Chapter III: The Kayans of Baram (1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T. Picken lith. Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen.

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

THE CITY OF BRUNEI--SUNSET.]

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

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

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

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

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

About twenty miles up the river was a landing-place on the right bank, leading to the Blait country, inhabited by Muruts, who have suffered heavily by the attacks of the Kayans.

Makota, the Malay noble so often mentioned in Keppel’s _Voyage of the Dido_, as the chief opponent of European influence in Borneo, and certainly the ablest and most unscrupulous man, and yet the most agreeable companion I have found among the Malays, told me how the Kayans had managed to obtain a village of Muruts in the Blait country. It had often been attacked, but, as a strong stockade had been built round it, they had defied the enemy.

One day, a fugitive party of three men and several women and children were seen flying from the jungle towards the Murut village. Some armed men went out to meet them, and they said that they had run away from the Kayans, and were now escaping pursuit. They proved to be Muruts of a distant river, who had been captured and held in slavery by the Kayans. The Blaits received them with hospitality, and offered them room in their long village houses that contained 150 families. The fugitives, however, said they preferred keeping their party together, and asked leave to build up a temporary hut against the inner side of the stockade. Permission was granted, and they lived there six months, working at a farm with their hosts.

One of these men, after the gathering in of the harvest, stayed out till sunset, and explained it by saying he had been hunting, and that the chase had led him farther than he intended. It was a dark night that followed; and, about four in the morning, a large party of Kayans crawled quietly up to the stockade, and found an entrance prepared for them. The posts had been removed by the stranger Muruts, who had gradually cut through the wood that formed the inner wall of their temporary shed. When sufficient were within the defences, a loud shout was raised, and fire applied to the leaf houses. The villagers rushed out to be cut down or captured. In the confusion and the darkness, however, the larger portion escaped, but left about a hundred and fifty bodies and captives in the hands of the Kayans; and I am not sorry to add, among the former were the three treacherous men who had caused this awful scene. Some of the attacking party not obtaining heads, quietly possessed themselves of those of their three allies.

Kum Lia planned and led this foray. I had some doubts of the truth of this circumstantially told story; and many years after, meeting Kum Lia in daily intercourse, I asked him about it. He was proud to acknowledge that he was the author of the able stratagem, but was not clear as to whether they had also slain their allies, but thought it very possible that his followers had done so.

At sunset we passed the island of Bakong, divided by narrow waters from the shore, and along the banks grass grew luxuriantly. We were struck by the appearance of dark objects; and, seeing them move, telescopes were pointed, and they proved to be a herd of Tambadau, or wild cattle, and at the edge of the jungle was a group of deer.

We anchored at the entrance of the Bakong stream, about thirty-five miles from the mouth of the Baram. During the night careful observations were made, and it was found that at the height of the flood the river rose only three feet, and the strength of the current averaged only one mile per hour.

Started before sunrise; the stream continues much the same. At first there were more open glades, with rich soft-looking grass like our English meadows; traces of wild cattle and deer were constantly to be observed. The river was seldom over four hundred yards in breadth, but never less than two; the soundings changed from three fathoms to no bottom with the usual line, but this great variation was caused by our not always being able to keep in the deepest part of the stream.

A glance at the map will show how very abrupt are the turnings, and how the stream doubles on itself, rendering it a very difficult matter to steer. Occasionally the current would catch the bow of the steamer, and force it on the shore; but immediately the stern felt the same force, it was pressed also towards the bank, and the stem again would point up stream. It was at last found the easiest and safest way to turn the sharp points.

To-day we steamed by several Malay trading prahus pulling up the stream, and observed one enormous Tapang tree that rose close to the water’s edge.

Early in the afternoon we passed the embouchure of the Tingjir on the left bank; it was about a third of the size of the Baram, and is said to be shallow: it is well inhabited by a tribe of people called Sububs, with whom the Kayans are interspersed. A couple of hours after, we reached the Tutu on the right bank; up this the Kayans proceed when intent on a foray in the Upper Limbang country.

