless Warnings—Surprise of the Government House—Danger of the Rajah—Cowardice of the Chinese—Escape—Swims the River—Death of Mr. Nicholets—Attacks on the other Houses—On the Stockade—Gallant Conduct of Mr. Crymble and the Malay Fortmen—Warm Reception of the Rebels—Death of a Madman—A Brave Corporal—Escape of Mr. Crymble—His last Blow—Fortmen again behave well—Confusion in the Town—Peaceful Assurances—Attempt to organize a Defence—Panic-stricken—Departure—Conduct of the People—Next Morning—Killed and Wounded—The Chinese in Power—The Court House—A Check to Joy—Oath of Fidelity—Courage shown by Abang Fatah—A Blow struck—Second Descent of the Chinese—A Boat Action—Gallant Attack—Deaths—Anecdote—The Second Retreat—The Town in Flames—The Steamer—The Capital recovered—Pursuit of the Chinese—They retire to the Interior—Attacks of the Land Dayaks—Foray of the Chinese—Their Fort taken by the Datu Bandhar—Pursuit—Disorderly Retreat—Critical Position—Brave Girls—Pass the Frontier—The Men of the Kunsi—A Quarrel—Stripped of Plunder—Results of the Insurrection—Forces at the Disposal of the[337] Sarawak Government—Conduct of the People—Disastrous to the Chinese—New System—Arrival of armed Chinese from Sambas—Dutch and English Assistance—Revisit Sarawak—Change—Conduct of the Rajah—Its Effect on the People—Secret Society at Labuan—Dangers from the Secret Societies and their Defenders—Curious Incident—Thoughtful Care of the Rajah.

I shall endeavour to tell the story of the Chinese insurrection which suddenly broke out in Sarawak in the year 1857, as it appears to me to be fraught with instruction to us, and if carefully studied, may be of infinite service to those who have to govern colonies where the Chinese form a considerable portion of the population.

For many years the Chinese had attempted to form secret societies in Sarawak; but every effort was made to check their spread among the people, and it appeared as if success had attended that policy. To a considerable extent it was the case: but up in the interior, among the gold workers, the kunsi or company stood in the place of a secret society, and its members carried on an extensive intercourse with their fellow-countrymen in Sambas and Pontianak, and with the Tien Ti secret society in Singapore. I have described in the last chapter a tour which Mr. Fox and I made among the settlements of the Chinese in the interior of Sarawak, during which we became convinced that smuggling was carried on to a great extent, for, however numerous might be the new immigrants, the opium revenue did not increase.

At last it was discovered that opium was sent from Singapore to the Natuna islands, and from thence smuggled into Sarawak and the Dutch territories; it[338] was traced to the kunsi, which was thereupon fined 150l.: a very trifling amount, considering the thousands they had gained by defrauding the revenue, and measures were immediately taken to suppress the traffic, which, together with the punishment of three of its members for a gross assault on another Chinese, were the only grounds of complaint they had against the Sarawak government.

To show their arrogance, I will enter into the details of this case. A Chinese woman ran away from her husband, a member of the kunsi, who followed her to Kuching, and obtained an order from the police magistrate that she should return with him, but on her refusal, she was ordered to remain within the stockade. As the case was peculiar, she was not confined to a cell, but suffered to move about in the inner court; and some of her friends supplying her with men’s clothes, she managed to slip out unperceived by the sentry, and obtained a passage on board a Chinese boat bound for one of the villages on the coast. Her husband hearing of the place to which she had removed, followed her with a strong party of the members of the kunsi, and recovered her. Not satisfied with this, they seized all the boatmen, and flogged them in the most unmerciful manner, and then placed them in irons. When let go, they of course brought their complaint before the police magistrate, and three of the party were punished for taking the law into their own hands.

These trivial cases were not the real cause of the insurrection, as the Chinese before that date were greatly excited by the news that the English had[339] retired from before Canton; and it was of course added, we had been utterly defeated, and their preparations were made before the smuggling was discovered, or the members of their company punished. The secret societies were everywhere in great excitement, and the Tien Ti sent an emissary over from Malacca and Singapore, to excite the gold workers to rebellion, and used the subtle, but false argument, that not only were the English crushed before Canton, but that the British Government were so discontented with Sir James Brooke, that they would not interfere if the kunsi only destroyed him and his officers, and did not meddle with the other Europeans, or obstruct the trade.

It is also currently reported that the Sambas sultan and his nobles offered every encouragement to the undertaking, and the Chinese listened much to their advice, as these nobles can speak to them in their own language, and are imbued greatly with Chinese ideas. To explain this state of things, I may mention that they are always nursed by girls chosen from among the healthiest of the daughters of the gold workers; and I may add, that about that time there was a very active intercourse carried on between the Malay nobles of Sambas and Makota, and that the latter was constantly closeted with an emissary of the Tien Ti Hué, or secret society, to whom I am about to refer. It behoves the Dutch authorities to look well to the proceedings of the native governments within their own territories, as there is very great discontent, and there is not the slightest doubt that the nobles are conspiring.

To show that it is not a mere imagination that the Tien Ti secret society sent emissaries around at that time, I may state that on the 14th of February, four days before the insurrection, a Chinese named Achang, who had arrived in Brunei from Singapore a few days previously, and had the year before been expelled from Sarawak for joining that Hué, came to my house to try and induce my four Chinese servants to enter it; and added as a sufficient reason that the kunsi of Sarawak would by that time have killed all the white men in that country. He also said that he was very successful in enlisting members among the sago washers and other labourers in the capital, and that they had made up their minds to attack my house, and destroy me within a few weeks, and if my servants did not join the society they would share my fate.

I did not believe what was said about Sarawak, and any warning of mine would not have reached there for a month, but I did not altogether neglect this information, which was secretly given me by my butler, a Chinese, who had lived several years in England, and whose death by cholera in 1859 I much regretted; but sent to the sultan and ministers intimation of what I had heard, and the stern remark of the tumanggong, that if such an attack were made, not a Chinese should, by the following night, be left alive in the whole country, effectually curbed them. This Achang, though a very quarrelsome fellow, had soon a case of just complaint against a British subject, which he brought before my court; when it was over, I asked him how he would have obtained a[341] settlement of his claims, if his intention to murder me had been carried out. I never saw a man’s countenance change more, and thinking he was about to fall on the ground, and to clasp my knees, either to beg for pardon, or, what is more probable, to entreat that I would not believe the story, I told my writer to lead him out of the court.

At Bau the letter from the Tien Ti Hué was shown to nakodah Jeludin by the writers of the kunsi, whilst he was detained a prisoner there, and this was not invented by him as a startling incident, but mentioned casually in the course of conversation; this Malay afterwards died fighting bravely in the last charge to break the ranks of the Chinese.

During the month of November, 1856, rumours were abroad that the Chinese gold company intended to surprise the stockades, which constituted the only defences of the town of Kuching, and which, as no enemy was suspected to exist in the country, were seldom guarded by above four men each; but Mr. Crookshank, who was then administering the government, took the precaution to man them with an efficient garrison, as it was said that during one of their periodical religious feasts, several hundred men were to collect quietly, and make a rush for the defences which contained the arsenal. On Sir James Brooke’s return, however, strict inquiries were instituted, but nothing could be discovered to implicate the gold company in a plot, and it appeared unlikely they would attempt it during the absence of the ruler who could have so soon revenged it.

On the 18th of February, the chiefs of the gold company[342] assembled about 600 of their workmen at Bau, and placing all the available weapons in their hands, marched them down to their chief landing-place at Tundong, where a squadron of their large cargo boats was assembled. It is generally reported that, until they actually began to descend the stream, none but the heads of the movement knew the object, the men having been informed that they were to attack a Dayak village in Sambas, where some of their countrymen had lately been killed.

During their slow passage down the river, a Malay who was accustomed to trade with them, overtook them in a canoe, and actually induced them to permit him to pass, under the plea that his wife and children lived at a place called Batu Kawa, eight miles above the town, and would be frightened if they heard so many men passing, and he not there to reassure them; he pulled down as fast as he could till he reached the town of Kuching, and going straight to his relative, a Malay trader of the name of Gapur, who was a trustworthy and brave man, told him the story, but he said, “Don’t go and tell the chiefs or the rajah such a tissue of absurdities;” yet he went himself over to the bandhar and informed him; but the datu’s answer was, “The rajah is unwell, we have heard similar reports for the last twenty years; don’t go and bother him about it; I will tell him what your relative says in the morning.” This great security was caused by the universal belief that the Chinese could not commit so great a folly as to attempt to seize the government of the country, as they did not number above 4,000, while, at that time,[343] the Malays and Dayaks, within the Sarawak territories, amounted to 200,000.

But at midnight the squadron of Chinese boats pulled silently through the town, and dividing into two bodies, the smaller number entered Suñgei Bedil, the little stream above the government house, while the larger continued its course to the landing-place of the fort, to endeavour to surprise the houses of Mr. Crookshank, the police magistrate, and Mr. Middleton, the constable, while a large party was told off to attack the stockades. The government house was situated on a little grassy hill, surrounded by small, but pretty cottages, in which visitors were lodged. The Chinese landing on the banks of the stream just above a house in which I used to reside, marched to the attack in a body of about a hundred, and passing by an upper cottage, made an assault on the front and back of the long government house, the sole inhabitants of which were the rajah and a European servant. They did not surround the house, as their trembling hearts made them fear to separate into small bodies, because the opinion was rife among them that the rajah was a man brave, active, skilled in the use of weapons, and not to be overcome except by means of numbers.

Roused from his slumbers by the unusual sounds of shouts and yells at midnight, the rajah looked out of the venetian windows, and immediately conjectured what had occurred: several times he raised his revolver to fire in among them, but convinced that alone he could not defend the house, he determined to effect his escape. He supposed that men engaged in so desperate an affair would naturally[344] take every precaution to insure its success, and concluded that bodies of the insurgents were silently watching the ends of the house; so summoning his servant, he led the way down to a bath-room, which communicated with the lawn, and telling him to open the door quickly, and then follow closely, the rajah sprang forth with sword drawn, and pistol cocked, but found the coast clear. Had there been twenty Chinese there, he would have passed through them, as his quickness and practical skill in the use of weapons are not, I believe, to be surpassed. Reaching the banks of the stream above his house, he found the Chinese boats there, but diving under the bows of one, he reached the opposite shore unperceived, and as he was then suffering from an attack of fever and ague, fell utterly exhausted, and lay for some time on the muddy bank, till slightly recovering he was enabled to reach the government writer’s house. An amiable and promising young officer, Mr. Nicholets, who had but just arrived from an out-station on a visit, and lodged in the upper cottage, was startled by the sound of the attack, and rushing forth to reach the chief house, was slain by the Chinese; while Mr. Steel, who was there likewise on a visit, and Sir James’s servant, escaped to the jungle.

The other attacks took place nearly simultaneously, Mr. and Mrs. Crookshank rushing forth, on hearing this midnight alarm, were cut down, the latter left for dead, the former severely wounded. The constable’s house was attacked, but he and his wife escaped, while their two children and an English lodger were killed by the insurgents.

The forts, however, were not surprised; the Chinese, waiting for the signal of attack on the houses, were perceived by the sentinel, and he immediately aroused Mr. Crymble, who resided in the stockade, which contained the arsenal and the prison. He endeavoured to make some preparations for defence, although he had but four Malays with him. He had scarcely time, however, to load a six-pounder field-piece, and get his own rifle ready, before the Chinese, with loud shouts, rushed to the assault. They were led by a man bearing in either hand a flaming torch. Mr. Crymble waited till they were within forty yards; he then fired and killed the man, who, by the light he bore, made himself conspicuous, and before the crowd recovered from the confusion in which they were thrown by the fall of their leader, discharged among them the six-pounder loaded with grape, which made the assailants retire behind the neighbouring houses or hide in the outer ditches. But with four men little could be done, and some of the rebels having quietly crossed the inner ditch, commenced removing the planks which constituted the only defence. To add to the difficulty, they threw over into the inner court little iron tripods, with flaming torches attached, which rendered it as light as day, while all around was shrouded in darkness.

To increase the number of defenders, Mr. Crymble released two Malay prisoners, one a madman, who had killed his wife, the other a debtor. The latter quickly disappeared, while the former, regardless of the shot flying around, stood to the post assigned him, opposite a plank which the Chinese were trying[346] to remove; he had orders to fire his carbine at the first person who appeared, and when, the plank giving way, a man attempted to force his body through, he pulled the trigger without lowering the muzzle of his carbine and sent the ball through his own brains. Mr. Crymble now found it useless to prolong the struggle, as one of his four men was killed, and another, a brave Malay corporal, was shot down at his side. The wounded man begged Mr. Crymble to fly and leave him there, but asked him to shake hands with him first, and tell him whether he had not done his duty; but the Englishman seized him by the arm and attempted to drag him up the stairs leading to the dwelling-house over the gate, but the Chinese had already gained the court-yard, and pursuing drove their spears through the wounded man, and Mr. Crymble was forced to let go his hold, and with a brave follower, Duud, swung himself down into the ditch below. Some of the rebels seeing their attempted escape, tried to stop Mr. Crymble, and a man stabbed at him, but only glanced his thick frieze coat, and received in return a cut across the face from the Englishman’s cutlass, which, if he be still alive, will be a remembrance to carry to the grave.

The other stockade, though it had but a corporal’s watch of three Malays, did not surrender, until finding that every other place was in the hands of the Chinese, the brave defenders opened the gates, and charging the crowd of rebels, sword in hand, made their escape, though they were all severely wounded in the attempt.

The confusion which reigned throughout the rest[347] of the town may be imagined, as startled by the shouts and yells of the Chinese the inhabitants rushed to the doors and windows, and beheld night turned into day by the bright flames that rose in three directions, where the extensive European houses were burning at the same time.

It was at first very naturally thought that the Chinese contemplated a general massacre of the Europeans, but messengers were soon despatched to them by the kunsi, to say that nothing was further from their intention than to interfere with those who were unconnected with the Government.

The rajah had as soon as possible proceeded to the datu bandhar’s house, and being quickly joined by his English officers, endeavoured to organize a force to surprise the victorious Chinese, but it was impossible; no sooner did he collect a few men, than their wives and children surrounded them, and refused to be left, and being without proper arms or ammunition, it was but a panic-stricken mob; so he instantly took his determination, with that decision which has been the foundation of his success, and giving up the idea of an immediate attack, advised the removal of the women and children to the left-hand bank of the river, where they would be safe from a land attack of the Chinese, who could now make their way along the right-hand bank by a road at the back of the town.

This removal was accomplished by the morning, when the party of English under the rajah walked over to the little river of Siol, which falls into the Santubong branch of the Sarawak, where obtaining[348] canoes, they started for the Samarahan river, intending to proceed to the Batang Lupar to organize an expedition from the well-supplied forts there. At the mouth of the Siol, the rajah found the war boat of abang Buyong with sixty men waiting for him, which was soon joined by six others, though smaller; as no sooner did the Malays of the neighbouring villages hear that the rajah was at Siol, than they began flocking to him. He now started for the Samarahan, and rested at the little village of Sabang, and to the honour of the Malay character, I must add that during the height of his power and prosperity, never did he receive so much sympathy, tender attention, and delicate generosity, as now when a defeated fugitive. They vied with each other, as to who should supply him and his party with clothes and food, since they had lost all, and if to know that he was enshrined in the hearts of the people was any consolation to him in his misfortunes, he had ample proofs of it then.

When morning broke in Kuching, there was a scene of the wildest confusion; the 600 rebels, joined by the vagabonds of the town, half stupefied with opium, were wandering about discharging their muskets loaded with ball cartridge in every direction; but at eight o’clock the chiefs of the gold company sent a message to the bishop of Labuan, requesting him to come down and attend the wounded. He did so, and found thirty-two stretched out, the principal being from gun-shot wounds; but among them he noticed one with a gash across his face from the last blow Mr. Crymble had struck at the rebels, and before his arrival they had buried five of their companions.

It was evident that in the intoxication of victory the Chinese aimed now, if not before, at the complete government of the country, and summoned the bishop of Labuan, Mr. Helms, Mr. Ruppell, and the datu bandhar to appear at the court-house; the English were obliged to attend the summons, and the last came with great reluctance, and contrary to the advice of his energetic brother, but it was thought expedient to gain time.

The Chinese chiefs even in their most extravagant moments of exultation, were in great fear that on their return the Malays might attack their crowded boats, and destroy them, as on the water they felt their great inferiority to their maritime enemies.

