CHAPTER VI

The next day we embarked on the Heartsease for Sibu. My journey down the river was very different from my voyage to Kuching two or three months before, for everything now interested me. I wanted to talk to every native I came across. I wanted to find out what they thought and how they looked upon the things that we passed. My Malay was not brilliant even then, but still I could manage to make myself understood. We steamed past the Santubong Mountain, out to sea, and, of course, the minute we were bobbing over the waters of the bar (the sea was not rough) down I went into the cabin and took my usual position on such occasions—​a mattress laid on the floor, a bucket by my side, and a bottle of champagne to ward off the sea-sickness. The heat was terrific. For five hours, until we got to the other side of the mouth of the Rejang, I was helpless, and the natives and everything else faded from my mind. Sea-sickness is much laughed at, but I know of no discomfort that equals it. However, it came to an end, and the smooth waters of the river on the other side soon put me right again.

When we arrived at Sibu, I was surprised to see the extraordinary flatness of the land. Mr. Harry Skelton was most kind and considerate. He gave up his rooms to us, and nothing could exceed his hospitality. I well remember the first morning of my stay: it was all so different from the way things were managed on board the Heartsease. My breakfast tray was brought in by my Malay maid, who had accompanied me from Kuching. Mr. Skelton had arranged the tray himself: the captain’s biscuits were there, but the tea was delicious; somehow he had managed to get some cows, for there was milk. The boiled egg was new laid, and even the tinned butter was washed and pretended to be fresh. Then, in the middle of the tray, was a little bunch of flowers from his garden, jasmine, plumbago, and gardenia, tied in a ravishing effect of blue and white. I stayed in the Fort about six weeks, and every morning these charming flower tokens of Mr. Skelton’s kindness were carried in to me with my breakfast. But what interested me more than anything were our evening walks. There was a Bazaar where the Chinese had, even in those days, a considerable settlement. As the sun set and the air became cooler, the Rajah, Mr. Skelton, and I set out for our walk, but not before Mr. Skelton had sent for the four Sikhs who were to guard us during our constitutional with loaded muskets. We would sally forth round the settlement, in the middle of our four protectors, for there were usually some bad characters about who were discontented at the turn affairs had taken, and Mr. Skelton was not very certain that in the long grass near by there might not be some one hiding, who, in a fit of insanity, might attempt our lives. On the other hand, I rather liked the idea. One felt oneself important being guarded by men with loaded muskets, and I must say I did not believe in the danger, owing, probably, to my scant knowledge of the country.