Saw the first Kayans near this spot. Two canoes were coming down the river; directly they perceived the moving monster approaching, they turned and fled; but as they found we were overtaking them, they deserted their canoes and dashed ashore. Three, however, remained at the edge of the jungle, and we reassured them by waving our handkerchiefs. It was a pardonable fear, they had never before seen anything larger than their own war boats. They looked very much like the Kanowit Dayaks before described.

We had one fine view of the peak of Molu and of its surrounding ranges; occasionally the banks are becoming steep.

Anchored after sunset, above one hundred miles from the mouth; we are now far beyond the influence of the tides, yet the current averaged but a mile and a half.

Again started before sunrise; the river continued its winding course with a few patches of greensward; our guides say there are no more wild cattle, but many deer in this neighbourhood. We passed the sites of numerous deserted plantations and of a few new ones: we startled the people at a farmhouse by running our bowsprit into their verandah: no wonder the women and children fled shrieking to the jungle.

Most of these habitations are built on high posts, and are very neatly constructed. Generally, the people showed little fear, but crowded the verandahs to look at us, some rushing to their boats to follow. We again found a little difficulty in rounding the sharp points, and were constantly striking the banks, but no damage was done, although we were often among the overhanging branches of the jungle.

We touched once, while near the centre of the stream, on what I do not know, probably a rock or a stump of a tree--the snags of the American rivers. But just above this spot was the abrupt hill of Gading, that rises perpendicularly from the banks, and is brightly white, with deep fissures, and is celebrated for its birds’-nest caves. I am sorry we did not stop to examine this, as many years after I found among the Muruts of the centre of Northern Borneo, a small slab of white marble, that I could only trace as having been brought from the Baram river. The Malays called it Batu Gading, or ivory-stone: it was pure white.

Among our Malays was one who had frequently traded with the north-east coast, and the mention of Gading (ivory) brought to his recollection that elephants exist in the districts about the river Kina Batañgan. I have seen many tusks brought to Labuan for sale, but never measured one longer than six feet two inches, including the part set in the head.

I have met dozens of men who have seen the elephants there, but my own experience has been limited to finding their traces near the sea-beach. It is generally believed that above a hundred years ago the East India Company sent to the Sultan of Sulu a present of these animals; that the Sultan said these great creatures would certainly eat up the whole produce of his own little island, and asked the donors to land them at Cape Unsang, on the north-east coast of Borneo, where his people would take care of them. But it is contrary to their nature to take care of any animal that requires much trouble, so the elephants sought their own food in the woods, and soon became wild.

Hundreds now wander about, and constantly break into the plantations, doing much damage; but the natives sally out with huge flaming torches, and drive the startled beasts back to the woods.

The ivory of Bornean commerce is generally procured from the dead bodies found in the forests, but there is now living, one man who drives a profitable trade in fresh ivory. He sallies out on dark nights, with simply a waistcloth and a short, sharp spear: he crawls up to a herd of elephants, and selecting a large one, drives his spear into the animal’s belly. In a moment, the whole herd is on the move, frightened by the bellowing of their wounded companion, who rushes to and fro, until the panic spreads, and they tear headlong through the jungle, crushing before them all smaller vegetation. The hunter’s peril at that moment is great, but fortune has favoured him yet, as he has escaped being trampled to death.

In the morning he follows the traces of the herd, and, carefully examining the soil, detects the spots of blood that have fallen from the wounded elephant. He often finds him, so weakened by loss of blood as to be unable to keep up with the rest of the herd, and a new wound is soon inflicted. Patiently pursuing this practice, the hunter has secured many of these princes of the forest.

One can easily understand how startled a man unused to an animal larger than a pony would feel on suddenly finding himself face to face with a huge elephant. My favourite follower, Musa, has often made his audience laugh by an account of the feelings he experienced, when, pulling up the great river of Kina Batañgan, he steered close in-shore to avoid the strength of the current, and, looking up to find what was moving near, saw a noble tusked elephant above him, with his proboscis stretched over the boat to pick fruit beyond--“The paddle dropped from my hand, life left me, but the canoe drifted back out of danger.”