It must have been an offensive sight to the English and the Malays to witness the arrangement of the court-house: in the rajah’s seat sat the chief of the kunsi, supported on either side by the writers or secretaries, while the now apparently subdued sections took their places on the side benches. The Chinese chief issued his orders, which were that Mr. Helms and Mr. Ruppell should undertake to rule the foreign portion of the town, and that the datu bandhar should manage the Malays, while the kunsi as supreme rulers should superintend the whole, and govern the up country.

Everything now appeared to be arranged, when it was suggested that perhaps Mr. Johnson might not quite approve of the conduct of the Chinese in murdering his uncle and his friends; for the rajah at that moment was supposed to be dead, and the head of Mr. Nicholets was shown as the proof.[350] At the mention of Mr. Johnson’s name there was a pause, a blankness came over all their faces, and they looked at each other, as they now remembered apparently for the first time that he, the rajah’s nephew, was the governor of the Sea Dayaks, and could let loose at least 10,000 wild warriors upon them. At last it was suggested, after an animated discussion, that a letter should be sent to him, requesting him to confine himself to his own government, and then they would not attempt to interfere with him.

The Chinese were very anxious to have matters settled, as with all their boasts they did not feel quite comfortable, and were anxious to secure the plunder they had obtained. They now called upon the gentlemen and the Malay chiefs present to swear fidelity to the kunsi, and under the fear of death they were obliged to go through the Chinese formula of taking oaths by killing fowls. Next day the rebels retired up country unmolested by the Malays, and a meeting was at once held at the datu bandhar’s house to discuss future proceedings; at first no one spoke, there was a gloom over the assembly, as the mass of the population was deserting the town, carrying off their women and children to Samarahan as a place of safety, when abang Patah, son to the datu tumanggong, addressed the assembly. He was a sturdy man, with a pleasant, cheerful countenance, and a warm friend to English rule, and his first words were,—“Are we going to submit to be governed by Chinese chiefs, or are we to remain faithful to our rajah? I am a man of few words, and I say I will never be[351] governed by any but him, and to-night I commence war to the knife against his enemies.”

This was the unanimous determination of the assembly, but they were divided as to the course to be pursued. Patah, however, cut the knot of the difficulty by manning a light canoe with a dozen Malays, and proceeding at once up the river, attacked and captured a Chinese boat, killing five of its defenders. In the meantime the women and children were all removed from the town, and some boats were armed and manned, but imperfectly, as the Chinese had taken away the contents of the arsenal, and the principal portion of the crews were engaged in conveying the fugitives to Samarahan.

Patah’s bold act was well-meaning, but perhaps premature, as the Malays, being scattered, could not organize a resistance, and urgent entreaties were made to the rajah by well-meaning but injudicious friends, to return and head this movement. He complied, though he knew its futility, and arrived at Kuching to find the rest of the English flying, the town in the hands of the Chinese, and smoke rising in every direction from the burning Malay houses. It appeared when the news reached the Chinese that the Malays were preparing for resistance, they determined to return immediately and attack them before their preparations were completed. They divided their forces into two portions, as they were now recruited by several hundreds from the other gold workings, and had forced all the agriculturists at Sungei Tañgah to join them; in fact, their great cargo boats would not hold their numbers, so one-half[352] marched down the road leading from the fields I have mentioned, near the little hill of Stapok, while the rest came by river.

As soon as the Malays saw the Chinese boats rounding the point, they boldly dashed at them, forced them to the river’s banks, drove out the crews, and triumphantly captured ten of the largest. The Chinese, better armed, kept up a hot fire from the rising ground, and killed several of the best men among the Malays, among others abang Gapur, whose disbelief in his kinsman’s story enabled the rebels to surprise the town, and who to his last breath bewailed his fatal mistake; and one who was equally to be regretted, our old follower Kasim, whom I have so often mentioned in the earlier chapters. The latter lingered long enough to see the rajah again triumphant, and said he died happy in knowing it. It was he who, though a good Mahomedan, and without knowing he was a plagiarist, used to say,—“I would rather be in hell with the English, than in heaven with you, my own countrymen.” Notwithstanding their losses, the Malays towed away the boats, fortunately laden with some of the most valuable booty, and secured them to a large trading prahu anchored in the centre of the river. Having thus captured also some better arms and ammunition, they kept up a fire on their enemies who lined the banks.

In the meantime the rajah arrived opposite the Chinese quarter, and found a complete panic prevailing, and all those who had preceded him flying in every direction; having vainly endeavoured to restore[353] a little order, he returned to carry out his original intention. He joined the fugitives farther down the river, and having sent off the ladies and the wounded to the secure fort of Lingga, under the care of the bishop and as many Englishmen as he could spare, he prepared on the following day to take the same route, in order to obtain a base of operations, and a secure spot to rally the people and await a fresh supply of arms. It was sad to think of the mischief which might happen during this period of enforced inaction, particularly as the datu bandhar and a chosen band were still in Kuching anchored in the centre of the river, and making attacks whenever they saw a chance. The Chinese were dragging up heavy guns, and it was evident the Malays could not hold for many days, and there was now nothing to defend, as the flames reddened the horizon and the increasing volumes of smoke told the tale too well that the town was being destroyed.

With feelings of the most acute distress these few Englishmen, under their brave leader, put out to sea to bear away eastward; when a cry arose among the men, “Smoke, smoke, it is a steamer!” and sure enough there was a dark column rising in the air from a three-masted vessel; for a moment it was uncertain which course she was steering, but presently they distinguished her flag; it was the Sir James Brooke, the Borneo company’s steamer, standing right in for the Muaratabas entrance of the Sarawak River. The crew of the rajah’s boat with shouts gave way, and the prahu was urged along with all the power of their oars, to find the vessel anchored just within the mouth.

Here, indeed, was a base of operations; the rajah felt the country was saved. The native boats were taken in tow, and the reinforcements of Dayaks, who were already arriving, followed up with eager speed. What were the feelings of the Chinese when they saw the smoke, then the steamer, it is not necessary to conjecture; they fired one wild volley from every available gun and musket; but the balls fell harmlessly; and when the English guns opened on them, they fled panic-stricken, pursued by the rejoicing Malays and Dayaks.

Early that morning a large party of Chinese had crossed from the right to the left bank to burn the half of the town which had previously escaped; but though they succeeded in destroying the greater portion, they signed their own death warrant, as the Malays, now resuming the offensive, seized the remainder of their boats, and the relentless Dayaks pursued them through the forests. Not one of that party could have escaped; some wandered long in the forests and died of starvation, others were found hanging to the boughs of trees, preferring death by suicide to the lingering torments of hunger. All these bodies were afterwards found, and the natives said on every one of them were from five to twenty pounds sterling in cash, silver spoons or forks, or other valuables, the plunder of the English houses.

Thus was the capital recovered; the Chinese on the right bank all fled by the road, and thence retired up to the fort of Biledah, opposite the town of Siniawan. The Land Dayaks were all ready assembled under their different chiefs, and these without one exception[355] stood faithful to the government, and now rushed in every direction on the Chinese, driving them from their villages, and compelling them to assemble and defend two spots only, Siniawan and Bau, with the landing places of the latter. The smoke rising in every direction showed them that the loss they had inflicted on others was now retaliated on them. The kunsi had in their blind confidence made no preparations for an evil day, and it was well known that their stock of food was small, as everything had been destroyed except their own stores at Tundong, Bau, and a little at Siniawan, and they were required to supply all those whom they had forced to join them from the town and the whole agricultural population.

The harassing life they led must soon have worn them out without any attacks, as they could no longer pursue their ordinary occupations, or even fetch firewood or water without a strong armed party, as the Dayaks hung about their houses and infested every spot. It soon became a question of food, and they found they must either obtain it, or retire across the border into Sambas. They therefore collected all their boats and made a foray of eight miles down the river to Ledah Tanah, and there threw up a stockade, in which they placed a garrison of 250 of their picked men, under two of their most trusted leaders. They put also four guns in position to sweep the river, and these Chinese had the best of the government carbines and rifles there. They also sacked a few of the Dayak farmhouses, and one party made a bold attempt to reach the rajah’s cottage at Peninjau, to which I have[356] referred in my chapter on the Dayaks of the right-hand branch.

But the villagers of Sirambau, Bombok, and Peninjau assembled in force, threw up stockades across the steep path, and successfully defended it against the assailants, who were driven back and pursued with loss. To check the Chinese and afford assistance to the Land Dayaks, the rajah sent up the datu bandhar and a small but select force to wait his arrival below the Chinese stockade, but the gallant bandhar, on being joined by the datu tumanggong and abang Buyong, and a few Sakarang Dayaks, dashed at the fort, surprised the garrison at dinner, and carried it without the loss of a man; the Chinese threw away their arms and fled into the jungle, to be pursued by the Sakarang Dayaks; stockade, guns, stores, and boats, all were captured, and, what was of equal importance, the two principal instigators of the rebellion were killed.

As soon as a few of the fugitives reached the fort at Beledah a panic seized the Chinese, and they fled to Bau, where they made preparations to retire into Sambas. The rajah, who was hurrying up to the support of the bandhar, hearing of his success, despatched Mr. Johnson with the light division to harass the enemy, and the advance parties of his Sea Dayaks were on them immediately, but the Chinese being well provided with fire-arms were enabled to retire in tolerable order, from a few miles beyond Bau to the foot of the Gombang range, along the good path which, as I have before mentioned, they had constructed; but every now and then the active[357] Dayaks made a rush from the thick brushwood which borders the path, and spread confusion and dismay, but the Chinese had every motive to act a manly part, as they had to defend above a thousand of their women and children who encumbered their disastrous flight.

At the foot of the steep hill of Gombang they made a halt, for the usual path was found to be well stockaded, and a resolute body of Malays and Dayaks were there to dispute the way. It was a fearful position; behind them the pursuers were gathering in increasing strength, and unless they forced this passage within an hour they must all die or surrender. At last some one, it is said a Sambas Malay, suggested that there was an upper path, which, though very steep, was yet practicable; this was undefended, and the fugitives made towards it.

The Sarawak Malays and Dayaks, too late seeing their error in neglecting to fortify this also, rushed up the edge of the hill, and drove back the foremost Chinese; their danger was extreme; at that moment, as if by inspiration, all the young Chinese girls rushed to the front and encouraged the men to advance, which they again did, and cheered by the voices of these brave girls who followed them close, clapping their hands, and calling to them by name to fight bravely, they won the brow of the hill, and cleared the path of their less numerous foes. They were but just in time, as the pursuers were pressing hotly on the rearguard, and the occasional volley of musketry told them that the well-armed Malays were upon them; but they were now comparatively safe, as they soon[358] cleared the Sarawak borders, and, although a few pursued them, the main body of the Malays and Dayaks halted on the Gombang range.

The miserable fugitives, reduced to two thousand, of whom above a half were women and children, sat down among the houses of the village of Sidin, and many of them it is said wept not only for the loss of friends and goods they had suffered from the insensate ambition of the kunsi, but that they must give up all hope of ever returning to their old peaceful homes. The kunsi, which on the night of the surprise had numbered six hundred men, were now reduced to a band of about a hundred, but these kept well together, and were better armed than the others, and formed the principal guard of the Taipekong, or sacred stone, which they had through all their disasters preserved inviolate.

Several times the assailants, who mistook it for the gold chest, had nearly captured it, but on the cry being raised that the Taipekong was in peril, the men gathered round and carried it securely through all danger. But here at Sidin, all immediate apprehension being over, the discontent of those who had been forced to join the rebels burst forth without control, so that from words they soon came to blows, and the small band of the kunsi’s men was again reduced by thirty or forty from the anger of their countrymen. Continuing their disorderly retreat, they were met by the officers of the Dutch government, who very properly took from them all their plunder and arms, and being uncertain which was their own property, erred on the safe side by stripping them of everything.[359] Thus terminated the most absurd and causeless rebellion that ever occurred, which, during its continuance, displayed every phase of Chinese character: arrogance, secrecy, combination, an utter incapability of looking to the consequences of events or actions, and a belief in their own power and courage, which every event belied. The Chinese never have fought even decently, and yet till the very moment of trial comes they act as if they were invincible.

I think this insurrection shows that though the Chinese require watching, they are not in any way formidable as an enemy, and it also proves how firmly the Sarawak government is rooted in the hearts of the people, since in the darkest hour there was no whisper of infidelity. Had the Chinese been five times as numerous, there were forces in the background which would have destroyed them all. Before the Chinese had fled across the border thousands of Seribas and Sakarang Dayaks had arrived, and the people of Sadong were marching overland to attack them in rear, while the distant out stations were mustering strong forces, which arrived only to find all danger past.

I almost believe it was worth all the disaster to show how uniform kindness and generous consideration are appreciated by the Malays and Dayaks, and how firmly they may become attached to a government which, besides having their true interests at heart, encourages and requires all its officers to treat them as equals. The conduct of the Malay fortmen, of Kasim and Gapur, the generous enthusiasm of abang Fatah, and the gallant rush at the Ledah[360] Tanah stockade by the bandhar and his forces, show what the rajah has effected during his tenure of power. He has raised the character of the Malay, and turned a lawless race into some of the best conducted people in the world.

I must add that the results of the Chinese insurrection were very curious in a financial point of view; though above three thousand five hundred men were killed or driven from the country, yet the revenue rose instead of falling, which proves what an extensive system of smuggling had been carried on. The breaking up of the kunsi was felt by all the natives as a great relief; and if the Chinese were to increase to ten times their former numbers, there would not be the slightest danger if ordinary precautions were taken, and if there were stringent rules well carried out to prevent them either forming extensive companies, or proper measures pursued to crush all attempts at banding themselves into secret societies.

The Dutch authorities who formerly suffered so much from that very formidable association, the great gold kunsi of Montrado, are now free from all anxiety, as they no longer permit the Chinese to form companies more numerous than may prove sufficient to develop a single working, and the same system is at present pursued in Sarawak. It is not at all surprising that those Chinese who were forced to join in the insurrection under threats of the vengeance of the kunsi, should look back with regret to the quiet days they spent whilst cultivating the fertile soil around Stapok or Suñgei Tañgah, and should now petition for permission to return to Sarawak, which[361] they do. However, the regulation I have before mentioned as in force in the Sambas territories, prevents their leaving, as they cannot readily gather together the six pounds sterling necessary, and if they remove they like to do so in a body, but small parties of fugitives occasionally arrive. It is worthy of remark, that a few days after the insurrection, boats full of armed Chinese arrived from Sambas to inquire whether Sarawak were not now in the hands of their countrymen, and were proceeding up to join them, but were easily driven back and destroyed by the Malays, who, in a cause which they have at heart, are more than a match for treble their number of Chinese.

The Dutch authorities hearing of the rebellion in Sarawak sent round a steamer with a party of soldiers to the assistance of the authorities, but fortunately by that time all danger was passed, and as soon as possible after the receipt of the news, Sir William Hoste, who has always shown so intelligent an interest in Bornean affairs, sailed for Sarawak in H. M. S. Spartan.

The news of the insurrection reached me after a very long delay, as the first intimation I had of it was through a letter from Mr. Ruppell, dated Singapore, as he had left Sarawak after the failure of the Sunday attack, and I was kept in suspense for above a week, when a more rapid sailing-vessel brought me the news that Sir James Brooke had triumphed.

I went down to Sarawak by the first opportunity, and reached it in July, to find everything proceeding apparently as if no insurrection had occurred. Though[362] the Malay town had been burnt down, yet the inhabitants had soon recovered their energy, and had built their houses again, which, though not so substantial as the former ones, still looked very neat. Some things were missed in the landscape, and the handsome government house with its magnificent library, had disappeared; Mr. Crookshank’s and Mr. Middleton’s houses were also gone, and, with the exception of the rajah, they were the principal sufferers, as the Chinese had had no time to destroy either the church or the mission-house, or the Borneo company’s premises, and although they all suffered losses from pilferers, yet they were comparatively trivial, when placed in comparison to that noble library, which was once the pride of Sarawak.

I found, as I had expected, that the loss of worldly goods had had little effect on the ruler of the country, who was as cheerful and contented in his little comfortless cottage, as he had ever been in the government house. His health, which before was not strong, had been wonderfully improved by his great exertions to endeavour to restore the country to its former state, and I never saw him more full of bodily energy and mental vigour than during the two months I spent at Sarawak in 1857. Everybody took their tone from their leader, and there were no useless regrets over losses, and it was amusing to hear the congratulations of the Malay chiefs, “Ah, Mr. St. John, you were born under a fortunate star to leave Sarawak just before the evil days came upon us.” Then they would laughingly recount the personal incidents which had occurred to themselves, and tell[363] with great amusement the shifts they were put to for want of every household necessary. There was a cheerfulness and a hope in the future which promised well for the country.