Two or three days afterwards we went up the river to visit some of the tribes, for, as I have said before, the Rejang is a long river, with villages dotted here and there along its banks. Another surprise was in store for me: when I went on board, I found that wire-netting had been stretched fore and aft the vessel, so as to secure it from any attack. When we were inside, and the wire-netting securely fastened all round us, we must have looked like animals in a cage! We started early in the morning. The sun had hardly risen, and there was a thick fog which hid the land. There was a freshet coming down the river, the effect of heavy rain of the day before in the mountains farther inland. Our speed did not exceed eight knots an hour. In a very short space of time the fog began to lift, and we could see the flat, marshy land through which we travelled. It was bitterly cold, and I remember that I wrapped three or four railway rugs round my shoulders, over my white muslin dress, prepared as I was for the intense heat with the advent of the sun. Cocoa-nut and a few sago palms were planted on the banks, for the water here was brackish, but there were no other signs of cultivation. Near the Fort the river is about twelve hundred yards wide. There were signs of jungle everywhere, the ancient sites of cleared rice lands, with creepers, small trees, and coarse lalang grass covering the soil. There were no virgin forests on these banks. In former years these were the Dyaks’ farm grounds, but the people had long since removed up the river to plant their paddy in its tributary streams. Farther up, the banana and sago plants were replaced by the shrub called rengas, resembling, in the distance, a hedge of clipped holly; but on closer examination, although its leaves are dark and shiny, they are more like laurels in shape with young shoots of brilliant red. The wood of this shrub is valuable, and is used a good deal for making furniture by the carpenters in the Straits. It has peculiar and disagreeable effects on certain persons. Some natives can lop off its branches without its doing them the slightest harm, whilst others, if they but attempt such work, become swollen, and are sometimes absolutely blinded, or are made uncomfortable in various other ways for hours, even if they merely touch or turn aside its branches. On the other hand, those who are immune from its ill-effects can approach the plant with impunity, hack it about as they choose, and can thus obtain its young shoots, which make an excellent dish when boiled as a vegetable. After a time we could see nothing but low, green hills on the edge of the water, and everlasting masses of driftwood hurrying down on the freshet to the sea. This kind of landscape continued for another hour or so, when the banks began to close in, and we saw here and there bright vermilion patches about the green grass near the water. These were made by clerodendron blossoms, a flower of predilection amongst the Sea Dyaks. They have a kind of reverence regarding it: they decorate the heads of enemies taken in battle with its spiky blossoms, for they imagine that by so doing they will prevent the curses uttered by the victims in the next world from falling on their heads. They plant its roots round their houses, so that whenever one sees these flowers on the banks, it generally denotes that once the land was occupied by Sea Dyaks. No one is allowed to cut the flower or injure it in any way, for it is only used for sacred purposes or during head-feasts. When I first saw the flowers they were growing amongst the lalang grass, and looked like great coral chandeliers set in a background of malachite. They are called by the Dyaks “Pemula Sumpah.” Then, we passed several tributary streams famous in Sarawak history for the many expeditions the Rajah and his officers have led there, for this district was formally the haunt of the most redoubtable head-hunters. Like all the rivers of Borneo the Rejang forms a succession of cataracts near its source, and behind these it was easy for the Dyaks to imagine themselves safe to indulge in their favourite pastime of head-hunting. We had been steaming for hours, when late in the afternoon we passed Kanowit on the left-hand bank of the river. It was at this spot, in 1859, that Messrs. Fox and Steele, two of the first white Rajah’s officers, were murdered through the disaffection of a few natives, and at the instigation of Serip Masahor, one of the very few traitors in Sarawak history. This man ended his days in exile at Singapore. We now came to a series of little hills shelving into the water. The formation of these hills is somewhat peculiar: they are regular in outline and, all being of the same height and wooded with jungle growth, with a few ancient forest trees at their summit, it would seem as though a straight line might be drawn all along their tops, each hill touching the line at its highest point. They rise to a height of 750 feet. There was a kind of brushwood growing on the hills whenever farming had been of recent date, and groves of wild bananas grew here and there. I think the long fronds of the banana plant are amongst the loveliest growing things one can see. When the plants find a sheltered position, unmolested by gales of wind, their long leaves are tinted with the most wonderful colours, as though emeralds and sapphires had been melted together and poured over them; moreover, a certain bloom rests on them, like that seen on grapes and plums. I think this beautiful effect depends on the light in which the plants are growing, for I have noticed the same bloom spread over ferns growing in dells and shady nooks of virgin forests. It might be as well to mention that Malays often use banana fronds to bind up wounds; their coolness, softness, and purity possessing healing properties absent from ordinary poultices. These wild bananas thrive luxuriantly on recently abandoned paddy lands, until masses of other weeds grow up and choke them. The plant possesses an excellent fibre, its fruit being bright green, small, and hard. The look of such deserted farms is exceedingly pathetic as they stretch along the banks of rivers or climb the sides of steep hills. Here and there are trees, once lofty and magnificent, partially turned to tinder, their charred trunks standing brown and shrivelled from out the green vegetation. Sometimes they become draped with parasites and creepers. I remember one such charred skeleton, over whose shrivelled remains the bright yellow blossoms of the allamanda flung a curtain of green and gold.