The banks of the Baram gradually became higher, and topped by neat farm-houses, increased in beauty; but I think the first view of the Kayan town of Lañgusin was one of the most picturesque I have ever witnessed. Long houses, built on lofty posts, on hills of various heights, yet appearing to be clustered together, while near were numerous little rice stores, neatly whitewashed. I never saw a prettier-looking place. We steered on, until we reached a long village-house, still building, opposite which we anchored. Crowds immediately assembled on the banks, and the Bornean traders came off to give and receive news.

The chief, Tamawan, now sent to know how the salutes were to be arranged, and we agreed that as usual we should salute his flag first, and that he should return it. We were rather surprised to find an English ensign hoisted, but he had received it from a trader, and said he would never change it, as it showed his good feeling towards us.

Among the guns fired was the pivot 32-pounder, and the sound echoed and re-echoed among the neighbouring hills, startling the whole population, who had never before heard anything louder than a brass swivel. The salute was returned by an irregular firing, that continued for about an hour--the greater number of guns the greater honour.

My Malay followers were very desirous that I should show the utmost dignity, and require the chiefs of the river to make the first visit; but on that I declined insisting, and left it to the Kayans to settle; and, thinking it would show more confidence, I went on shore while these preliminaries were discussing, and walked to the spot where all the principal men were assembled under a temporary shed. Two chairs and two boxes covered with English rugs were arranged at one end. Before taking my seat, I shook hands with all around. This was a formal meeting, and I explained to them the object of our coming, which was to cement the friendship of the English with the Kayans. Having just arrived from the Kanowit, I was enabled to give them some intelligence from their friends and relations. In fact, I found Kum Nipa’s son here, and also Diñgun, Belabun’s brother, and I had the unpleasant task of informing them that small-pox had broken out on the Rejang, and was committing fearful ravages. I did not tell the latter of the death of his younger brother by Kayan hands, as it might prove disagreeable to be informed of it publicly.

I did not stay long, as they appeared to be uneasy, but with general assurances of friendship left them.

It is difficult to describe the outward appearance of these people, and say anything different from what I have already said in describing the Sea Dayaks. They are much like the Sakarangs, except that they are slightly tatooed with a few stars and other marks; however, I have not as yet seen much of them.

Along the banks of the river, we observed many Kayan graves: the body is wrapped up, enclosed within a hollowed coffin, and raised on two thick, carved posts, with roughly carved woodwork extending out from each corner, like those seen on the roofs of Budhist temples. In one they put so many goods that the Bornean traders were tempted to rob them; and had not the Kayans discovered who were the culprits, the rest would have suffered heavily. The Bornean thieves escaped, but they and all their connections are for ever precluded from trading with this district.

Diñgun came on board to hear more particular news of his family, and was shocked on being informed of the death of his brother: he told me he should return home in about five months. Two years ago, he and a party of thirty started from Kanowit, and proceeded up the Rejang, amusing themselves with the Kayans; they then pushed on and crossed over to Baram, where they had remained guests of the principal chiefs. He and his companions were easily distinguished from their neighbours by their profuse tatooing. I was enabled to give him some information about his father, his brothers, and his four children; about his wife, I do not remember that he inquired.

The Baram is said to abound in alligators, but they are evidently not very dangerous, as the women and children bathed daily opposite the ship. Strength of current, two knots per hour.

Next morning, the chiefs came on board. I will give their names as a curiosity:--Tamawan, Siñgauding, Kum Lia, the hero of the Blait surprise, Si Matau, Longapan, and Longkiput, with some hundreds of followers. They were charmed to be allowed freely to inspect the vessel. Tamawan looks a savage, and doubtless is one: he had on but little dress--a waistcloth of about two fathoms of gray shirting, a handkerchief tossed over his shoulder, and a head-dress of dark cloth. He is but slightly tatooed, having a couple of angles on his breast, a few stars on his arms, his hands as far as the joints of his fingers, and a few fanciful touches about his elbows; his ears were bored and then drawn down by leaden weights, as is the fashion among the Kanowits; the tops of his ears were also bored, and the long teeth of the tiger-cat stuck through them like a pair of turn-down horns. And such was the dress and appearance of nearly all but a few young men, who wore jackets of a variety of colours, with an equal variety of trimmings. Tamawan was a small man, but Simatau and Siñgauding were hulking fellows; they were all strong or wiry-looking men, capable of much fatigue; their countenances, on the whole, were pleasant. I took them down to inspect the machinery, and my Bornean followers were their guides to show them all the other wonders on board, particularly the large thirty-two pounder gun, which greatly excited their respect. Kum Lia, who is the son-in-law of Kum Nipa, of Rejang, whom I have mentioned as the chief we intended to visit, when we were stopped by the small-pox having broken out in his country, stayed after the others to inquire about his family. He remembered the name of Niblett, who commanded the _Phlegethon_ when it called at Bintulu in 1847.