There is at the present time a branch of the Tien Ti Hué, established in our colony of Labuan, and last August its meeting-house was discovered in the depths of the forest, but none of its members were caught unlawfully assembling, though all its chief officers are well known to the police, and as Labuan is a penal settlement for Chinese convicts, the evil of permitting the secret societies to continue is obvious.

The danger to be apprehended from the secret societies is that all the members are banded together by the most solemn oaths, and under the penalty of death, not to divulge one of its secrets, and to aid and assist its members under every circumstance; to bear no witness against them, whatever may be their crimes, to shield fugitives from the laws of the country, and lastly to carry out the orders of their chiefs, whatever may be the consequences. In Singapore murdered men were formerly often found with the mark of the secret societies upon them, and the ordinary operations of the law are insufficient to meet these cases. In fact, when any of their members are brought to trial, the wealth of these great societies is sufficient to enable them to engage the services of the best advocates, and to bribe most of the witnesses, and the Singapore government has been thwarted in its efforts to put down the secret societies, and to prevent pirate junks arming in the harbours, by the technicalities of judges totally unacquainted with the condition[364] of eastern society, and by the perseverance of some of the lawyers there, who consider it right to defend those curses to the country by every means which are placed within their reach, by laws intended to meet the requirements of a highly civilized people like the English, and not a wild gathering from a hundred different countries, such as is to be found in Singapore.

Not to interrupt the narrative, I have not before noticed that during the height of the insurrection, when the rebels had only been driven from the town a few days, news came that several hundred Chinese fugitives from the Dutch territories had crossed the borders towards the sources of the left-hand branch of the Sarawak, and were seeking the protection of the Sarawak government. Though harassed by incessant work, the rajah did not neglect their appeal, but immediately despatched trustworthy men, who safely piloted them through the excited Dayaks, who thought that every man who “wore a tail” ought now to be put to death. No incident could better illustrate the great influence possessed by the rajah over the Dayaks and Malays, and his thoughtful care of the true interests of the country, during even the most trying circumstances.

Arrival of the Roman Catholic Mission in Labuan—Signor Cuarteron its head—Curious reports—His real history—Finding the Treasure—Turns Priest—Ostensible object of the Mission—Not attempted—Ease with which Captives could escape—No Inclination to do so—Turned Mahomedans—Return of Signor Cuarteron—Courtesy of the Brunei Government—Intentions of the Italian Priest—Model Village—The Italian Priests—The Churches—Old Battery—Regret at the withdrawal of the Roman Catholic Mission—Protestant Mission at Sarawak—Present Condition—Comparative Failure—Partial Success at Lingga and Lundu—Mr. Chalmers and the Land Dayaks—Causes of his Influence—Mistake in establishing the Mission at Kuching—The Reasons—Objectionable Position for Schools—Proper Position for the Mission—Suitable spots—Waste of Funds in Boats and Plantations—Deplorable Secession of Missionaries—Reasons to account for it—Present Management faulty—Mr. Gomez in Lundu—Christian Dayaks warn the Government—Missionaries always welcome in Sarawak—Important political effect—The Church should be among the Dayaks—Suitable Men for Missionaries—What the Head of a Mission should be—What he too often is, and should not be—Five Recommendations to increase Efficiency—Unoccupied Room for a great Increase of the Number of Missionaries—Method of distributing them—Personal Character—Dayaks an interesting Race—A Tribe half Mahomedans half Pagans—Use of eating Pork—Districts unoccupied—Position of the Missionary in Sarawak—The Bornean Mission an important one.

I will first notice the Roman Catholic, as it has proved of the least importance; and perhaps I shall best explain its complete failure by giving an account of its chief.

In the spring of the year 1857, a Roman Catholic mission arrived at our colony of Labuan. Its principal, Signor Cuarteron, a Spaniard, soon became an object of interest, from the various reports that were spread respecting his previous life, and from its becoming generally known that he was the possessor of great wealth acquired by extraordinary means. Strange stories were soon afloat, which would have done more credit to his adventurous spirit than to his honesty: it was asserted—and with truth—that the Manilla government had once set a price upon his head; and absurd whispers were abroad that he had been concerned in the slave-trade, and in buccaneering pursuits.

I have often heard him tell his own story, and it is a curious one. He had noticed a ship loading treasure in Hongkong harbour, and accidentally heard afterwards that a wreck had been seen on a certain shoal in the China seas which answered the description of the treasure ship: he went there and recovered a large amount of silver. He took it to Hongkong, and ultimately, there being no claimants, received the whole. Some of his enemies in Manilla took offence at his not bringing it to his own port, and accused him of having committed acts of piracy during the time he was engaged trading in the isles farther east. He heard of this charge while cruising in the Sulu seas, passing the necessary time before the treasure would be adjudged to him. Distrusting colonial justice, and to avoid pursuit, he burnt his vessel and escaped in a native boat. After some months all charges were withdrawn, and he returned[367] to Europe, and presenting himself before the Pope, explained his desire to found and manage a mission in Borneo. He was permitted to do so, and remained in Rome some years, in order to study, and after visiting Spain and Manilla, at last reached Labuan, with four Italian priests, two destined for the Bornean mission. I need not comment on the singularity of some parts of this history.

He placed one of the priests at Brunei, the other at Labuan, while he himself commanded a station at Gaya Bay. His principal object in establishing the mission was, he said, to recover from slavery those poor Christian brethren who, having been captured by pirates, had been sold on the north-west coast of Borneo. They are there doubtless, but he never appears to have made a sensible effort to free them. There are three hundred in Brunei, all of whom could have been obtained at 7l. a head, but I never heard of his paying but for one old woman. He used to threaten the Brunei authorities with Spanish steamers, but I imagine his own Government was too well aware of the real state of the case to listen to him. Nine-tenths of the Manilla captives could be free if they chose, as they might easily escape to our colony of Labuan, but the fact is, they have intermarried with the inhabitants and turned Mahomedans, and, therefore, will not leave the country, except under compulsion.

Signor Cuarteron entrusted a large amount of his funds to the Papal Government, as a permanent support for his mission, but they have been applied to the pressing secular needs of the Pope; and, on my[368] return to Borneo, last year, I found the Italian priests had left, and nothing of the mission remained but closed churches and Signor Cuarteron, and that the funds he had retained in his own hand were being rapidly dissipated by his own unsuccessful commercial pursuits. I believe he has since returned to Manilla; so that practically the mission has closed. This I think a very fortunate circumstance, as Signor Cuarteron was totally unfit to conduct so important an undertaking, and his constant intriguing and mixing in political affairs were productive of serious mischief.

I may add that the courtesy shown by the authorities of Brunei was exemplary; they submitted patiently to language to which they were totally unaccustomed, and put no obstacles in the way of the missionaries. The sultan made them a present of a piece of ground on which they built a church, and said they might have as much land as their converts could cultivate. Signor Ripa, the Italian priest who had charge of this mission, intended to have made it the nucleus round which those among the Manilla men who desired to rejoin the Church, might congregate, and his object was to afford them sufficient assistance to enable them to make gardens round the church, and support themselves by their agricultural operations. As he was himself well acquainted with agriculture, being the son of a landed proprietor living near Lecco, he hoped in time to establish a sort of model village, and a superior kind of cultivation.

All the Italian priests who came with this mission were from Milan, and had an interesting story to tell, as they had all been engaged in the effort to throw[369] off the yoke of Austria in 1848. Two had carried muskets, and two had attended to the wounded on the field. The eldest, Signor Reyna, appeared to me to be one of those remarkable men occasionally found among the missionaries of the Romish Church, of the most pleasing manners, winning address, and acute mind, and yet he was sent with four companions to New Guinea, where three of them were killed and eaten by the inhabitants, while he escaped in shattered health to die shortly afterwards.

The church in Brunei was built on a remarkable headland called Brambañgan, where formerly was erected a battery to play upon the boats of Sir Thomas Cochrane’s squadron, and where even now may be seen the iron guns thrown down the bank by the marines and blue jackets, but rendered useless by having their trunnions knocked off. The church looks well amid the pretty hills that rise around it. At Labuan a church was also commenced, but I believe never quite finished; and at Gaya Bay, the chapel when I saw it consisted of a little leaf house, which would not last a couple of years. No difficulty appears to have been thrown in the way of the mission, even in these distant stations; in fact, the people believing that all Europeans are under the protection of England would never think of injuring them.

In many respects it is to be regretted that the Roman Catholic mission was not more fortunate in its head, and that the funds should have failed, as though we must all be anxious to extend the influence of the English Church throughout the world, yet it is better the natives should be Roman Catholics than[370] remain in their present low state of civilization. Nothing but Christianity can alter the real condition of the people, as that only will turn their minds in a new direction and free them from practices and habits which keep the country poor and undeveloped. Some enterprising missionaries who would abandon all regular communication with the world, and establish themselves in the upper Trusan, among the Adangs, far from all Mahomedan influence, and beyond the reach of the Malay government, might have even a greater effect than those Roman Catholic missionaries had, whom Dr. Barton mentions having met in the far interior of the Yang-tse-kiang, during that enterprising expedition under Colonel Sarel.

I will now make a few remarks on the Protestant Mission, which left England in 1847, to establish itself in Sarawak. I think the object so very important, even regarded solely from a political point of view, that I shall not hesitate freely to explain what I think the causes of its comparative failure. Its condition, when I left Borneo in September, 1861, was this: Mr. Koch, and a schoolmaster, Mr. Owen, superintended the head mission at Kuching; Mr. Chambers was at his station at Lingga, and Mr. Gomez at Lundu, both Sea Dayak tribes; while Mr. Chalmers was at Quop, but had given notice of his intention to quit the country at the end of the year, and now he has left.

Mr. Chambers and Mr. Gomez, though their actually baptized converts are not numerous, have done great good at their respective stations. It is not generally a just course to reckon results by the [371]number of converts in a tribe, as the majority may be almost prepared to join the church, though kept back from a variety of motives. And this I believe to be practically the case at both these stations, but especially at Lundu.

The Borneo mission has been fortunate in securing these men, as they appear thoroughly to act on what should be the guiding principle of a missionary—that once he has entered on the profession, he should not be turned to other paths, or forsake his work on account of personal fears or petty annoyances. Of the numbers who have joined this mission but four remain.

Mr. Chalmers is the only one who has attempted the task of converting the Land Dayaks, and also the only one who ever made the slightest progress in their language. He was beginning to have a great influence over the Quop Dayaks, even inducing the girls to attend his school, and in a short time, I believe, would have brought to baptism the whole of this section of the Santah Dayaks. I hear they sincerely regret his departure; and well they may, as it will be difficult to find another so suited to the work. He had an aptitude for learning languages, a genuine kindliness of disposition, and with ability to have ultimately influenced the whole Land Dayaks through his converts at the Quop.

His influence partly arose from his determination not only to live among them, but to speak to them in their own language. Most of our intercourse with these people is carried on in the manner in which a Frenchman would speak to a Spaniard through the[372] means of imperfect English. It is impossible properly to explain religion through such a channel. Some of the Dayaks, but comparatively few, speak Malay well.

I am afraid a summary of results will show that little has been yet done towards christianizing the Dayaks of the Sarawak districts, and this failure has, I believe, arisen from many causes: among others, from the position of the head mission, and from a mistaken view of the way in which it should be conducted.

I am not aware of the exact amount granted to the Borneo mission, but it appears to a looker-on that the greater portion is expended in keeping up the staff and disbursements for the head mission at Kuching, which does not, in fact, much influence the missionary work. Kuching is a town almost exclusively composed of Mahomedan Malays and Buddhist Chinese; and the only effect of establishing the mission among the former is to have rendered them more zealous Mahomedans. Before the arrival of the clergy, the mosque was nearly deserted, now it is crowded. The same effect followed the arrival of the Catholic priests at Brunei. It may be better for men to be earnest in a mistaken religion than lukewarm; but to arouse their zeal will not assist our efforts to spread Christianity.

The Chinese are almost impassible to the missionaries’ doctrines, and always must be so, while their teaching is through interpreters, or the medium of a foreign language.

The pretty church, the expensive and uncomfortable mission-house, the schools, are all interesting[373] objects at Kuching, but they do not further the work among the aborigines.

There is another great objection to the present position of the schools: it is too close to the trading town, and the children are consequently exposed to every temptation; in fact, the girls’ school was entirely ruined; and the boys must be injured by the constant contact with the vicious among their countrymen. Since I left last year, the Government have established a girls’ school in a situation that promises greater success.

The proper position for a mission undertaken to christianize the Land Dayaks should be among them, not twenty miles from the nearest tribe. If the head mission had been established at San Pro, on the left-hand branch of the Sarawak—and what lovelier position could be desired?—or about Siniawan, on the right-hand branch, I believe I should have had very different results to record.

It would not have been a popular recommendation to banish the bishop of Labuan and his staff from the charming society that was always to be found at Kuching to what would have been called the wilds of the interior; but they would not have been in so isolated a position as the Government officers who live in the out-stations, San Pro being within four hours’ pull of the capital.

At Kuching, a chaplain is required to perform the services of our Church for the Europeans resident there, but this clergyman should be paid from some special fund by Government, or by the inhabitants, and not from the allowance to the Bornean mission.

I have mentioned that there are at present three stations besides Kuching where missionaries are established. The first is Lingga, which requires a coasting voyage of thirty miles; the second, Lundu, which in rough weather may be reached by inland water passages; and the third is the Quop, a branch of the Sarawak.

None of these stations necessitates the expensive modes of communication adopted: there was, first, a life-boat, which proved useless; then the “Sarawak Cross” was bought and fitted up at an expense of 1,200l., to be sold for a third of its cost; and now I hear another life-boat is to be purchased. The last kind is neither so safe for a shore voyage, nor so comfortable as a well fitted up native prahu, which would cost less than 20l. All this appears to be a great waste of the mission funds. It was necessary for Bishop Selwyn to have a schooner in New Zealand, as he had many islands to visit; but the Bornean Mission does not require it.

I have heard that several missionaries are on their way out. If these be kept at Kuching, or sent to the very distant out-stations, they will prove nearly useless, as in these positions there is no familiar intercourse with the natives on account of a variety of circumstances. Efforts should be concentrated, not scattered; and the best way of influencing the Dayaks is to let the missionaries proceed to their villages and learn their language. There are fifty thousand Land Dayaks in Sarawak, Samarahan, and Sadong, who have not a missionary among them, and any work undertaken there will yield good results.

I am not anxious to find fault with past mismanagement, but to recommend to the bishop of Labuan and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, the abandonment of a system which has proved a failure. If I rightly understand the intention in establishing the mission, it was to endeavour to spread Christianity among the Dayaks, and this has not been as yet fairly attempted. I believe one of the reasons for the deplorable secession of men who had acquired some knowledge of the language and the people, was keeping them too much at Kuching. They wanted to have a home of their own among the Dayaks, where a personal interest could be created, where their work would be clear to them, and where their efforts would produce results.

Ten missionaries out of fourteen have abandoned their duties in Borneo, and it is most probable that few of them would have left had a defined work been placed before them, and had they been told to consider a certain tribe, or a certain group of tribes, as their own to manage;—in fact, placing them in a similar position to a clergyman in his parish in England.

I think this plan should be well weighed before it is rejected, as in two instances it has been partially tried, and has in some degree succeeded, as at Lundu and Lingga.

That the present management is decidedly faulty, may be gathered from this, that of all the officers in the Sarawak government service who have been employed there during the last fourteen years, I only know of one who has abandoned his position, and that one under peculiar circumstances; while, as I have[376] said, five-sevenths of the missionaries have left their posts, though their work is not harder, certainly not nearly so dangerous as that of the officers, and is as well paid.

I am quite sure that a missionary placed as Mr. Gomez is, among an interesting people like the Sibuyaus of Lundu, would never think of abandoning them, unless from being disheartened by ill-considered and unnecessary interference. He has acquired a great influence among them, and is personally liked by the whole tribe. I have heard the Dayak Chief speak of him with the greatest respect, saying, “He is to us as our father—he watches over us, and does everything to produce unanimity among us.” It was one of the Lundu converted Dayaks who in the year 1859 first gave notice to the Government that some discontented, discarded Malay chiefs were hatching plots against the Europeans.