As we proceeded up the river, I remember noticing men in boats fishing inside little creeks, who, I was told, were Sea Dyaks or Kanowits. These little creeks were barred across from bank to bank with bamboo palisades to prevent the egress of fish into the main river, for the streams had been poisoned with a root called tuba, a method of fishing prevalent all over Borneo. This root is pounded with pestles, its juice extracted, and thrown into the river at low tide, when the fishes become stupefied, and rise to the surface, so that the natives find no difficulty in netting or spearing them. These people were drawing up nets full of fish as we passed, but, as is their wont, when they saw the vessel and the Rajah’s flag flying at the main, they shouted to us, excitedly inquiring where we had come from and where we were going. I sat on the deck looking about me, and, as I thought, taking most things in, when apparently from out of nowhere a boat suddenly appeared full of Dyaks under our companion ladder, clamouring to be let in for a few words with the Rajah. The Rajah and Mr. Skelton (both of whom knew every one in the district), could distinguish whether the people were friends or enemies. When friends, the engine was stopped, the companion ladder let down, and the chiefs came solemnly on board, after our wire netting had been opened to allow them to enter. The chieftains’ followers remained where they were, their canoes drifting astern of our vessel, and were towed up the river while the chiefs held conversation with the Rajah. Before we got to the end of our journey, our ship was towing along a little flotilla of canoes filled with dusky warriors.

A place called Ngmah was our destination, where was a Fort built on the top of a hill. We anchored beneath the hill for a night and then returned to Sibu. Our journey up river, against the freshet and tide, had taken us two days to accomplish; ten hours sufficed to float us back to our headquarters at Sibu. Then our usual life at Sibu began again for another fortnight—​the breakfasts, the little bunches of flowers, and the walks at sunset round the settlement—​when the Rajah went up river again. On this occasion he did not take me with him, but he left Mr. Skelton and Mr. Low to look after me in the Fort.

The Rajah had not been gone a week, when one morning, just as day was breaking, I was awakened by the noise of two muskets being fired from the Fort. I got out of my mosquito curtains, just as I was, tied a sarong over my nightgown, and rushed out of the room. I met Mr. Skelton on his way to warn me that in the semi-darkness preceding dawn, the Sikhs on the look out had noticed what seemed to be two long Dyak boats floating down the river. They had not answered to the challenge from the Fort, and, fresh from the previous attack, Mr. Skelton imagined another disturbance was imminent. My room had to be given up to two fortmen, who were posted with armed muskets to defend that portion of the building, and Mr. Skelton, Mr. Low, and myself congregated in the sitting-room. It was an exciting time, for we all thought that at any moment we should hear the yell of the Dyaks rushing up to attack us. I recollect so well Mr. Skelton, fussy and excited, fearing I should be frightened: but I was really rather enjoying all this commotion, never thinking it strange that we should be sitting together in our night garments; indeed, that fact never entered our heads at all. I suggested to Mr. Skelton, as I did not then know how to manage a musket, that I should sit behind the cottage piano I had brought with me from Kuching, as it would serve for a rampart against poisoned arrows or spears that might find their way into the Fort. Mr. Skelton agreed, and I ignominiously took my post behind the piano. We were all on the look out, our nerves strained to the utmost. Daybreak appeared and we could see all round the Fort, but still nothing happened. I hardly like to confess that I was rather disappointed. Every five minutes, Mr. Skelton invited me to partake of some ham which he had just procured from England, and some soda-water, evidently thinking that these would have a soothing effect on my nerves! We waited and waited, and at last I thought I might just as well go back to bed. Then a most delightful incident occurred. Our Chinese cook, whom we had brought from Kuching, anxious to show his zeal and valour, offered Mr. Skelton to take his post at my door with his large carving knife. Of course Mr. Skelton allowed him to do so, and, thus guarded, I turned into my mosquito net and had an hour’s sleep. When I awakened the sun was shining, and all fear of the attack had passed. It is a well-known thing that Dyaks always choose the hour just before dawn to raid any settlement. I think Mr. Skelton was rather annoyed at his mistake.

When the Rajah returned from his trip, he was vexed at what had taken place, for he did not think it possible that another tribe of Dyaks up the Rejang River would have dared another attack so soon after the last one. Moreover, it would have been impossible for them to have done so, as his gunboat Heartsease, with himself on board, was at the time stationed in the higher reaches of the Rejang River. I fancy the real truth of the matter was, that Mr. Skelton and his fortmen had become over-anxious, and I imagine my presence on the occasion also had something to do with it. It was whispered afterwards that two enormous tree trunks, borne down past the Fort by the current (in the semi-darkness just before dawn when it is difficult to distinguish objects at a distance), were the harmless factors of this scare. Nevertheless, I must again repeat, I was disappointed at the tame manner in which the expected attack fizzed out.