In the evening I visited Siñgauding at his house. I should like to have taken up my residence on shore, but they were desirous to make so many preparations that I gave up the idea, as our stay would necessarily be short, although I was anxious to observe them more closely.

Our talk was at first about steamers, balloons, and rockets, of which they had heard much from the Borneans. They particularly wished to know if we had a telescope that could discover the hidden treasures of the earth, as they had heard we possessed one that showed mountains in the moon.

I was unfortunate in the medium through which I obtained my information. The Bornean interpreters are only anxious on the subject of trade; and being Mahomedans always laugh at the superstitions of the wild tribes. I therefore give, with some hesitation, what they told me concerning their religion. They said the name of their god was Totaduñgan, and he was the supreme ruler who created, and now reigned over all; that he had a wife, but no children; beneath him were many other inferior powers. They believed in a future life, with separate places for the souls of the good and of the bad; that their heaven and hell were divided into many distinct residences; that those who died from wounds, from sickness, or were drowned, went each to separate places. If a woman died before her husband, she went to the other world and married. On the death of her husband, if he came to the same world, she repudiated her ghostly partner and returned to him who had possessed her on earth.

Siñgauding’s house was of a similar construction to those of the Sea Dayaks, very long, with a broad, covered verandah, as a public room, and a sleeping-place for the bachelors, while off it were separate apartments for the married people, the young girls, and children. The roof was of shingle, the posts of heavy wood, the flooring of long and broad rough planks, the partitions of the same material, with small doors about two feet above the floor, leading into the inner rooms.

Every Kayan chief of consideration possesses a kind of seat formed from the Tapang tree. It is, in fact, a huge slab, cut out of the buttress of that lofty tree; and this seat descends from father to son, till it is polished and black with age. Siñgauding gave me one, measuring ten feet six inches by six feet six inches. It was made into a very handsome dining-table, but was unfortunately burnt during the Chinese insurrection of 1857. When Siñgauding heard of this, he determined to send me another that should throw the former into the shade; and I heard that the one selected was fifteen feet by nine. Up to August, 1861, it had not reached me, as all the Malay traders declared their boats were too small to receive it.

Near the spot where we sat conversing were open baskets, hung near the fire-places, containing the human heads they had captured. The house certainly did not look cheerful; but I saw it under unfavourable circumstances--a dark evening with constant drizzling rain.

As yet, I have seen but the few women who bathe opposite to the ship. They are generally tatooed from the knee to the waist, and wear but a cloth like a handkerchief hung round the body, and tucked in at one side above the hip, leaving a portion of the thigh visible. When bathing, their tatooing makes them look as if they were all wearing black breeches. They are tolerable-looking women; and I saw a few pleasant countenances.

The visit of the steamer was not timed very fortunately, as Tamadin, an influential chief, with a large party, was away head-hunting; and a rumour had arrived of a very severe loss having been suffered by a force that started for the interior of the Limbang and Trusan rivers. If we could stay twenty days we should see all the population; but I have had a hint that the provisions are running short, and nothing can be procured here but a few pigs, fowls, and goats, all very dear.

I have calculated the population of this town, called Lañgusin, at 2,500 souls, and this is perhaps under the mark. From my inquiries, however, the interior must be tolerably well peopled.

At ten o’clock at night, the shouts and yells of the Kayans on shore were borne to us, as they were working with might and main to finish the long village-house of Tamawan. He gave them some drink, and they worked half the night.