At Lingga, also, one of Mr. Chambers’s Dayak friends sent the same warning; and this leads me to the consideration of what a change it would effect in Sarawak if the mass of the Dayaks were Christians. The Sarawak government officers are fully alive to this, and the missionary is heartily welcomed at every station, and every assistance and encouragement given him that can be done without awakening the jealousy of the Mahomedans. Care, of course, is necessary where a government rules all religions, and depends for its principal support on the Malays. If a few thousand Dayaks were Christians, they would become the mainstay of the Europeans.

It has been partially forgotten that the Dayak will[377] not generally come and ask to be converted, particularly if it involves a journey of twenty miles. The missionary must be with him always, understand his ways and his language, feel an interest in his local affairs, and assist him with his matured advice.

With regard to the missionaries themselves, they should not only be earnest men, but have a practical acquaintance with the world, and this knowledge cannot be better obtained than at Oxford, Cambridge, and our other universities. Medical acquirements are also of singular use to the missionary. The present bishop of Labuan possesses them to a remarkable extent; and I, among the other Englishmen who have dwelt in Sarawak, have to thank him for a patient and skilful attendance.

Perhaps no position is more difficult than that of the head of a mission; it requires the greatest tact, the calmest temper, the most complete government of tongue, a generous enthusiasm to warm the enthusiasm of others, a knowledge in the management of men and things, rarely found. I have heard that the bishops of New Zealand and Columbia answer to my description. Too often men otherwise estimable, when they are placed in authority, become overbearing, coarse in their manner towards subordinates, hasty in temper, uncertain in arrangement, and ungenerous to the foibles of their associates; and, if to these unfortunate qualities be added a systematic disparagement of the work done by others, unwarranted expressions about their neighbours, and continued and unnecessary absence from their posts on trifling pretexts, much injury must be done to the[378] missions placed under their care, and would account for the failure of many.

In thus publishing my own opinion of the mission, I am but giving the result of the experience of a looker-on, who has no practical acquaintance with the management or working of religious societies; but as a disinterested observer, I have made some recommendations which cannot at once be followed, though all may be in time.

First. The head mission should be placed among the Dayak tribes, and a chaplain left at Kuching, as work, not society, should be the object aimed at.

Second. The schools should be removed from the contaminating influence of the town, and the left-hand branch of the river offers suitable spots.

Third. The missionaries should be placed in responsible positions over certain tribes, and with the same kind of authority as a clergyman in a parish at home.

Fourth. The bishop should not interfere with the internal management of the local mission and the local schools, more than is at present done in England.

Fifth. The funds should not be dissipated in buying useless boats, or in trying to keep up abortive plantations, on which already large sums have been wasted. Enough has been lost to have built a church and missionary house in every section of Sarawak.

If these recommendations be stringently carried out at the first opportunity, there may be yet a bright future for the Sarawak Mission, which is, without doubt, one of the most interesting in the world.

I would earnestly draw attention to the fact that there is unoccupied room for missionaries in nearly all the rivers. Mr. Gomez does his duty well at Lundu, but there are not perhaps more than a thousand Dayaks there. Mr. Chambers at Lingga has probably seven thousand around him, and requires assistance to enable him to influence the whole tribe. There remain, therefore, nearly two hundred thousand Dayaks without a teacher among them, and there would be work there for a hundred missionaries. I am, however, convinced that spreading your strength is comparative weakness. The ground should be gradually occupied; and when one tribe had its teacher, it should not be considered enough to influence all the surrounding ones; but as the missionaries arrived, they should be sent to the very next tribe, and not away a hundred miles. The teaching would then act and react: the Dayaks would take an interest in comparing the ways and methods of their different pastors; and once awaken an interest, half the work is done.

One missionary left among a large population is lost. I have heard it said that occasional preaching in a tribe would do great good. I think not. Influence in the East depends on the personal character; but even defects may, and would be overlooked if the missionary showed a real interest in the affairs of his people, and this can only be displayed by one who has acquired his knowledge by continued and familiar intercourse with the tribe.

I think those who have read my chapters on the Dayaks will not fail to observe that they are an[380] improvable race; that they do not possess any superstitions or beliefs likely to offer great obstacles to Christian teaching. If I have not created an interest in them, the fault is mine, not theirs.

Another point is worthy of attention. In the districts lately ceded to Sarawak, there is a curious population of Milanaus, half of them Mahomedans, the other half Pagans. They live together in the same villages, and probably their conversion is but skin-deep. At all events, the rest have refused to join the Islamites, as pork would then be forbidden. It is a great satisfaction to all the Dayaks, Kayans, and unconverted Milanaus, that the English, the superior and governing race, indulge in the flesh of the prohibited animal: they often talk of it with pleasure.

Within the territory of Sarawak there are, as I have said, many districts totally unoccupied—as Samarahan and Sadong, with its population of Land Dayaks. And the branches of the great river Batang Lupar, occupied by Sea Dayaks, are all free to new-comers, except Lingga. The Seribas, the Kalaka, the Rejang, and the rivers flowing out of the hundred and thirty miles of coast between the last and Bintulu, are totally untouched by the missionaries.

What a field it offers to brave and earnest men! No officer who has dwelt among these people has left them without regret: the desertion of so many missionaries must be ascribed to defects of management rather than to dislike of the country. In Sarawak missionaries possess this great advantage, that they associate freely, and of course on terms of[381] the most perfect equality with all the officers of the government, an advantage which I have heard said is not extended to them in India. It is useful in many ways, as it shows the Dayaks that all the English take a warm interest in their religious welfare; and the very fact that many of the missionaries have accompanied the government officers on their official tours has not been lost on these tribes.

I may repeat that I am not sufficiently acquainted with the practical working of our great Religious Societies to know what action could be taken on this question, but I am convinced it is an important one, and that all missionaries who go to convert the Dayak, and spread our religion in Borneo, will be heartily welcomed by the Sarawak government.

APPENDIX A.

DAYAK LANGUAGES.

SAMBAS TO BATANG LUPAR.

In forwarding me the four vocabularies which I now insert, the Rev. William Chalmers mentioned that the Lara people say they came originally from the neighbourhood of Brunei, the capital.

“The Sarawak Land Dyak is in the dialect of the Sentah tribe. The ū of this tribe is changed into “o” in the other tribes of the river Sarawak. Sentah River is a tributary of the southern branch of the Upper Sarawak.

“The Sadong Dayak is the dialect spoken by the tribes on the river Kadup, a tributary of the Upper Sadong.

“The Lara is a tribe of Upper Sambas, part of which now resides on the Upper Lundu.”

I add now a short vocabulary, forwarded to me by the Rev. William Gomez, who has been stationed at Lundu during many years. It involves a little repetition, but is useful to[390] compare with that collected by the Rev. William Chalmers. By Lundu, Mr. Gomez refers to the original inhabitants of that river.

The following vocabulary is compiled from materials furnished me by the late Mr. Brereton. The Sea Dayak language is spoken by the aborigines on the Batang Lupar and all its tributaries, the Seribas, Kalaka, and the streams which flow to the left bank of the Rejang. The Bugaus, who live in the districts bordering the great Kapuas river, speak the same language. There are local variations, but they are of minor importance. The Malau is the language of the aborigines living at the very interior of the Kapuas, and, it is said, not many days’ walk from the great mountain of Tilong.

I must draw attention to the letter represented by ng in English. In pronouncing the words in these vocabularies, it must be remembered that, whether marked or not, the Malay letter has the sound of the ng in “singing,” and that the g must not be pronounced with the following syllable.

Though this list was given me by an educated Lanun, I doubt whether the blanks I have left should be filled up with the Malay word, as he said, because it is very possible that, as he had had little intercourse with his countrymen for many years, he may have forgotten the words.

London: Printed by Smith, Elder & Co., Little Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey, E.C.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Trusan, means a passage connecting one stream with another, or a short cut joining two reaches of the same stream.

[2] I may remark here that the map I had with me had been constructed during my former journeys, and I verified it as I proceeded.

[3] The Murut tribe, who formerly inhabited the Madalam branch of the Limbang, and occupied the country round the base of the mountain of Molu.

[4] A pikul is 133⅓ lb.

[5] A gantang is six pints.

[6] Gray shirtings.

[7] There are two ranges, which explain why I was so puzzled by the different appearances presented by these mountains. In fact, it was only afterwards I discovered that in ascending the Trunan we had got under the “child of Molu” as it is called by the Malays; had we continued ascending the Madalam, we should have found ourselves under the great peak.

[8] The best kinds are Timbaran and Damuan.

[9] Journal of the Indian Archipelago, vol. vi. page 562.

[10] I think it very probable that he meant that Andrew was the name of the captain, and that he was one of the crew of Maria Frederica, whose capture is referred to farther on.

[11] This horrible story was originally told us by Mr. Wyndham, but I made many subsequent inquiries, and had every particular of the story confirmed by trustworthy native authority. A man named Si Bungkul, who was a captive at Tungku at the time, told me he saw an English captain buried up to his waist, and that an elderly Lanun chief, called Rajah Muda, who was famous for his long beard, walked up to him, and with one blow cleft him from the shoulder to the side with his kempilan or heavy Lanun sword.

[12] I may notice that many of the under estimates of the population of this city arise from reckoning the houses at two thousand, and multiplying that number by five, as the average of a family. But in Brunei this system will not apply, as to test it, we have made above a hundred inquiries of different men, as to the amount of inhabitants in each of their houses, and the highest was the sultan, with seventy in his palace, while the lowest was seven in a small fisherman’s hut. I think in placing the average at fifteen, and reducing the number of houses, I am understating the population, which is considered by many to exceed forty thousand.

Transcriber’s Notes:

1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected silently.

2. Where hyphenation is in doubt, it has been retained as in the original.

3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have been retained as in the original.

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Appendix A.—Dayak Languages. Sambas to Batang Lupar	383
„ B.—Ditto. Batang Lupar to Rejang	392
„ C.—Languages of Tribes between the Rejang and the Baram	399
„ D.—Languages of Northern Borneo	407
„ E.—Lanun Language	417

The home districts, as Lundu, Sarawak, Samarahan, Sadong, and Sibuynu, may be reckoned at	80,000
The Sea Dayak districts, including Batang Lupar, Seribas, Kalaka, and those on the left bank of the Rejang, at	120,000
The districts lying between Rejang Mouth and Bintulu	40,000
Total	240,000

“ē	= English a.
e	= English e in met.
ū	= French u.
ŭ	= English u in cub.
au	= ow in now.
ai	= English i.
ei	= English ay in lay.
ō	= aw in law.
ch final	= German ch.”

Husband.	Wife.
1. Kalong, O. K.	Gunja.
2. Gali	Binda.
3. Langi	Rinja.
4. Itak	Indak.
5. Samuling	Rimba.
6. Nyinkong	Jeba.
7. Bulang	Mingga.
8. Lunsong	Burong.
9. Mangga	Sara.
10. Sageng	Tamo.

MEN.
OK Istia Rajah	5 ft.	2½	in.
Garai	5 ft.	4	in.
Bulang	5 ft.	3	in.
Jinal	4 ft.	10½	in.
Lunsong	4 ft.	11	in.
WOMEN.
Pungut	5 ft.
Ria	4 ft.	10½	in.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Life in the forests of the Far East (vol. 2 of 2)

LIFE IN THE FORESTS
OF
THE FAR EAST.

CONTENTS.

APPENDICES.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. II.

CHAPTER I.
EXPEDITIONS TO EXPLORE THE INTERIOR TO THE SOUTH AND SOUTH-EAST OF THE CAPITAL.

CHAPTER II.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL.

CHAPTER III.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER IV.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER V.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER VI.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.

CHAPTER VII.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Concluded.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE SULU ARCHIPELAGO.
FIRST VISIT.

CHAPTER IX.
THE SULU ISLANDS.
SECOND VISIT.

CHAPTER X.
THE KINGDOM OF BORNEO PROPER.

CHAPTER XI.
SARAWAK AND ITS DEPENDENCIES.

CHAPTER XII.
THE CHINESE IN BORNEO.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE CHINESE INSURRECTION.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE MISSIONS: ROMAN CATHOLIC AND PROTESTANT.

APPENDICES.

APPENDIX A.

DAYAK LANGUAGES.

SAMBAS TO BATANG LUPAR.

APPENDIX B.

APPENDIX C.

APPENDIX D.

APPENDIX E.

