CHAPTER XVI
My life in Sarawak • 第24章
CHAPTER XVI
A week after our return to Kuching, the Rajah and I had the great pleasure of welcoming to Sarawak our eldest son. An experienced English nurse had brought him out, and I remember so well the mail-boat arriving late in the afternoon, when from the verandah I saw through my glasses a short European lady, in white, carrying in her arms a baby in a blue sash. I am sorry to say that the salute from the guns of the Fort annoyed him exceedingly, and he was brought yelling and screaming to the landing-place, and it took some time before we could soothe his shattered nerves, unaccustomed as he was to such honours. The next day, all the chiefs’ wives, Datu Isa heading the contingent, and nearly all the women in Kuching, came to see the boy. He was very good with them, and appeared to understand that they were his true friends. It is a real happiness to me to know that the affection which he showed these people at the beginning of his life has lasted all through these years.
I was not destined to remain long in peace at Kuching, for the Rajah was always full of work in his schemes for the advancement of his country. Many requests came to him from chiefs of rivers beyond our territory, begging to be allowed to become his subjects, in order to be placed under the protection of his Government. It would perhaps be as well just now to refer to the map of Sarawak. When the first Rajah began to reign, Sarawak consisted of the territory stretching between Cape Datu to the Sadong River. The maladministration of the Sultan of Brunei’s agents in the rivers of the Rejang, Muka, and Bintulu forced the people of these districts to seek for better government. This, they found, so to speak, at their very doors. In the space of fifteen years, these rivers were annexed to the Sarawak Government, at the request of the inhabitants, so that when the present Rajah first inherited the country from his uncle it extended as far as the Bintulu River. Turning again to the map, it will be seen that the rivers of Baram, Trusan, Lawas, and Limbang now also form part of the Rajah’s territory, but in the days of which I write the Baram River still belonged to the Sultan of Brunei, although the people were discontented under his rule.
The Baram River possesses a considerable Kayan population, and these people were anxious the Rajah should visit them in order to establish commerce and trade with Sarawak. The Sultan of Brunei was averse to the idea, and did all he could to prevent the Rajah’s influence extending to this district. At that time, Her Majesty’s Government had a Representative in the little island of Labuan, off the coast
of Borneo. Sometimes these Representatives were hostile to the Rajah’s policy, taking the Sultan’s side, without perhaps knowing the intricacies of the case. The Rajah was eager to go to Baram to ascertain for himself the position of affairs in the neighbourhood, and in order not to appear as though he were embarking on a hostile expedition against the Sultan’s Government, he thought it advisable to take me with him on this trip.
We stayed two days at Muka Fort on our way up the coast. Muka was then in charge of the late Mr. Claude Champion de Crespigny, a man whose name must be beloved for all time in Sarawak. He was sympathetic, wide-minded, intelligent, and the Muka people loved him. The people of Muka are Milanoes: they work the sago, which flourishes in this district and forms a very important article of commerce in Sarawak. Some one told me that more than one-half of the whole of the sago exported to England comes from Muka and its neighbourhood. I do not know if this is so, but it is certain that a great deal of sago does find its way from this place to the English markets. The Borneo Company, Ltd., had then a sago factory at Muka.
I remember our tour in a boat round the Muka township: it was like most Malay settlements—the houses are built on the river-banks on piles. I thought a sago manufactory the most evil-smelling thing in existence. Here I observed how my rings, chains, etc., made of almost unalloyed Sarawak gold, turned black, and it was impossible to restore them to their original colour so long as I remained in the atmosphere of this busy but unsavoury town. The Milanoe women flocked to the Fort to see me, but they were not very talkative, and were rather shy, as hitherto they had had no experience of Englishwomen. Their features are square, and they have the slanting eyes, the squat noses, and thick lips of the Mongolian race, but their complexion is fairer than that of the other natives in Sarawak. They flatten their children’s heads when they are tiny babies; oddly enough, the same custom exists amongst the American Indians inhabiting the Mosquito River. I have been told that the religion of the Milanoes resembles that of the Cochin Chinese, and this fact reminds me of the opinion expressed by Mr. Wallace as to these people originally coming to Borneo from the north. Milanoes are not so refined in their diet as are the Sea Dyaks. For instance, Sea Dyaks would never dream of eating oysters as we do, for they consider them living things. Milanoes prefer to eat uncooked fish cut up very fine, and are very fond of grubs; they also eat monkeys, sharks, snakes, and other reptiles. A great delicacy with them is a sort of transparent white-wood worm, which they rear with as much care as do English people oysters. They soak a large raft made of soft wood in the river for some weeks, when it is supposed to have fulfilled its purpose. It is then fished up, laden with the wriggling bodies of the worms.