They showed me some very pretty mats to-day made by the wandering tribe of Punans, who live on jungle produce, and collect honey and wax.

Next day I sent some presents to Siñgauding and Tamawan, and at their special invitation went ashore to meet them. A large temporary shed sheltered us from the sun. There was no inconvenient crowding, not more than a hundred men being assembled, and about twenty women, the wives and daughters of their chiefs. Among them there were some interesting girls. They wore their long black hair quite loose, only white fillets being bound round the forehead, so as to cast the hair in heavy masses over their ears and down their backs. Their countenances were open, bright dark eyes, smooth foreheads, depressed noses, clear skin, but indifferent mouths. They had good figures and well set up busts. I have as yet seen no old women and men in the tribe.

One of the objects of my visit was to inquire into the alleged bad conduct of an English trader and of a Sarawak Malay. I spent two hours in this investigation. When this was over, native arrack and some of my French brandy was introduced. About a third of a tumbler of the former was handed to me. As I raised it to my lips, the whole assembly burst out into what appeared a drinking chorus; and this they did when any man of note drank. A little spirit getting into them, they became more cheerful and amusing; and we talked about their head-hunting propensities. The wholesome advice I felt compelled to give them on this subject made them feel thirsty, and Tamawan seizing a bottle, filled two tumblers two-thirds full of raw spirit and handed it to me, and asked me to drink with him to the friendship of the two nations. Could I refuse? No. I raised the tumbler to my lips, and amid a very excited chorus allowed the liquor to flow down.

When this was finished, Tamawan jumped up, and while standing burst out into an extempore song, in which Sir James Brooke and myself, and last, not least, the wonderful steamer, was mentioned with warm eulogies, and every now and then the whole assembly joined in chorus with great delight.

Tamawan now sat down and talked about head-hunting again. He said that when the Kayans attacked a village, they only killed those who resisted or attempted to escape; the rest they brought home with them, turning them in fact into field slaves. He declared, however, that his great village, and twenty-one others, were averse to the practice of head-hunting; but that over the twenty-eight other villages he had no influence. The above forty-nine villages he went over by name, and mentioned likewise the principal chief in each. They assert that a village was considered small that had only a hundred families, while a large one contained four hundred. If we may judge from the account he gave of the town opposite which we are anchored, he must have underrated considerably. He said this contained two hundred families; but after going over the numbers in each village-house, we came to the conclusion that there were at least five hundred families in Lañgusin. But as long as head-hunting is considered an honourable pursuit, and the acquisition of Murut slaves enables the chiefs to live without labour, it will be impossible to put a stop to their forays.

Tamawan had excited himself on this subject, and again feeling very thirsty after all the information he had given me, now looked about for something to drink. I was beginning to congratulate myself on its being finished, when he spoke to a very pretty girl who was standing near, and she instantly disappeared to return with a couple of bottles of brandy in her hands. The two tumblers were again filled more than half-full--one for me, the other for himself. I remembered what Sydney Smith said of the little effect spirit often has on the temperate man, and joined him in this last pledge. I pitied the poor Malays, who had never been accustomed to anything stronger than tea, being forced to follow our example; and yet it was ridiculous to watch their contortions and wry faces, as their inexorable hosts forced them to swallow their allowance.

Now came a ceremony new to me: a young pig was brought in by the pretty waiting-maid and handed over to one of the men present, who bound its legs, and carrying it out opposite to where the _Pluto_ was anchored, placed it on the ground. Mats were laid around, and a chair was provided for me. Tamawan now came forward and commenced an oration. His voice was at first thick from the potency of his previous draughts; but warming on his subject, he entered at large on the feelings of friendship with which he regarded the English; spoke of the wonderful vessel that came with oars of fire; seized my hand, and gesticulated excitedly with the other; then pointing to the pig, he entered on what appeared to be a prayer, as he seemed appealing to something beyond him; he took a knife, and cut the pig’s throat; the body was then opened, and the heart and liver taken out and placed on two leaves, and closely examined, to judge from their appearance whether our visit would be fortunate for the Kayan nation. Every chief present felt their different proportions, and Tamawan pointed out to me the various indications. Luckily for our friendship, they found that every portion portended good fortune. With his bloody hand Tamawan grasped mine, and expressed his delight at the happy augury. Throwing away the auricle of the heart, they cut up the rest to eat, and placed the pieces over the fire, using a bambu as a cooking vessel.