FOOTNOTES:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

——	SARAWAK.	SADONG.	LARA.	SIBUYAU.
Able	shaūn	inshaūn	kaän	bulih
Across (river)	kadipa	sisa	pahja	sebrang
Acquainted with	kŭnyet	ŭmpuon	nŭmparu	tau
Afraid	taru	teroun	buut	takut
Agree	bepaiyu	janggi	bepusun	berjanji
Alligator	buai	buoi	buro	gaiyaŭ
Ant	subi	subi	subē	semut
Angry	boji	deroch	baji	hing-at
Arise from sleep	bura	mungkat	kias	dani
Ataps, leaf mats	ilaŭ	iraŭ	aro	atap
Above	sombu	sombu	samo	atas
All	perūg	samoa	sŭman-man	samoa
Ask (beg)	mite	minta	mahi	minta
Ask (enquire)	sikyen	pŭsik	masikan	tanya
Bathe	mamuch	ngumon	mamu	mandi
Below	ribo, sogan	sigan	saroch	dibahōa
Before	diŭ	taiyŭ	uru	dulu
Behind	di kŭnang	di kŭnang	buntot	dudi
	di sundich	di sundich
Beads	tumbis	tumbis	tumi	marēk
Black	singŭt	bihis	sungut	chelum
Bird	manuk	manok	manuk	burong
Blood	dēya	dēya	daya	daha
Blind	kerak	bŭkap	buta	buta
Break (in two)	pŭtah	pŭtah	patah	patah
Breathe	ngashūng	ngashūng	misingat	sipuat
Burn	mupun	nyahu	nyahu, ninu	tunoh
Bad	arap	bēek	jahē	jai
Boy	anak kŭnya	anak kŭnya	kangot	anak biak
Bachelor	bujang	bujang	bujang	bujang
Brave	pogan	pogan	pagan	brani
Bridge	teboiyan	ŭnyan	titi	andaŭ
BODY (HUMAN)	pŭrūng, tibu	tibo	ungan	tuboh
Head	ubak	bak	abak	pala
Forehead	arū	dēich	kaning	dai
Cheeks	pŭnding	pŭmpi	koko	koyu
Eye	betuch	matuch	matu	mata
Eyebrow	buruch kŭning	buruch kŭning	burun rimin	bulu kanīang
Eyelash	buruch kirat	kilat matuch	burun matu	bulu mata
Nose	unugn	undung	dudugn	idong
Nostrils	rubang unugn	rubang undung	rubang dudugn	lubang idong
Mouth	boba	boba	boba	mulut
Teeth	jipuch	jipun	japu	gigi
Tongue	jura	jilē	rata	dila
Throat	gunggong	tegunggong	gangogn	batang hukōang
Ear	kojit	kŭping	rajak	pundīang
Chin	seraka	raäng	rang	dagu
Hair of head	ubōk	buruch	abōk	buak
Neck	tungō	kukō	jangok	hukōang
Side	tigang	tigahang	silet	husua
Shoulder	kowin	kowi	kaī	bauh
Breast	sudō	ishuk	sadō	dada
Back	punok	jaju	rutuk	blakang
Belly	tain	putong	putugn	pahut
Posterior	kŭnang	pŭmpi kŭnang	rabat	buhīat
Loins	kupong	kupong	apagn	punggōang
Arm–shoulder to elbow	pupung	pumpong	barangu	buah langan
Do.–elbow to wrist	birēng	brungō	baregn	langan
Elbow	sukuch	sikuch	siku	siku
Hand	tŭngan	tŭngan	baregn	jahi
Fingers	trinyu	buah tŭngan	trinyo	tunjōi
Nails	siruch	siruch	siru	kuku
Wrist	brungō	ŭng-gŭm	ladak	angg-am
Thumb	sindu tŭngan	indu tŭngan	indu baregn	tunjōa indu
Thigh	pūūch	pūūch	pa	pa
Calf	bitēs	bitēs	batis	betis
Foot	kŭja	kŭja	kŭja	kaki
Ancle	buku siōk	tulang kelali	matu dudegn	buku alē
Knee	bak karŭb	bak tuod	tukugn	pala patōang
Heel	tiga	peniga	tigak	tumit
Palm	pura tŭngan	pŭpach tŭngan	parapa baregn	tapa jahi
Lips	bibich	bibich	bibich	mulut
Flesh	ishin	isi	inshin	isi
Bones	turang	tulang	turang	tulang
Navel	pŭshid	pŭshid	pusat	pusat
Knuckle	buku tŭngan	bukuck tŭngan	raka	buku tunjōa
Sole	pura kuja	pupach kuja	parapa kuja	tapa kaki
Skin	kurit	kulit	kurit	kulit
BEASTS:–
Deer (rusa)	paiyu	paiyu	anyung	rusa
Monkey (kra)	oyung	kara	kara	kara
Dog	kŭshōng	kosho	kashu	asu
Cat	bushing	sengau	uching	maiau
Pig, domestic	aiyō	pongan	uwē	babi humah
Pig, jungle	pongan	laba	lauk	babi kampong
Rat	babu	babu, jupor	tikus	tikus
Cough (to)	mokūd	mungkud	mukut	batōak
Come	menūg	monūg	utung	datei
Cold	mŭdud	bŭbi, madud	sangu	chilap
Cry out	nai kiak	siak	ngampak	nyawa
Cry (weep)	sien	nŭngis	munse	nyabak
Cook	tanuk	nŭnuk	nanuk	nyumai
Companion	dingān	dingan	agē	pangan
Commit adultery	tŭngach	nyowang	bebaiyu	bambai
Covet	lipōng	kilek	murun	dika
Cut	kapūg	kapūg	mŭmagn	putus
Come out	ruach	luach	mungkas	pansut
DRESS:–
Jacket	jipō	bojuch	jūpo	baju
Head-dress	bung ubōk burang	tundō	bung abak	labōang
Petticoat	jomuch	jomuch	jamu	kaiin
Trowsers	sinyang	saluar	salauar	tanchúat
“Chawat”	tāup	tahup	patung	sihat
“Tambok”	juach	juach	jua	jua
Do., small, worn on the side	tambōk	tungking	tokeng	tambōak
Pinang knife	sinda	sinda	sunda	lungga
Sheath of Pinang knife	randung	landong	sario	bandōang
Parang	bukō tŭkin	bukō	bai	isau
Sheath of do.	sibōng	sibōng	dohong	tangkin
Day	ŭnu	onu	ano	ahi
Dance	berejang	belangi	nari	ngigal
Drink	nōk	nyūhūp	man pain	nyihup ai
Dumb	bawa, baku	kaku	awa	bisu
Deaf	bongam	tebodung	būngal	mandap
Destroy	rusak	rusak	rusak	husak
Divide	kutung	bedodŭg	punugn	daman
Doctor, to (bilian)	būrich, nguri	...	...	bilian
Doctor, a (male)	dayah beruri	...	...	manang
Do. (female)	bŭrich	dayung pancha,.br> bŭrich	bari	...
Door	tiban	jigan	pintu	pintu
Dead	kŭbūs	kŭbūs	kabia	mati
Diligent	gŭgach	rijung	gŭgah	hajin
Enough	raput, sedang	luput	chukup	umbas
Eat	man	maän	uman	makai
Egg	turoch	ŭntulo	tura	telo
Enter	murūt	murūt	maru	masōk
Enemy	pūngănyu	pŭngaiyu	pengaiyu	munsoh
Fire	opui	opui	api	api
Forbidden (tabooed)	pūrich	pŭrich	pari	mali
Fish	ikyen	ikan	ikan	lawak
Fly (a)	tura	tura	nyamok	lalat
Fly (to)	mukābur	ŭnchaling, [mobur	mibir	terbang
Fat	gŭmu	...	manu	gumu
Fowl	siōk, siap	siōk, siap	siap	manok
Fall (“jatoh”)	rŭbu	rŭbu	mana	labōa
Forget	kambut	ngkomut	karimut	lupa
Father	sama	ŭmang	sama	apai
Firefly	bŭkarūp	ŭngkarup	kalamiu	chutlut
FRUIT:–
Durian	dēan	dihŭn	dihan	hian
Plantain	borak	pisang	barak	pisang
Mangustin	sikuk	gunau	sikuk	langaiīn
Langsat	lishēt	lashat	sarikan	langsat
Go	ŭdi	oji	ana	jalei
Go up	maäd	nyumak	maka	niki
Go down	mun	muhun	disa	nuhun
Girl	anak dayung	anak dayung	angot	anak biak indu
Grown up (as brushwood, selut)	jukut	jukut	abut	sikut
Get	dapūd	dapud	daput	tŭmu
Gape (yawn)	kuab	ngkuhab	chabun	nguap
Good	rŭmus	paguch	lŭmus	badas
God	Tŭpa	Tŭmpa	Penita	Batara
Give	nyen, jugan	jugon	mangkan	bahi
Glad	raän, awang	kira, awang	rēpo	dika-hati
Gold	berowan	berowan amas	berawan	mas
HOUSE:–Outside	rŭmin	rŭmin	rŭmin	humah
platform	tŭnyu	tonyu	bŭntahan	tanyu
Common room	awach	awach	sambi	ruei
Private room	arūn	rŭmin	ohang	lawang
Garret	rŭnga	rŭnga	rŭnga	sadau
High	omu	sŭmu	nyŭmu	tinggi
Hill	derūd	darūd	munggu	bukit
Hide	chukān	nyukān	nukan	lalei
Hungry	seburūk	seburūk	seburuk	lapah
Hear	dinga	ngŭping	danga	dingah
Husband	bonūch	bonūch	banun	laki
Hot (“panas”)	sura	nyowa, shiru	jera	panas
Hot (“angat”)	paras	paras	paras	angat
Is	ŭgi	aduch	uni	bisi
Is not	meting, doi	kadū aduch	kati	nadai
		inyap raiya
Jump over	menyakir	melompat	nyantang	merejōak
	merejok
Jump down	ngŭngung	ŭmpapu	nyangugn	trajun
Jungle	tarun	tarun	tarun	kampong
Kneel	sedikang	unyuch	nungkogn	nyerunkōang
Keep (“pliara”)	kiugat	nagoch	ngingu	ibun
	nguän	nyingat
Know	puän	ŭmpuon	penanē	tau, numŭ
Kill	siū	kenobūs	ngamis	bunoh
Large	bās	bahas	aihyo	besei
Lazy	sorut	bojag	ŭga	kelalāh
Lean	mănyuch	kurus	kurus	kuhus
Light, in weight	jangan	nyangan	nyaän	lempōang
Little, quantity	shīt	ichīuk	igēat	sikēat
Long	omu	ombuch	ŭngho	panjei
“Lesong” (a mortar)	lishōng	lesong	rensungan	lesong
“Alu” (a pestle)	aruch	alu	aru	alu
Laugh	tawūch	natau	guluk	tawa
Lie down	guring	ngulēng	guring	gali
Lie (speak falsely)	kādong	mudōng	lachē	bula
Many	bogū	tŭbun	kara	banyau
Melt	ririch	lilich	luluch	anchuah
Merciful	masi	masi	masē	kaseh
Moon	buran	buran	buran	bulan
Mother	sindu	aiyang, ŭndu	sindo	indei
Morning	ishan-ishan	pagi	ngakap ano	magi-pagi
Mat (“klasa”)	kasa	krŭsah	bidē	bidei
Mat (“tikar”)	ŭmok	ŭmak	bido	klaia
Man	dayah, naän	nūūch, inya	soök	ohang
Musquito	prungang	prunggang	pŭntujok	hyamōak
Mud	Jijūb	jijub	lulok	hubōah
Night	ngarūm	ngarūm	ngarum	malam
New	baüch	baüch	bahu	bahu
Not	dūch	kadū	kati	adai, nda
Not (do)	ma	ba		anang
Now	madin	matē	mati dia	kamaia tu
Name	adūn	gŭnŭn	gaän	nama
Noon	yun ŭnu	narang onu	tŭno ano	s’tengah ahi
Old, man	nyamba	nya tuüch	ŭma	tuei
Old, thing	ŭma	dŭmba	tuhi	lama
Oil	inyō	inyō	aiyan	minyak
Open (to)	kuka	tuhas	nukas	silak
Other	bŭkūn	bukūn	lain	lnin
Outside	disopa	luäch sopa	sato	di luäch
One	ni	indi	ŭsa	sa
Once	ni, sidach	ni, idah	nisidah	sekali
Parang, forge a	moba	ngoba	maba	tŭmpa
Posts	rōs	oros	nahi	tiang
Poor	cherāta	babō	papa	seranta
Provisions	onyad	bokol	sanga	bekal
Perspiration	udās	udās	adas	peloh
“Pinang” (betel nut)	baï	pinang, bahai	ohē	pinang
Put down	na	jimpan	nana	ŭngkah
Put by	nikūa	jimpan	mogan	simpan
Paddy	padi	padi	padē	padi
Pleasant	sidi	sidi	ahwan	nyamei
Quickly	likas	pantas	japat	lekas
Red	birē	ŭnchalak	teransak	mirah
Return	mŭri	maring	urē	pulei
Remember	ingat	tian	ingat	ingat
Road	ŭran	jŭran	pagala	jalei
“Rotan”	wi	wi	wē	hutan
Remove (pindah)	beringar	berpindah	pindah	pindah
Run away	bu	buhu	boho	lari
Rotten	modām	modam	modam	buhua
Receive	kambat	kira	nyamut	terima
Rice	bras	bras, boru	nahas	bahas
boiled	tubi	sungkoi	nasi	asi
Straight	tŭnggūn	bujog	tamut	luhus
Strike (pukul)	mukōng	nŭntong	mangkugn	palu
Sick	mŭnam	mŭnam	ŭnam	pedīas
Short	purok	kŭdūk	punok	pandak
Sleep	būūs	būūs	buus	tindōak
Sun	betuch ŭnu	matūch shiru	matu ano	mat’ari
Stars	bintang	bintang	bintang	bintang
Shut (to)	tup	punut, tutu	tutup	tutup
Sandfly	biās	sirap	bihas	singīat
Scald	rāus	rōus	batu	angus
See	kirich	tŭbūk	mēlē	peda
Sharp	roja	roja	ruja	tajam
Shake, to (neuter)	beguyut	guyut	begotē	beguyu
Speak	mīnyu, sinda	besinda	kaséna	bejako
Sneeze	pasin	bekuchēsh	berusun	berkasi
Sit down	guru	ngulu	munyung	duduk
Stand up	mejōg	mijōg	agun	berdiri
Spider	tŭka	ŭngkŭka	ŭnga	tampa lawa
Steal	nŭku	nŭngku	nangko	chuhi
Sweet	nibŭnyich	sija	mamis	manis
Squeeze	pishū	michet	ngerachet	pichīat
Satiated	bisoch	bisō	baso	kenyang
Spacious	baiya tawash	nyowa	tawas	tawas
Sorry	susah-ŭtin	susah-ati	suba-latē	tusah
Small (size)	shīt	ichīŭk	inek	mukat, miet
“Sirih”	baïd	baïd	uït	sirih
Sky	lŭngit	langit	langit	langit
Snake	jipūch	nyipuch	nipa	ulah
Spit	ngiruja	nguruja	ngeruja	berludah
Spittle	ruja	rēyang	rayang	ai lioch
Stop (to)	rūū, mōkō	ngŭndei	madi	bado
Still (to be)	rūū	mŭndu	moko	diaû
Take	mit	tumit	tangkap	ambi
Touch	tŭma	tŭgūch	nyankam	jamah
Track	arōk, inyak	indich	tawan, aju	bakaŭ
To-morrow	sepagi	pagi	jakap	pagi
This	ati, iti, anū	siti, siech	dia	tu
That	ajech, inū	saäch	kako, tēan	nyun
Throw away	taran	bŭtan	matan	buei
Thirsty	bodūch ashūng	haus	karing ashung	haûs
Vegetables	kudōsh	ŭngkŭnūch	apu	daûn kayu
Wing	orad	arad	arat	sayap
White	buda	buda	ranagu	putih
Well (baik)	kena	paguch	baik	baiak
Walk	ponu	jalan	berjalan	bejalei
Woman	dayung	dayung	mahu	indu
Wife	sowūn	ŭshaū	saûun	bini
Water	piīn	umon	paīn	ai
Weary	kowūk	kunyoch	tukur	lelak
Wind (the)	sobak	mohu	nyaru	angin
Worms (stomach)	regyu	ŭngkiho	biar	belut
Work (to)	kamīnyang	kaminyang	mukut	jama
What?	uni, mani	ŭnich	jai	aû
Whither?	kamaki	gupich	kumē	kini
Whence?	so aki	sopich	utung adumē	arini
Who?	osi	osi	asi	apa
Young	mura	ŭngōd	angot	mudei
Yesterday	ŭnu mījach	ngŭndu	rami	kamahi
Year	sawa	sowa	sawa	taun
PRONOUNS:–
I	aku	aku	ikin	aku
Thou	kuu	omu	ako	kōa
He	eiyūch	aiyech	ini	tu
We	kiech	ami	kaī	kami (exclusive of persons addressed.) kitei (inclusive.)
Ye	ŭngan	kita	akum	kita
They	eiyūch	aiyech	ini	tu
NUMERALS:–
One	ni, ikan
Two	duūch
Three	taru
Four	pat
Five	rimūch
Six	num
Seven	juh
Eight	maï
Nine	priï
Ten	simūng

——	SABUYAU.	LARA.	SALAKAU.	LUNDU.
NUMERALS:–
One	sa	asa	asa	ni
Two	dua	dua	dua	duo
Three	tiga	taru	talu	taru
Four	ampat	apat	ampat	pat
Five	lima	rima	lima	rimo
Seven	tujoh	ijo	tujoh	jo
Eight	lapan	mahi	delapan	mahi
Nine	sambilan	pire	sambilan	pire
Ten	sapuloh	sapuloh	sapuloh	samoong
Waist	punggong	apakng	pinggang	kupong
Navel	pusat	pusat	pusat	pesud
Knee	pala paton	tukung	tuut	bakorob
Foot	kaki	kaja	paha	po, on
Heel	tumbit	tigak	tumit	tiga
Skin	kulit	kurit	ku, it	kulit
Bone	tulang	turakng	tuang	tulang
Flesh	isi	insin	isi	daging
Sinew	uhat	uhat	urat	at
Milk	susu	susu	susu	sisun
Heart	ati	ate	hati	atin
Spleen	kuha	kura	kura	kura
Gall	umpadu	umpadu	padu	podun
Brains	untak	untuk	otak	otuk
Blood	daha	daya	darah	daya
Spittle	di lioh	rayakng	ai uja	royang
Snivel	insak	buduk	edoh	dok
Tears	ai mata	pain matu	ai mata	eu boton
Perspiration	peloh	adas	pau	das
Dandriff	daki	dunuk	dati	ing
Pus	nana	penunu	nana	penona
Face	mua	bahas	muha	jawin
Dumb	bisu	awa	awa
Deaf	bengal	bagi	banga	bangam
Blind	buta	buta	buta	buta
Dimness	ulon	kabor	kabor	kabor
Stammer	kat	mah	awah	awah
Silly	budon	bagah	bagah	budoh
Mad	gila	gila	gila	gila
Cough	batok	mukut	batok	mukud
Boil	bisul	tampusu	bisoan	perkis
Sea	laut	laut	laut	kirekng
Sun	matahari	matoano	mata ari	mata nanu
Moon	bulan	buran	buan	bulan
Star	bintang	bintang	bintang	bintang
Light	trang	tawas	tarang	java
Darkness	petang	petakng	petang	mapong
Heat	panas	jara	darang	putek
Cold	chelap	panut	dingin	modud
Cloud	remang	rahu	niga	gening ayong
Lightning	kilat	kilat	elak	kilat
Thunder	guntoh	guntor	guntor	dudu
Rainbow	unggoaja	meraje	antu ai	berengan
Mankind	manusia	sok	manusia	nyaah
Man	ohang laki	areh	angaki	nyaah dadari
Woman	ohang indoh	mahu	ang bini	dayung
Body	tuboh	ungan	tuboh	genan
Hair	bok	abok	bu, uk	bok
Head	pala	abak	kapala	bak
Forehead	dahi	kaning	kaning	uru
Temples	pisan	kingkek	tangengeng	ponyip
Eyebrow	bulu keneng	bulu rimin	bulu ramang	kening
Eye	mata	matu	mata	botun
Ear	pendeng	rajak	tere, nyek	kajip
Nose	idong	dudukng	idong	nogong
Cheek	pipi	kuko	koko	panig, ng
Mouth	mulut	baba	mulut	beba
Tongue	dila	rata	jia	jera
Lip	mulut	bibih	bibir	bibin
Teeth	gigi	japu	gigi	jupon
Neck	hakong	jangok	tegeh	tungoh
Chin	dagu	rākng	jago	rang
Back	blakang	rutuk	ba, ikang	punok
Feet	kaki	kaja	paha	po, on
Hand	langan	barekng	angan	tangan
Chest	dada	sadoh	dada	sodo
Finger	tunjok	terinyo	kukot	terinyo
Nails	kuku	siru	kuku	sirun
Stomach	prut	putukng	parut	tain
Fire	api	api	api	apoi
Smoke	asap	asup	asap	asu
Rain	hujan	hujan	hujan	jan
Wind	angin	nyaru	angin	sebak
Storm	bahat	tupan	nyaru	ribut
Sand	paseh	krasik	krasik	sumat
Stone	batu	batu	batu	batu
Mountain	bukit	mungu	bukit	doron
Hill	munggu	muton	muton	motang
Mud	reboh	paya	ochak	rapak