After leaving Muka, we sailed for the Baram River, and about thirty-six hours’ steaming brought us to its mouth. This river has an evil reputation; it is very broad, and a sandbank lying across its mouth only permits of the passage of shallow ships. The Heartsease drew seven feet of water, and as we could not find any channel deep enough to float her across, we embarked in the Borneo Company’s vessel, called Siri Sarawak, which was accompanying us on this trip. The scenery is very different in this more northern part of Borneo. Instead of mangroves and nipa palms lining the banks, we saw great plains of coarse lalang grass and stretches of sand.
It was ticklish work proceeding up this river, there being no chart, for we were the only white people who had as yet entered its inhospitable borders in a vessel of any size. Mr. de Crespigny, who had been an officer in the English Navy, undertook to make a chart, and sat on the bridge the whole day, paper and pencil in hand, as we steamed carefully by snags and sandbanks, under the direction of a Kayan, who had been induced to leave his canoe at the mouth of the river to pilot our vessel to a place called Batu Gading, our destination. As we passed the Kayan houses, built on high poles near the banks, the people crowded on their verandahs to see the passage of the “fire ship.” It was very exciting, and we all pulled out white handkerchiefs and waved them at the people to make them understand we were peaceful visitors. I did not like to ask indiscreet questions, but it did occur to me at the time whether these natives understood our signs. I have since found out that they did.
I think it took us about ten days to reach the settlement of Batu Gading (meaning rock of ivory, so called from a white rock embedded in the bank, shining like a beacon up one of the reaches of the river). Batu Gading was then the most populous Kayan settlement up this waterway, and it was here that the Rajah intended to land. We anchored in front of the longest Kayan house I had yet come across, but we could see no signs of life in the village. The Rajah sent his interpreter on shore to parley with the chief, Abang Nipa, but the answer returned was that the house was under what they called “pamale” (under a ban, spiritual or otherwise), and that the people of the village could not allow us to land because, under the circumstances, it was impossible for them to receive visitors. The Rajah, Mr. de Crespigny, and a gentleman belonging to the Borneo Company, Ltd., talked the matter over, and came to the conclusion (afterwards proved to be correct) that emissaries of the Sultan of Brunei, fearing a visit from the Rajah, were in the village and were preventing the people from receiving us inside their houses. Notwithstanding this drawback, our ship remained anchored in the middle of the stream, and a messenger was sent daily from the Rajah, always returning with the same answer. After the fourth or fifth day, the Rajah made it understood that if the pamale were to last a year, he would wait a year also, and that he was determined to see the chief in spite of all pamales. At length the princes of Brunei saw the futility of preventing the Rajah from carrying out his intention, and one morning Abang Nipa’s son, accompanied by four or five stalwart Kayans, was seen on his way to our steamer. They brought with them an invitation to the Rajah from the chief, asking him to pay them a visit, and the interview was fixed for that very afternoon. A discussion then followed as to whether I should accompany the party on shore or not. The Rajah and Mr. de Crespigny, who knew the working of primitive people’s minds better perhaps than any Europeans alive, thought it would be a good thing if I went also.
I remember the visit as though it were yesterday. A dinghy was prepared, and the Rajah, Mr. de Crespigny, the Borneo Company’s agent, the English officers who had escorted the Rajah (my brother being amongst them), and I, entered the boat and were rowed to shore. The Rajah was followed by four or five of his guard, carrying muskets, but as they were about to step into a second boat the Rajah waved them back. “There must be no armed man in our party,” he said; “for the slightest appearance of suspicion on our part might put the Kayans’ backs up, and perhaps make them dangerous.” As the guards disappeared, I wondered how it would be, but was not seriously apprehensive.