I now took my leave, rather tired with my four hours’ exertions, and returned on board. The ceremony of examining the heart and liver of the pig was too classical not to merit particular notice, though I have already mentioned that the Sakarang Dayaks practise the same.

Next day being Sunday, the Malays kept the Kayans from coming on board. I inquired particularly as to the meaning of Tamawan’s address yesterday, and I hear that it was an invocation to the spirits of good and evil to allow him to discover from the heart of the sacrifice whether our visit was to prove fortunate or not to the Kayan nation.

Siñgauding sent on board to request me to become his brother by going through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it is placed within a native cigar and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony. It is called Berbiang by the Kayans; Bersabibah by the Borneans. I landed with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk, to give time for the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the broad verandah of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about to enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum Lia took a small piece of wood, shaped like a knife-blade, and slightly piercing the skin, brought blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off: then one of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Siñgauding, and a small cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blades was spread on the tobacco. A chief then arose, and walking to an open place, looked forth upon the river and invoked their god and all the spirits of good and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was then lighted, and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination. They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to the Kiniahs, who live farther up the river, and are intermarried with the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods, and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then killed, and after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the wound, and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.

I hear that I am in very high favour with the Kayans, from my joining their drinking party and now entering their tribe, and binding myself to them by a tie which they look on as sacred. We had a long talk about the advantage which would accrue to trade if the Kayans establish their town nearer the mouth of the river; as at present it takes a Malay boat sixteen days to reach it in the fine season, and thirty in the wet. I found they had tried it once, by removing to the mouth of the Tingjir; but building their houses over the freshly-cleared jungle they lost a great many men by fever. They accounted for this by saying they had accidentally fallen upon a spot that was much frequented by evil spirits, and so had returned to their original site.

To close this meeting merrily, a large jar of arrack was introduced, and subsequently a bottle of brandy. Excited by this, Si-Matau clothed himself in full war costume and commenced a sword dance. He was a fine, strong fellow, and with his dress of black bear-skin ornamented with feathers, his sword in hand, and shield adorned with many-coloured hair, said to be human, he looked truly formidable. His dancing expressed the character of the people--quick and vigorous motions, showing to advantage the development of his muscles. He was accompanied by the music of a two-stringed instrument, resembling a rough guitar: the body was shaped like a decked Malay trading prahu, with a small hole an inch in diameter in the centre; the strings were the fine threads of rattan twisted and drawn up tightly by means of tuning-keys; however, the sound produced was not very different from that of a tightly-drawn string. Some of the lookers-on were young girls with regular features, light skins, and good figures, and with a pleasing, pensive expression.

I looked about the house to-day, and though it is boarded all through, and, therefore, more substantial than those of the Sea Dayaks, yet it did not appear so bright and cheerful as the light yellow matted walls of the latter. I never saw so much firewood collected together as in these houses: on a fine framework spreading partly over the verandah and partly over their rooms, many months’ supplies are piled even to the roof;--of course it is a great advantage to have dry materials in all weathers, and it is a provision against times of sickness or busy harvest-work.

Last night there arrived overland the news I had previously given them of the small-pox having broken out among the Kayans of Rejang, and to-day it formed the subject of conversation. They were anxious to have that medicine which the white men put into the arm, and which they were told came from the belly of a snake.

Tamawan, who was on board this morning, was greatly pleased at witnessing the musket exercise, and when he came on shore, went through it again to the admiration of his followers.

As the Kayans believed some misfortune would happen to us if I went anywhere but straight on board the ship, or if Siñgauding left his house during the day, I remained quiet, and talked over affairs with the Malays.

I find that, as among the Kanowits and other Dayaks, after the death of a relative they go out head-hunting, but do not kill the first person met; but each one they pass must make them a trifling present, which is no doubt quickly given, to get rid of such unpleasant neighbours.