——	MALAY.	SEA DAYAK.	MALAU.
Straight	lurus	rurus	mupi
Crooked	bengkok	bingkok, simpin	kong kong
Square	ampat persagi	ampat bersgi	kuata
Round	bulat	bulat sagala	ga gulun
Long	panjang	panjai	ba lankei
Broad	lebar	besai	broh
Thick	tabal	tabal
Thin	nipis	nipauh, mipis	nipis
Deep	dalam	dalam	ba jalam
High	tinggi	tinggi	ba lankie
Short	pandak	pondak
Without	deluar	de ruai	tanga sauh
Within	dedalam	dedalam
Light (in weight)	ringan	lumpong
Heavy	brat	brat
Above	deatas	datas	de asit
Below	debawa	de baroh	de yaum
Behind	deblakang	deblakang
Before	demuka	demua	de roka
Between	antara	antara dua
Here	sini	kitu, ditu	loku
There	sana	kinu duinyin	ke mangeh
Far	jauh	jauh
Near	ampir	dampi	ampensop
Where	mana	nei iya	di selananu
At	de	de
To	ka	ka
From	deri	arri
All	samoa	samoa	aus
Many	baniak	meio	byu
Few	sidikit	mimit	tetopit
Small	kechil	mit	keh kih
Large	Besar	besai	brah
Like	rupa	boka	si bangun
Now	sakarang	kamiyatu	anindehen
When	apabila	kamiya	endisi
Then	kamudien	kamiyania
To-morrow	besok	pa gila balik	mina
Yesterday	kulmarin	ka mani	malam
Old	tuah	tuai	tuah
New	bharu	bharu obas	baruh
Slow	lambat	lobah	ba laun
Rapid	pantas	jumpat	ba riah
Strike	pukul	dadat	malun tongi
Break	patah	patah kru	poloh
Open	buka	telengah	ilakkeinih
Shut	tutup	tutup, tikup	tulopu
Lift	angkat	katon	angkat
Throw	kibar	tampalon	keiniko
Wet	basah	basah
Dry	kring	rankai	kumbat tor
Light	trang	tawas tumpak	manara
Darkness	glap	petang	raun
Black	itam	chilum	an tarun
White	putih	burak	uteh uteh
Red	merah	mansoh	di darah
Yellow	kuning	kuning	tantu mūūn
Blue	biru	biru	biru
Green	ijau	ijo
Country	negri	benua
Earth	tanah	benua
Stone	batu	batu
Gold	mas	mau	mas
Silver	perak	perak	perak
Iron	besi	besi	besi
Mountain	gunong	bukit	bukit
Valley	lembah	darong lengkap	lengkap
Cave	guah	lobang batu	long batu
Hill	bukit	bukit	bukit
Plain	padang	padang	padang
Island	pulau	pulaū	pulau
Water	ayer	ai	danum
Sea	laut	tasik	rong jawa
River	suñgei	suñgēi	suñgai
Wind	angin	ribut	ribut
Hurricane	ribut	ribut bungat
Cloud	awan	niga	dom
Rainbow	pulangi	anakraja
Rain	ujan	ujan
Lightning	kilat	kilat	suran
Thunder	guntur	guntur	dolok
Day	ari	ari	asoh
Night	malam	lamai
Morning	pagi	pagi	kau ko
Sun	matahari	matahari	mat asoh
Noon	tangah hari	tiñgari
Sky	lañgit	lañgit	suan
Moon	bulan	bulan	bulan
Star	bintang	apei andau	bintang
Hot	panas	panaa	panas
Fire	api	api	si siak
Burn	bakar	tunoh	tuton
Smoke	asap	asap	rimbu
Ashes	abu	abus	kutu au
Cocoa-nut	nior	buah miniakunjor
Plantain	pisang	pisang	buah unti
Paddy	padi	padi	asseh
Rice	bras	brauh	brauh
Pumpkin	labu	antakai	parangi
Yam	ubi	abuk	miah
Seed	benih	banih, igi,	tulang ah
Tree	pokoh	pohn	akak kaya
Root	akar	randah, urat,	banarun
Leaf	daun	daun	daunah
Flower	buñgah	bungai	bukas
Fruit	buah	buah	buārah
Raw	mantah	matah	mutoh
Ripe	masak	mansoh	sasak
Deer	rusa	rusa	piang
Bear	bruang	jugam
Cow	sapi	chapi, banting
Goat	kambing	bedus	kambin
Dog	anjing	uduk, ukuè	asu
Hog	babi	jani	bawi
Monkey	kra	kra
Cat	kuching	maiau	sih
Mouse	tikus kechil	chit
Rat	tikus	chit	balau
Squirrel	tupei	tupei	but
Bird	burong	burong
Domestic fowl	ayam	manok	manok
Duck	itek	itek	riri
Kite	alang	menaul	bau
Sparrow	pipit	pipit	duñgus
Swallow	layang layang	lelayang
Crow	gagak	kak
Cage	kurong	krukor
Snake	ular	ural	ruar
Frog	katak	rinkak rarigu	ba ningar
Fish	ikan	ikan	lauk
Crab	katam	katam
Prawn	udang	undai	undan
Butterfly	kupu kupu	maniah
Bee	lebah	manyik
Fly	lalat	lalat	lalas
Mosquito	niamok	niamok
Louse	kutu	kutu
Ant	semut	semut	sinsam
Spider	laba laba	ampelawa
Horn	tandok	tandok	tunjan
Tail	ikur	iku	inkuah
Feather	bulu	bulu
Wings	sayap	sayap	sapa
Egg	telor	tuloh	turoh roh
Honey	madu	ai manyik	danum muani
Wax	lilin	lilin
Body	tuboh	tuboh	mantuan
Head	kapala	pala	ulu
Hair	rambut	bok	rambut
Face	muka	muah	lindoh
Ear	telinga	pending	telinga
Eye	mata	mata	mata
Nose	idong	idong	ingar
Cheek	pipi	kayuh	tampilik
Mouth	mulut	mulut	baba
Lip	bibir	bibir	kulit baba
Tooth	gigit	gilit n’li	gisi
Tongue	ledah	delah	lilah
Hand	tañgan	jari	tañgan
Finger	jari	tunjok	unjok
Thumb	jari ibu	tunjok indu	unjok tangan
Nail	kuku	kukut	kuku
Belly	prut	prut	pārut
Foot	kaki	kaki
Bone	tulang	tulang
Flesh	daging	isi
Skin	kulit	kulit
Fat	gamok	gamok	manbin
Lean	krus	kurus	dejankat
Blood	dara	dara
Saliva	ludah	ludah	lasu
Sweat	peluh	peluh
Hard	kras	kriang
Soft	lambut	lemeh	aloeh
Hot	panas	añgat
Cold	sejok	chilap	barasam
Thirsty	aus	rankei rekon	niawar akar
Hungry	lapar	rapah	mosi bertanka
Sour	masam	masam
Sweet	manis	manis	mamis
Bitter	pait	pait
Smell	bau	bau
Fragrant	wañgi	añgit, nyamei
Stinking	busok	but jaii
Sick	sakit	padis, tabin	meka
Dead	mati	parei	mateh
Eat	makan	makai, dumpah	ankan
Drink	minum	irup	minum
See	lihat	mada	meta
Laugh	tatawa	tatawa
Weep	menangis	niabak	nangis
Kiss	chium	sium	chisum
Speak	kata	jaku	men janum
Be silent	diam	diau	la lako
Hear	dañgar	niñgar	lingar
Lift	angkat	angkat
Walk	jalan	jalai	lambar
Run	lari	rari belanda	lari
Stand	berdiri	berdiri	kadin
Sit	dukuk	duduk	duduh
Climb	panjat	niki	mumbit
Sleep	tidor	tindok	tindoh
Awake	bañgun	dani	sadin
Recollect	iñgat	iñgat
Know	tau	nemu	temu
Forget	lupa	na iñgat
Ask	tania	tania	ketu anan
Answer	saut	saut
Understand	mengarti	nemu udi
Yes	iya	au, bisi	oh
No	tidah	ingai, nadei	nanok
Beautiful	elok	bajik, badas	mam
Ugly	rupa jahat	nda badas, jaii
Pleased	suka	gagot hati	sa sau niawa aku
Sorry	susah	tusut, tusah hati	sakanutin
Afraid	takut	takut, rawan
Shame	malu	malu	bawa
Love	kasih	kasih, rindu
Hate	binchi	na’ndu	nanak meh nia
Anger	marah	riñgat	babu julu
Wish	mau	dekah	menioh
Right	betul	amai
Wrong	salah	salah
Good	baik	badas	mam
Bad	jahat	jain	jauh
True	benar	amai, benda	topat
False	dusta	bula
Wait	nanti	netu	ako akoh
Come	mari	datai
Go	pergi	nurun, pegi	andor
Meet	temu	temu
Hide	tapok	belalei	sunyān kolu ko
Search	chari	gigah	men ari
Find	dapat	ulih	kuleh
Give	kasìh	anjong, unjok	anlat
Take	ambil	ambi	taloh
Bring	bawa	bai	iawa
Take away	angkat	angkat	tangkong
Kill	bunoh	bunoh	dunoh
I	aku	aku	tak
Mine	aku punia	akum puh	tak ampunah
Thou	angkau	nuan	ikon
Thine	angkau punia	nuan puh	ikon ampunah
He, she, it	iya	iya	ninan
His, &c.	dia punia	niam puh
We (_inclusive or absolute)	kita	kita
Our (inclusive)	kita punia	kitampuh
We exclusive or relative)	kami	kami
Our (exclusive)	kami punia	kami puh
You	kau	nuan
Your	kau punia	nuanpuh
They	iya	iya
Their	iya punia	iyampah
This	ini	itu
That	itu	nin, nia
Who	siapa	sapa
What	apa	nama, kati
Food	makanan	makai, enkaiu
Rice, boiled	nasi	asi
Sugar	gula	gula
Oil	miniak	miniak
Milk	ayer susu	ai tusu
Flesh	daging	isi
Boil	rebus	sumei
Broil	panggang	ganggang
Salt	garam	garam
Clothes	pakayan	kain
Earring	antin antin	gronjong, tiñga
Chawat	chawat	sirat	kin paroh
House	rumah	rumah	sauh
Wood	kayu	kayu
Posts	tiang	tiang	pra kayu
Door	pintu	lāan	pintu
Ladder	tangga	tangku
Bed	tampat tidor	penindok
Mat	tikar	tikai	alik
Box	peti	peti
Road	jalan	jalai
Bridge	jambatan	jamban
Spear	tombak	sankoh	relis
Sword	pedang	pedang
Chopping knife	parang	duku	basi
Boat	prahu	bangkong	prauh
Canoe	sampan	bidok	bidup
Spirit	antu	antu
Man	orang laki laki	orang laki	ber bakar
Woman	perampuan	indu	berbeneh
Husband	laki	laki
Wife	bini	bini	arineh
Father	bapa	apai	amah
Mother	ama	indai	indu
Grandfather	nenek	aki, nineh	piang
Child	anak	anak
Old	tuah	inai, tuai
Young	muda	muda
Boy	budak	biak
Girl	anak dara	n’dun

MEN.	WOMEN.
Linggi	Rata
Jelapiang	Salima
Nangga	Salam
Moramat	Saripa
Janting	Itau
Anggi	Sarika
Musit	Chula
Jisang	Rabi