I never shall forget getting up the pole into this house. As usual, the house was built on stilts, but these were higher than those of any house I had previously seen, and the notched pole, serving as a ladder, slanted at an angle of one in ten for about forty feet! It was no use worrying—up this ladder I had to go. The Rajah hopped up it like a bird. The chief’s son and two or three other Kayans, seeing my hesitation, came forward and helped me up the perilous way. I must say, my helpers were most gentle and charming, and they took me up as though I were as brittle as egg shells. The other Europeans present found it quite easy to mount this interminable pole. I dare say it was my petticoats that made my ascent difficult, for women’s clothes are much in the way on such occasions. The entrance into the broad verandah was a wonderful sight. All the way down, as far as I could see, it was lined with rows of fighting men, holding their lances in one hand, in all their war dress, tattooed from head to foot, with boar’s tusks sticking out from their ears, grass crowns round their flowing locks, and holding themselves as though they were Greek gods. We walked as far as the centre of the house, where the chief’s apartments were situated. There we found two stools, covered with yellow calico, and fine mats laid on the floor in readiness for our reception. The interior was divided by curtains made of mats or of Kayan stuffs of wonderful designs, similar to Celtic patterns, brown, white, blue, and very deep red. The Rajah and I seated ourselves on the little stools, whilst the other Englishmen took their places on the floor. We were quite silent, and the presence of two of the Sultan’s emissaries moving in and out of the crowd, whispering to the people, did not look very promising for the success of our mission. The Rajah pulled his moustache, but said nothing, and we sat on, all silent, looking at one another. At last Mr. de Crespigny said to me: “There are no women or children here. We must get them in.” I believe it is a fact that amongst uncivilized or barbaric tribes the absence of women and children is one of the signs of intended treachery. Mr. de Crespigny suggested I should ask the chief if I might make the acquaintance of his wife and the other women of the tribe. I turned to the chief and asked the question in Malay, which our interpreter translated into Kayan. The Sultan’s emissaries did not look pleasant, but the chief seemed pleased, and made a sign to one of the men standing near him, who at once disappeared behind the curtains. In a few moments the man came back and held the curtains aside, when, through the opening, came a procession of women. It was a pretty sight. The chief’s wife, a remarkable lady, much feared and respected by her tribe, headed the procession. Her black hair flowed over her shoulders, falling almost to her knees, and on her head she wore a fillet of straw. Her garment of white cotton hung in folds from the waist to her right ankle, leaving her left side bare, excepting at the hips, where it was fastened with strings of beads. Her left arm and leg were bare but tattooed, and looked as though they were encased in sheaths of dark blue velvet. All the women following her, young and old, wore the same costume. They might have been Greek priestesses paying tribute to some god. They shook hands first with the Rajah, then with me, and seated themselves in a group at my feet. The usual conversation followed as to the number of their children, how their farms were progressing, etc., and I then asked to see some of the mats and cloths they had made. After these had been duly admired, we became quite friendly. My sleeves were pushed up to see whether my arms were white all the way up. From the ejaculations which followed, I cannot be certain whether they were those of admiration or not!
I had round my neck a gold chain from which was suspended a red coral charm, much in vogue amongst Neapolitans to ward against the evil eye. Mr. de Crespigny suggested I should give this to the chief’s wife, and I at once took the chain of gold off my neck and put it round hers. I remember how the little narrow gold chain looked as it lay against her mass of black hair, and the blood-red coral charm appeared extraordinarily strange, yet picturesque, as it hung amongst the folds of her white cotton garment. She was delighted with the ornament, and when we parted the Rajah and the people had become good friends. I said good-bye to the chief’s wife, and experienced a strange pang of regret, as I always did when parting, perhaps after a few minutes’ conversation only, from a newly made friend, a member of a tribe whom I might never see again.
It is extraordinary what important parts several of these Kayan women have played in the history of those far-off countries. This particular chief’s wife became, on the death of her husband, a great force for good in the Baram River, whilst another chieftainess, Balu Lahai (meaning widow of Lahai), had a powerful influence for good over a tribe of some thirty thousand people, who acknowledged her as their Queen. She undertook the management of the whole tribe, and until the day of her death (which occurred not so long ago) her word was law to every man, woman, and child in the village.