——	MILANAU.	KAYAN.	PAKATAN.
Straight	tigah	tuto	mato’
Crooked	piko, pikok	kauwi	kaliong kaliong
Square	ampat papak, pak	tepahak	lipat, liñgit
Round	gulong	biliong	atup
Long	lalau	aruh	ijé
Broad	aiyoh	berang	uñgei
Thick	kapal, kapan	kapan	kapan
Thin	dipis	ngipi	meliring
Deep	tumal, tebun	delum	melolom
Shallow	té
High	regau	bo	mauo
Short	dadit, kadit	biek	ujo
Without	auīr, kauīr	auwa	api, lipo
Within	wang, kadalum	amin	lalum
Light (in weight)	paiying	nian	melang
Heavy	bahat	bahat	mawat
Above	amau, mamau	usun	mau o
Below	ibah	idah	lué
Behind	buta, likut	baleh	api lauo
Before	jau-ai	talatan	tobata
Between	patas, gahut	hang	gat
Here	kidé, idai	teni	iti
There	kidūn, inun	tenan	iri
Far	mĕjū	su	moju
Near	segah	jelang	deteri manjo
Where	gua-an, hahn	santeno	pahen
At	gnau		to
To	tūgūn
From	kūman, keman	man	to maia
All	gruh	limlin	hing gaké
Many	dida, bunah	mahum	uñgat
Few	jimit, sisit	okedok	mari
Small	gomit, sisit	ok	isi
Large	ay-ung, ayoh	ayah	uñgei
Like	sama, pesoh	chepiah	jabalu
Now	ahālu, nahu	krehini	ah
When	pidang	heran	lipa
Then	sunĭ		para
To-morrow	lesung, laumasuk	jima	lamasok
Yesterday	sabi, lau mai	dahalum	alommalom
Old	melai, garu-puhun	lumeh	matui
New	jakin, uba	maharing	uwa
Motion	lakau	tepanau
Slow	melai, luhuei	tepat	malia
Rapid	jūk, seli	nian	maro
Strike	pŭr	nukal	bek
Break	pesa’, pelak	brong	mota
Open	kab, ukah	lueh	ukah
Shut	tabūn	kap	jinut
Lift	makat	amju	akat
Throw	galang, barang	buht	ting
Wet	basah	basah	basoh
Dry	mūang, bahung	megaang	adang
Sound	señgau, serau	nau	hau
Light	tahung	malah dan	alau
Darkness	padam, kelam	ledam	sigalup
Black	bilam	pitam	horommorom
White	putih	borah	buak
Red	sat, sak	belah	arang arang
Yellow	kunyit	jemit
Blue	biru	using
Green	gadong	gadong	ujang arang arang
Country	tăd		bila
Earth	tanah	tanah	tanoh
Stone	sanau, bato	bato	bato
Gold	mas	mah
Silver	perak	perak
Iron	bisi	titau	malat
Mountain	tugong	ngalang	tong
Valley	deta, pating	akeng	gatong
Cave	lubong	lubang bok	bobang
Hill	tagah	ngalang ok	tong malui
Plain	lalang	nha	data
Island	sah	busong	palui
Water	anūm	atah	danum
Sea	dāt, sabung	ngeoh	kala
River	sungei	ungah	bila
Wind	pañgai, bario	bahoi	balu
Hurricane	buñgas, bario lagah	mengah	balu makokop
Cloud	mabat, duruoh	langat	aun
Rainbow	iang añgan, jajiling	lingyating	bukang
Rain	ujan	usan	langut
Lightning	skilit	kilat	bali
Thunder	litū, prah	barareh	bali
Day	lau	dau	alau
Night	lemui	malam	malam
Morning	tumu, masu	niup	alau
Sun	matalau	matadau	matalau
Noon	kedang lau	dau nagrang	alau marapuru
Sky	lanyit	lungit	lañgit
Moon	bulan	bulan	bulan
Star	betohun	lauing	letuen
Hot	lesu	anit dau	melahu
Fire	apui	apui	apui
Burn	tinū, sidap	tutong	asik
Smoke	anūs, tugun	lesun	sun
Ashes	abo	aroh	au
Cocoa-nut	nyoh	nyoh	tuporu
Plantain	balak	uteh	jusang
Paddy	padai	pareh	pari
Rice	bahar	baha	benai
Pumpkin	labo	tinun aloh	entakei
Yam	obei	oveh	ubi
Seed	bahah	wang	bah
Tree	basoh	keioh	karing
Root	akai	akah	oka
Leaf	duhun	itun	daun
Flower	bedak	idang	buñgo
Fruit	buah	buah	buah
Raw	tah	letah	ata
Ripe	sak	sak	ak
Tiger	koleh	koleh
Bear	makop	bruang	makup
Horse	kudah
Buffalo	karbau	kaleo	karbau
Cow	sapi marau
Goat	muh	kadeng
Dog	asau	aso	asu
Hog	babui	baboi	bauwi
Monkey	bedok	kuyal	kiat
Cat	ngau	cheng	maiau
Mouse	belabau		chit
Rat	belabau pagong	lavoh	belauo
Squirrel	bap	telih	sirik
Bird	manōk	manok	purit
Domestic fowl	siaū	niap	siap
Duck	itek
Kite	kimīū kang	niau	niau
Sparrow	gerit	tegih	purit
Swallow	kalau pisan, salar		belini
Crow	kah		purit aromarom
Cage	sakar	bakah	lakit
Snake	dīpa, peñganan	nipa	asei
Frog	bekūrek, wak	wak	buja
Fish	jen	masih	bajo
Crab	gatām, tekeh		nitiké
Prawn	padak	orang	suat
Butterfly	belabāng, selababang
Bee	añge’, señgut	iñgat	siñgut
Fly	lañg au	lañgo	lañgo
Mosquito	krias	amak	niamok
Louse	kutaū	butoh	kutu
Ant	udap	kalirang	ula
Spider	berūmong, belakawa	kalawa
Horn	ohun	hoñg	uwong
Tail	ikui	ekoh	ikui
Feather	bulau	buloh	bulu
Wings	kalapayang, bebui	kapayang	ilap
Egg	telūi	teloh	telur
Honey	jūrū	telang	danum siñgut
Wax	lilin	laha	lilin
Body	apa, biuh	luhong	kuñga
Head	ūlaū	kahong	ulok
Hair	bok	bok	belutok
Face	jaueī	nang	ba
Ear	liñga	apang	bakit
Eye	mata	matang	mato
Nose	udong	arong	urong
Cheek	pipei	bah	ba
Mouth	bah		bawa
Lip	bujul, bujun		liñgil bawa
Tooth	nyipan	ipan	lañgoli
Tongue	jilah	jilah	jela
Hand	agam, pang	usuh	loñgo
Finger	brañgau	ikeng	tuju
Thumb	brañgau poh	ikeng ayah	inan tuju
Nail	silau	eloh	ilu
Belly	nai, tenaheng	butit	puong
Foot	betis, pahuh	udak	bati
Bone	tulang	tulang
Flesh	sīn	sin	oyi
Skin	kulit	kulit
Fat	maniak, piong	madong	mapiong
Lean	mās megaeh	niyang	me’
Blood	darah	niyang dah	dah
Saliva	lujah	lurah	danum jela
Sweat	sinak	umah	peloi
Hard	saiēk	maing	makokop
Soft	dūmūi, lemeik	lemah	meluko
Hot	lasu	lasu	lua
Cold	siñgūr, siñganiam	ngam	mañgen merarum
Thirsty	krañg	laveh	agang
Hungry	jilă	laoh	mitil
Sour	masam	masam	masom
Sweet	ngialiang	leng	mamis
Bitter	byis	paieh	mapeit
Smell	būn	bun	bun
Fragrant	jueh bun	boaram (bauarum)	jan bun
Stinking	bun madam	laiyu bun	jot bun
Sick	băjī, madam	prah	maparo
Dead	kabas, kebeh	mateh	makabo
Drink	tūtang	kuman	niup
See	nădīang, ngiang	ngiang	mipo
Laugh	paglam	keseng	mohong
Weep	nañgi	nañgi
Kiss	anak, manak	marak	meñgaruk
Speak	oba, pubah	tanaran	pelabu
Be silent	kadap, sarawan	meloh	koring
Hear	tuyang, ta’ah	ngring	kariñgo
Lift	makh	juh	akat
Walk	sibal, lakau	panoh	makiap
Run	buraū	lap	mago
Stand	kadang	bitih	manakaring
Sit	kudu	teñgoh	muruk
Climb	tīkūd, nikad	nakar	menikit
Sleep	tedūi, melut	tuduh	matarui
Awake	pega, makat	maaur	matia
Recollect	iñgat	tedoh	katom
Know	tehu	jaieh	matiwo
Forget	lelū	adoh	jakunak
Ask	klabaū, nalabau	metang	jajam ipo
Answer	ūlang, mulang	niuneh	tañgok
Understand	tahau	jahm
Yes	iyu, niuh	aieh	oso
No	năbe, enam	jan	di
Beautiful	dau, jiuh wah	saiyu	jan
Ugly	batau jahat, jehek wah	jahak	jut bawa
Pleased	luh, agen	ikum	luko
Sorry	susah	brah
Afraid	mamo, bout	takut	maut
Shame	mīah	tahih	meñgala
Love	tilang	masih	ilo
Hate	bĕsī	jan ikum	maparu
Anger	mūras	busak	lohoi
Wish	luh	ikum	lu
Right	tiga	marong	mato
Wrong	salah	jan marong	mela
Good	jīā	saiyu	jan
Bad	jehek	jahak	jut
True	atang, senau	lan	mato
False	pemūde, selbeh	sakwe’
Wait	ati, lulau	kavoh	iyo
Come	lebib, kahai	nenih	labi
Go	mule, luwat	kakah	ane
Meet	batopoh	sabong	pasăba
Hide	plim, sihok	nyok	molim
Search	iniang, nginoh	ilu	ipo
Find	kena		ala
Give	bih	maieh	tuja
Take	alap, apan	apih	apen
Bring	īgīh	grih	itong
Take away	igih, agah	grih kap	apen
Kill	benūh	itih	kabo
I	ako’	akui	hok
Mine	ako bin	akui pun	hok laket
Thou	kawan, ikah	kalunan	ko
Thine	ikah bin	hih pun	ko laket
He, she, it.	idūn, ngiah	ikah	ero
His, &c.	ngiah bin	ikah itih pun	ero laket
We (_inclusive or absolute_)	telut	itam	ta
Our (_inclusive_)	telut bin	itam pun	ta laket
We (_exclusive or relative_)	kami	kami	kai
Our (_exclusive_)	kami pat	kami pun	kai laket
You	ikah	ikah
Your	ikah bin
They	sepat
Their	sepat bin
This	īh	ini	muto
That	idun	inéh	mona
Which	han	inoh
Who	iya saih	inoh ik	hi
What	wanau	inoh	hawa
Food	kūn	kanih	ñgoku
Rice boiled (_nasi_)	naseh	kanan	asi
Sugar	gula	jatan
Oil	nīūh	telang, usun	nio
Milk	soh		u
Flesh	sin	nahang	oi
Boil	isak, midah		taring
Broil	sirai, bahang	sehe	aling
Salt	siah	niah	ijo
Clothes	asak, sungup	davan	oñgup
Earring	tading	isan	subang
Chawat	bai	bah	bai
House	lebūh	umah	lau labu
Wood	kayo	kayoh
Posts	dirih	jeheh	patun
Door	abusukud	bataman	kobuko
Ladder	tagá	sahn	ojan
Bed	kadau tudūi ideh	tilong	lakid maturui
Mat	jalī	brat	jálí
Box	kaban	peteh
Road	arū, sawah	ulan	anun
Bridge	jaman	palang	ojan
Bow
Arrow
Spear	bakit	bakir	bañgoñg
Sword	pedang	pedang
Chopping knife	tui, barogah	malat	butut, garoja
Boat	tamui
Canoe	tūnan, salūi	arok	alui
Spirit	taū	toh	otu
Man	tulai, tanawan	lakeh	ale
Woman	marau	doh	oro
Husband	lai, sawah	lakeh doh	alé
Wife	maraū	doh dah	oro
Father	ama’	ameh	aman
Mother	ina’	indeh	inan
Grandfather	ipo’, akeh	ukuh	aki
Child	ugut	apang
Son	anak lai	anak lakeh	anak alé
Daughter	anak marau	anak doh	anak oro
Brother	janak lai, tatat lai	aren lakeh	naken alé
Sister	janak marau, tatat marau	aren dob	naken oro
Old	lake’	dab muku	toké
Young	jemanak	dah niam	iyong
Boy	jemanak lai	makeh	iyong isi
Girl	jemanak lūas or marau	nyen doh	iyong oro

——	IDA’AN.	BISAYA.	ADANG (MURUT).
Numerals:—
One	iso, san		sabulang
Two	duo		dua
Three	telo		telo
Four	apat		ampat
Five	limo		lima
Six	anam		anam
Seven	turo		turo
Eight	walo		walu
Nine	siam		ewa
Ten	opod		pulo
Eleven	opod dam iso		pelud cha
Twenty	duo nopod		pelud dua
A hundred	atus, san atus
Day	adau, tadau	adau	chaw
Night	sedap	mentiong potong	rachăm
Morning	suab nakapia	bukatadau	kamuka
Evening	tawañg-an
Yesterday	kăniab	kiniab	seladi
To-morrow	suab	suab	napā
Day after do.	suab dina
Light	okalub	miang	machang
Name	naran
Use	guno (muni)
The same	bagal
Food	takanan	akanakan
Rice	ogas, wagas	nubur (nasi)
Kaladi	gual
Yam	kaso
Kribang	wei
Fowl	manok		lahal
A cock	piak
Salt	silan	uson
Plaintain	punti		ba’ong
Cocoa-nut	piasau		bua butan
Flesh	ansi	ansi	wang
Fat	lambon, lunak	lunok	lumo’
Tobacco	sigup
Fish	sada	sada	lawid
Arrack	tuak bahar talak tinamul
Padi	parei	parei	pade’
Milk	gatas
Oil	umau	umau
Water	waig	aig	pa
Fire	apui	apui	apui
Smoke	lisun	lisun	rapun
Ashes	ahun	a’u
Egg	antalun	lampuni
Price	arga
Charcoal	tahun
Tree	guas, puhn kaya	puhn	pohun
Branch	rahan
Leaf	rahun	daun	daun
Flower	usak	usak	usak
Bark	kulit
Root	gamut	amut	war
Gutta	pulut
Fruit	uah	buah	buah
Seed	linso	umi	ilong
Plants	tanaman
Pitcher do.	kaku anga
Rattan	tuei
Bambu	ragup
“Batang” trunk	wabañgan
Moss	rañgilut
Thorn	rugi
Pinang	lakang
Young do.	lugus
Country	pagun	pagun	bawang
Earth	tanah	tanah	tanah
Stone	watu	batu	batu
River	bawang	bawang	pa
Mountain	bukid	bukid	turud dita
Valley	parong		aroi
Cave	luang	luang	lobang
Plain	kapayan	gana	balad
Sea	rahat	laut	pa nawap
Island	pulau	pulau	penulong
Wind	ibut	loñgos	bario
Storm	tañgus
Rainbow	meluntong	melintong	takang
Rain	rasam	rasam	mudan
Lightning	kadumaat	kaduma’at, longganit	lalam
Thunder	garut	sengkarut, lalam	lugo
Sun	matadau	mata-adau	chaw
Sand	oggis
Moon	ulan	bulan	bulan
Stars	rambituan	bintang	gatuan
Road	ralan
Forest	talunan
Lake	ranau
Deer	tambang	tambang	priau
Bear	buhuang
Horse	kuda
Buffalo	karbau
Cow cattle	sapi
Goat	kambing
Dog	asu	asu	okaw
Hog	bakas	bau-hi	barak
Wild hog		ramo	baka’
Cat	tuñg-au	using	kuching
Monkey	kara	kara	koyad
Rat	ikus	tikus
Snake	lanut	lanut	mampa’
Butterfly	galamambang	kalabang	berăpang
Beetle	anggiloung
Domestic bee	kalulut
Bee	tañgiñgat	mutit	sikan
Mosquito	sisit	kalias	tokong
Sandfly			ritak
Ant	kilau	kilau	dra
Horn	sungu		nga
Hair	ulu
Tail	tiku	iku	iyor
Feather	alad
Egg	antalu	lampuni
Honey	paha	leng	duro
Wings	tulut	alan	ilad
Half	siñggaran
Trade	bilian
A “dustar”	sigar
House	lamin, walei	alei
Wood	seduan
Posts	trigi	rigi
“Ataps” (mats)	tahap
Door	sesuanan	kārbon
Ladder	tukat	tukad
Window	tatiga-an
Fireplace	dapu-an
Bed (sleeping mat)	tikam modop	lubok
Mat	tikam	ikam
“Priok” pot	kuran
Hut	sulap
A measure	tuñgap
Pillow	roei
White man	kambura
Man	kadayan	mianei
People	suang
A man	kusei, ngulun	mianei
Woman	tandu	kimo
Husband	kusei	ano’
Wife	sawa, sau	sau-o
Father	ama	yama
Mother	ina	indu
Grandfather	adu aki	yaki
Grandmother	adu
Child	anak
Virgin	samandak
Kiss	siñgud	narokadong
Cloth	umut
“Chawat”	santut	sirot
Spear	andus	bangkau
“Parang”	dañgol	madi
Knife	peis
Shield	taming
Sword	pedang
A spirit	ragun	lematei
Iron	besi
Brass wire	saring
“Bidang”	ganap
Earring	anting anting
Needle	dalat
Jacket	rasuk-garong
Sheet	ramut
Body	inan	inan	burur
Head	ulu	ulu	ulu
Hair	tabuk	abuk	bok
Face	turas	rabas	monong
Ear	teliñgo	teliñgo
Eye	mato	mato
Eyebrow	kirei
Nose	tadong	adong
Mouth	kabang	kabañg	tang
Lip	munong
Tooth	nipun	ipun	lipan
Tongue	lelah	lelah	lebah
Cheek	piñgas	ilan	piñg-it
Neck	lio
Shoulder	liawa
Armpit	pakilok
Hand	palad	loñg-on	tichu, palad
Finger	tentuduk		buatichu
Thumb	malahing	indu loñgon	tuju tapo
Nail	sandulu	siñg-ilu	selon
Breasts	susu
Belly	tenai	tenai	batak
Navel	pusat
“Kamaluan” m	tali
“Kamaluan” f	tato tata’
Thigh	paw
Knee	atud
Calf	dakud
Foot	lapak	atis	palad kukud
Bone	tulang
Blood	raha	ra
Flesh	ansi	ng’giri	wang
Fat	lambon	lunok	lumo
Skin	kulit	kubil
Saliva	luja	jimpi	aka
Sweat	tumus	umos	pana
Elbow	siku
Fathom	dapo
String, &c.	toggis
To roll up	lapiau
Cover, lid	sompon
Thief	penakau
Good	rañggoi	munsi
Bad	arahat	rat
Right	rañggoi, ingka	bunoi
Wrong	sala’
Tall	kawas
Long	naro	auad	rawir
Short	sariba	riba	benua
Sweet	momis	mamis
Nice	wasi
Bitter	pait	pait
Sharp	taram
Blunt	amo, katagu
Old (tuah)	lai-ing (lai-ag?)	kako
Young	mulok	tari
Old (lama)	laid, kilo	laid, matuo	maun
New	wago	ago	baro
Hot	lasu	lasu
Cold	sagid	sagit	tenab
Wet	eiapas	masah	bah
Dry	magintu	kala’	takaring
True	ranggoi	bunor
False	udut	bawa
Ugly	arahat	rat
Pretty	osonang	monsei
Large	gaio, kagaio	gaio	raya
Small	koré	diok	madi
Heavy	magat, bagat [wagat, ogat	magat	brat
Light	gan	gan	rahan
All	timong	sañgai	abiabi
Many	gamo, sapo	suang	mulamula
Few	koré-koré	diok	sesut
Like	bagal (“mirad”)	sama paras	pahad lea
Different	suei
Slow	boei	boei	dadan
Rapid	gompas	deros	mauwar
Heavy as rain	gompas
Thirsty	tuhan	kalalio
Hungry	losun	mitil
Striking	buntong
Sick	sagid	duol
Dead	matei	matei
Sorry	susah	gagau
Angry	magulau	siau
Straight	tulid	tulid	sŭn
Crooked	brakilong	belengkok	kelo’
Square	apat, persagi	ampat pensagi	lepingpat
Round	urud		taburor
Broad	kalab	lebah	raya
Thick	kapah	kapah	kapal
Thin	mipis	nipis	nipi
Shallow			tutun
Deep	ralam	lalum
Black	eitom	hitom	mitam
White	purak	purak	buda
Red	ragang	ragang	sia
Yellow	silau	chilau	berar
Sore	owal
Raw	matah’	matah	matah
Ripe	mansak	mansak	lak
Dirty	amut
Clean	aro’k
Hard	kadau	kodau	tua
Soft	lumi	lembut	leia
Enough	ganap
“Korang” wanting	amo, karuñgut
Pregnant	betian
Slippery	lamau, lamo
Clever	tutun
Quick	jajaran
Right	ganan
Left	gibang
Rough	sanilu
Bold and brave	siau
I or we	yeho, yai dugu	jami
You	dia	ikan
He or they	idia	iyo
Who	sei	iseo
What	nono	a’an
This	iti	tio
That	ina	sulo
Here	diti	ditio	dini
There	ilo, dilo	sulu	dŭng-a
Where	nambo	domboi	dapei-a
Far	sadu	sado	madi
Near	sămak, sămok	somok	monăng
Without	saribau	ribau	lemela’
Within	saralam	selalam	metakap
Above	kawas	ribau	duñgeilun
Below	sariba	sua	meilena
Behind	likud	likud	katad
Before	dibrus	derabas	lepa monong
Between	palatan		rang
To	ka
Previously	gahulu
From	masunut
Not yet	eiso po
Yes	aw	awe
No	eiso	ŭnjob
Now	kirakira	kila	năpŭ
When	sañgira	memburo	idan
Afterwards	turi, tahuri	turi	muchi
In this way	inka’, pinka’
In that way	inka-i
How many	sangkora, gamo
Presently	ruhei
More	aro
To eat	mengakan
To see	magintong	lintong
To drink	menginum
To laugh	magirak	girak
To weep	miad	giad
To kiss	maniñgud	narokadong
To speak	boras	betuntut
To be silent	mada	gorom
To hear	makinañgo	koroñgo
To lift	kakatan	teñgañgo
To walk	manau	manau
To run	magidu	midu
To stand	mindahau	kakat
To sit	mirikau	koko
To climb	midakud	nakod
To sleep	modop	modop
To awake	tumanag, tuñgag	tidong
To recollect	insam
To know	pandei, mila	pandei
To forget	aliwan	kalamuan
To ask for	makiano
To wait	magandad	ninteo
To come	sikei	mikot
To go	mañgai, pagidu	midu
To meet	bertemu
To hide	lisuk	mensusut
To search	magi-om	yumo
To give	noan	menak
To bring	oito	mito
To kill	sañgat, meniangat	metai-o
To wound	suhat
To sow	memambri
To plant	meñgasuk
To fight	meñgulan, merasang
To trade	berdagang
To buy	bili
To sell	taranan
To cheat	menipu
To steal	menakau, menikus
To marry	menasawa
To bear children	berganak
To grow	samuni
To shout	meniangkis
“Ada”	warah
“Habis”	awi, ei, nei
To shade	osorong
To swim	samadoi
To arrive	korokod
To wash	miñg isu
To bathe	madsiu, padsiu
To want	saga
Don’t	ada
To burn	tutud
“He says”	kadsio
To play	berunsei
To tie	kagus
“Gurau”	bersibak
“Amput”	berkiu
To hug	gapus
To lay hold of	migit, makahei
To desire	saga’
To return	sagulei
To take a wife	kasawa
„ husband	memañgat
High		sau-at	dita
To strike		pudo	mapar
To break		petul	motul
To open		bika	ngukab
To shut		beno	nutub
To lift		tenañg-o	năkang
To throw		menokon	mapat
To sound		katab	buri
Darkness		potong	racham
Green
Iron	basi		belawan
Hill		bukid diok	turud, murud
Hurricane	tañgus	ribut	buri mawar
West		surapadau
East		matadayau
Cloud			laput
Noon		tampakadau	topud chaw
Sky		adau
To burn	tudo	sensuli	menunoh
To smoke	lisun	lisun	rapun
Rice	agas, wagas	agas	brah
Pumpkin	tawadak		belabu
Yam	kaso		ubi
Mouse	ikus		labaw
Squirrel		niamo
Bird		manok	suit
Kite		kanio	kanio
Sparrow		pirit	pirit
Swallow		senkalayang	kalua
Crow		mangkak	brengkak
Cage		kuruñgan
Frog		sei	sit
Crab		kuyu	kra
Prawn		tentudik
Fly		pañgat
Spider		senkalang
Wax			ulih
Thirsty		kalalio	pring
Hungry		mitil	lau
Smell	kiabau	mau
Fragrant		munsei
Stinking	buntong	mutong
Dead	matei	matei
Answer		sumbarau
Pleased		nako
Afraid		lemakak
Shame		mikum
Love		ngako
Hate		baji
Wish		ngako
Right		bunor
Find		malak
Take		lapo
Boil		sunsam
Broil		sinalau
Earring		subang
Road		langgaio
Bridge		pentaran
Boat		padas
Canoe		padasdiok
Son		mianei
Daughter		kimo
Brother		sitari
Sister		sitari kimo
Girl		anak agu
Shallow (as water)			tutun
Tin			simara’
Sweet potato	wei
Kaladi	gual
A cock	piak
Ask for	makiano

——	MALAY.	LANUN.
Straight	lūrūs	matidu
Crooked	bengkok	becōg
Square	ampat persagi	„
Round	bulat	„
Long	panjang	melendu
Broad	lebar	maulad
Thick	tabal	makapal
Thin	nipis	manipis
Deep	dalam	madalam
High	tiñggi	mapuro
Short	pendek	mababa
Without	deluar	segămau
Within	dedalam	sisedalam
Light (in weight)	riñgan	demaugat
Heavy	brat	maugat
Above	de atas	sekapruan
Below	de bawa	sekababa-an
Behind	de blakañg	selikud
Before	de muka	sesuñguran
Between	antara	„
Here	sini	sika
There	sana	ruka
Far	jauh	muatan
Near	dekat	maubé
Where	mana	autuna
At	de	„
To	ka	a
From	deri	si
All	samoa	lañgunyen
Many	baniak	madākal
Few	sedikit	meitu
Small	kechil	meitu
Large	besar	mala
Like	serūpa	magīsan
Now	sakarañg	amei
When	bila
Then	kamudien	maŭri
To-morrow	besok	amag
Yesterday	kulmari	dua gua i dĕn
Old	lama	matei dĕn
New	bharu	bagu
Slow	lambat	malūmbat
Rapid	laju	magā-an
Strike	pukul	basal
Break	pechah	maupak
Open	buka
Shut	tutup
Lift	angkat	sepūat
Throw	lontar	pelāntig
Wet	basah	moasah
Dry	kring	magañgu
Sound	bunyi	uni
Light	trañg	malīwānug
Darkness	glap	malībutăng
Black	hitam	māhitam
White	putih	maputih
Red	merah	marega
Yellow	kuning	bināning
Blue	biru
Green	ijau
Country	negri	iñgud
Earth	tanah	lupa
Stone	batu	watu
Gold	mas	bulāwan
Silver	perak
Iron	besi	putau
Mountain	gunong	palau
Valley	lembah
Cave	guah	pasu
Hill	bukit	gunoñg
Plain	padang
Island	pulau
Water	ayer	aig
Sea	laut	kaludan
River	sungei
Air	udara
Wind	añgin	ūndū
Hurricane	ribut
North	utara
West	barat
South	salātan
East	timor
Cloud	awan
Rainbow	palañgi	datu bagua
Rain	ujan
Lightning	kilat
Thunder	tagar	gūntūr
Day	hari	gau-ī
Night	malam	magabī
Morning	siañg	mapīta
Sun	matahari
Noon	tañgah hari
Sky	lañgit
Moon	bulan	ulan
Star	bintang	bituan
Hot	panas	mai-au
Fire	api	apūī
Burn	bakar	pegīau (ăngka)
Smoke	asap	bŭl
Ashes	abu
Cocoa-nut	kalapa	nīūg
Plantain	pisang	saging
Paddy	padi	ilau
Rice	bras	bĕgas
Pumpkin	labū
Yam	ubi
Seed	biji
Tree	puhn
Root	akar
Leaf	daun	raun
Flower	buñga
Fruit	buah
Raw	mantah	mélau
Ripe	masak	mialütū
Elephant	gajah
Tiger	rimau
Deer	rusa	seladŭng
Bear	bruang
Horse	kuda
Buffalo	karbau
Cow	sapi betina	sapi babai
Goat	kambing
Dog	anjing	asu
Hog	babi	babūi
Monkey	munyit
Cat	kuching	bédŏng
Mouse	(kechil) tikus	ria (maitū)
Rat (besai)	tikus	dumpau
Squirrel	tupei
Bird	burong	papanok
Domestic fowl	ayam
Duck	itek
Kite	alang
Sparrow	pipit	papanok
Swallow	layang layang	lelāyang
Crow	gagak
Cage	sangkar	kuroñgan
Snake	ular	nipai
Frog	katak	babak
Fish	ikan	seda
Crab	katam	leăgan
Prawn	udang
Coral	karang buñga
Butterfly	kūpū
Bee	lebah	tabūan
Fly	lalat
Mosquito	niamok
Louse	kuku
Ant	semūt
Spider	laba laba
Horn	tandok
Tail	ikur	ikug
Feather	bulu	bumbul
Wings	sayap
Egg	telur	urak
Honey	madu
Wax	lilin	taru
Body	badan	gināu-a
Head	kapala	ulu
Hair	rambut	bok
Face	muka	biyas
Ear	teliñga
Eye	mata
Nose	idong	ngirong
Cheek	pipi
Mouth	mulut	ngari
Lip	bibir
Tooth	gigi	ngipan
Tongue	ledah
Hand	tañgan	lima
Finger	jari	kamai
Thumb	ibu jari
Nail	kuku
Belly	prūt	tian
Foot	kaki	ay
Bone	tulang	tulun
Flesh	daging	sapu
Skin	kulit
Fat	gumok	masăbūa
Lean	krus	megăsā
Blood	dara	rugu
Saliva	ludah
Sweet	peluh	ating
Hard (as a stone)	kras	matagas
Soft	lunak	melemak
Hot	panas	mai-aū
Cold	sejūk	matănggan
Thirsty	aus	kaur
Hungry	lapar	megūtan
Sour	masam
Sweet	manis
Bitter	pait
Smell	bau
Fragrant	harum	mapīa bau
Stinking	anyir	maratai bau
Sick	sakit	masakit
Dead	mati	matai
Eat	makan	kuman
Drink	minum
See	lihat	ilai
Laugh	tertawa
Weep	tañgis	semăgŭd
Kiss	chium
Speak	kata	taroh
Be silent	diam	gūmănŭg
Hear	duñgar	makănŭg
Lift	angkat	sepuat
Walk	jalan	lumalakan
Run	lari	melagui
Stand	dīri	tumatindug
Sit	duduk	muntud
Climb	panjat	pamusug
Sleep	tidor	tūmūrūg
Awake	bañgūn
Recollect	kanal
Know	tau	kataūan
Forget	lupa	kalipatan
Ask	preksa
Answer	saut	sŭmbŭg
Understand	mengarti	matau
Yes	iya
No	tidak	da
Beautiful	elok	mapia
Ugly	rupa jahat	marāta
Pleased	suka	mesūap
Sorry	susah
Afraid	takut	kaluk
Shame	malu	kaya
Love	kasūka-an	masūat
Hate	binchi
Anger	marah	membuñgūt
Wish	man	kiūgan
Right	betul	metidū
Wrong	salah	masalah
Good	baik	mapīa
Bad	jahat	marāta
True	benar
False	dusta	būkŭg
Wait	nanti	gūmaganŭg
Come	datang	makōma
Go	pergi	sŭmong
Meet	temu
Hide	bunyi(s)tapok	tapok
Search	chari	pengileī
Find	dapat	makūa
Give	kasih	begai
Take	ambil	kūa
Bring	bawa	sepūat
Take away	kaluarkan	gūmaū
Kill	bunoh
I	aku	sakŭn
Mine	aku punia	quon sakŭn
Thou	angkau	sekā
Thine	angkau punia	quonka
He, she, it	diya	gīa
His, &c.	diya punia	quon gīa
We (_inclusive or absolute_)		sakŭn
Our (_inclusive_)		quon akŭn
We (_exclusive or relative_)		sakŭn
Our (_exclusive_)		quon akŭn
You	angkau	sekā
Your	angkau punia	quon kā
They	diya	gīa
Their	diya punia	quon gīa
This	ini
That	itu
Which	iang
Who	siapa	antāwa
What	apa	antūna
Food	makān-an
Rice, boiled	nasi	băgās
Sugar	gula
Oil	miniak	lanah
Milk	susu
Flesh	daging	sapu
Boil	rebus
Broil	goring
Salt	garam	timūs
Clothes	pakei-an
Earring	krabu
Chawat	chawat	bilad
House	rumah	wali
Wood	kayu
Posts	tiang (rumah)
Door	pintu
Ladder	tangga
Bed	tumpat tidor	tūrūgan
Mat	tikar	dŭmpas
Box	peti	kaban
Road	jalan	malakau
Bridge	jambātan
Bow	panah
Arrow	anak panah
Spear	tombak	bangkau
Sword	pedang
Chopping-knife	parang	puduk
Boat	prahu	awang
Canoe	sampan
Spirit	hantu
Man	lakilaki	mama
Woman	perampuan	babai
Husband	laki	karūma
Wife	bini	karūma
Father	bapa	ama
Mother	ma	ina
Grandfather	nenek
Child	anak	wata
Son	anak lakilaki	wata mama
Daughter	anak perampuan	wata babai
Brother	sudara lakilaki	pegari mama
Sister	sudara perampuan	pegari babai
Old	tuah	lukus
Young	muda	meñguda
Boy	budak	wata
Girl	anak dara	raga

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Life in the forests of the Far East (vol. 2 of 2)

LIFE IN THE FORESTS OF THE FAR EAST.

CONTENTS.

APPENDICES.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. II.

CHAPTER I. EXPEDITIONS TO EXPLORE THE INTERIOR TO THE SOUTH AND SOUTH-EAST OF THE CAPITAL.

CHAPTER II. MY LIMBANG JOURNAL.

CHAPTER III. MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER IV. MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER V. MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER VI. MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.

CHAPTER VII. MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Concluded.

CHAPTER VIII. THE SULU ARCHIPELAGO. FIRST VISIT.

CHAPTER IX. THE SULU ISLANDS. SECOND VISIT.

CHAPTER X. THE KINGDOM OF BORNEO PROPER.

CHAPTER XI. SARAWAK AND ITS DEPENDENCIES.

CHAPTER XII. THE CHINESE IN BORNEO.

CHAPTER XIII. THE CHINESE INSURRECTION.

CHAPTER XIV. THE MISSIONS: ROMAN CATHOLIC AND PROTESTANT.

APPENDICES.

APPENDIX A.

DAYAK LANGUAGES.

SAMBAS TO BATANG LUPAR.

APPENDIX B.

APPENDIX C.

APPENDIX D.

APPENDIX E.

FOOTNOTES:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

LIFE IN THE FORESTS
OF
THE FAR EAST.

CHAPTER I.
EXPEDITIONS TO EXPLORE THE INTERIOR TO THE SOUTH AND SOUTH-EAST OF THE CAPITAL.

CHAPTER II.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL.

CHAPTER III.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER IV.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER V.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—continued.

CHAPTER VI.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Continued.

CHAPTER VII.
MY LIMBANG JOURNAL—Concluded.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE SULU ARCHIPELAGO.
FIRST VISIT.

CHAPTER IX.
THE SULU ISLANDS.
SECOND VISIT.

CHAPTER X.
THE KINGDOM OF BORNEO PROPER.

CHAPTER XI.
SARAWAK AND ITS DEPENDENCIES.

CHAPTER XII.
THE CHINESE IN BORNEO.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE CHINESE INSURRECTION.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE MISSIONS: ROMAN CATHOLIC AND PROTESTANT.