To make a long story short, the Rajah’s visit to the Baram River produced great results. The Sultan of Brunei, powerless to stem the will of the Kayans, ceded the river to the Rajah. Forts and trading settlements sprang up as though by magic all along its banks, and it is now one of the richest and most populous rivers of the country. Mr. de Crespigny was the first of the Rajah’s officers to take charge of the Baram district, and he did very valuable work out there before Dr. Charles Hose became Resident there some years later, at Mr. de Crespigny’s death. Mr. de Crespigny was true to the Rajah’s policy, and notwithstanding ill-health he most unselfishly and courageously remained at his post, and by so doing gave additional impetus to the trade and commerce of Sarawak, and security to the life of its inhabitants. Dr. Hose became his worthy successor, and by his zeal, hard work, and true sympathy with the natives has managed to crown Mr. de Crespigny’s work by the magnificent results he has achieved in the true civilization of the Baram people.
On our return journey to Kuching, we stayed for a few days at Bintulu Fort. The dress of the women of Bintulu differs slightly from that of the Kuching Malays, as regards the texture of their sarongs and jackets, and as regards their gold ornaments. These people appear to prefer sombre tints to the bright colours worn by their Kuching sisters. A sarong much favoured by the Bintulu women is made of cotton with fine black threads running through, forming a check pattern all over the skirt, without the dog-tooth stripe so conspicuous in Javanese, Sumatran, and Malayan designs. This cotton material is so fine in texture that it is as costly to buy as some of the gold and silken brocades. The Bintulu women manage to obtain a gloss on the material making it shiny like satin. One has to pay as much as £6 or £7 for one of these sarongs. Over this black-and-white sheath, these women wear a jacket of either black or dark blue satin, imported from China. It fastens in front with three huge knobs of gold, and small gold knobs are sewn all up the slashed sleeves. Large round ear-rings, sometimes very exquisite in design, shaped like open lotus flowers, are thrust through the lobes of their ears. Their scarfs are of quiet colours, devoid of gold thread, but their hats are marvellous. Sometimes they are as much as a yard across, so that no two women can walk near one another. They are made of straw, conical in shape, and are ornamented with huge pointed rays of red, black, and yellow, meeting towards the centre. Mr. de Crespigny, who knew of the dresses and habits of these people, told me to look out for the ladies as they wound their way up the path leading to the Fort, and it was indeed a curious sight to see two or three hundred of these discs, one after the other, apparently unsupported, winding slowly up the steep ascent. When the women reached the Fort, they left their hats somewhere—I never fathomed where—before they came into the reception-room.
They are pleasant-looking people, these Milanoes of Bintulu, with their square, pale faces and quantities of jet-black hair. Their ankles and wrists are not perhaps quite so delicate as are those of the more southern people, for Milanoes are sturdier in build. They belong to the same tribe as the sago workers of Muka, but, owing to their more sedentary habits, their complexion is paler. Europeans who know them well have many interesting stories to relate regarding their superstitions and incantations, particularly in the case of illness, when the beautiful blossom of the areca-nut palm plays an important part.
On the night of our arrival at the Fort, native dances were the programme for the evening. A few Kayans from the far interior were present, and we were promised some new and original performances. A large space was cleared in the middle of the reception-room, when a small, rather plump individual, a Kayan, active as a cat, was ushered in, brandishing his parang. At first he crouched down and bounded about the room like an animated frog. After a while he gradually straightened himself, and bounded from one side of the space to the other, jumping with the most wonderful agility, spinning round on one leg, and screaming out his war-cry. His parang, in his rapid movements, became multiplied and appeared like flashes of lightning. Once or twice he came so near to where we were sitting that I fancied the blade caused a draught over my head. I said nothing and sat on unmoved, but, before one could realize what was happening, three Kayans squatting on the floor sprang to their feet, and taking hold of the man, led him out of the hall. The Rajah pulled his moustache. “What is it?” he said. “Why has the man been taken away?” We were then informed that this Kayan, who was a famous dancer, had previously, in a country outside the Rajah’s jurisdiction, become so excited in his dancing, that he had actually swept the head off one of his interested spectators. The three Kayans who had taken hold of the dancer had witnessed the gruesome scene, and they realized that on this occasion he was becoming over-excited. Other dances followed, some sedate and slow, others frenzied and untamed. The evening ended very pleasantly, and at a somewhat late hour the Rajah dismissed his guests and we retired to bed. I thought a good deal about the little dancing man, and came to the conclusion that he must have been an artist in his way!