CHAPTER II

Sarawak is a land of mountains, of trees, and of water. Steaming from Singapore on your way to Kuching, you enter a great crescent-shaped bay called Datu. The most important rivers of Sarawak flow into this bay. At its southern end stands Tanjong Datu, rising to a height of 700 feet; and across sixty miles of sea in a northerly direction, almost opposite to this green cliff, is Tanjong Sirik, from whence the low and sandy coast runs in an almost straight line as far as Brunei. Harbourless and unprotected, this coast is lashed by the surf during the north-east wind from September to the end of March. During the south-west monsoon, which blows for the remainder of the year, fairer weather prevails, making easier communication between these river mouths and the rest of the world. If you approach Sarawak in the early morning, you can see from the deck of a steamer, cobalt blue mountains hanging baseless between earth and sky. Mists, white as snow-wreaths, encircle their wooded peaks only to melt away at the first rays of the sun and return to the land in refreshing showers later in the afternoon. Cascades born in the mountains, fed by daily rains, tear down their wooded ravines, rolling stones and trees and soil from their banks in their headlong course. Impetuous and irresistible, they widen as they go, until they become mighty rivers tamed by their passage through muddy plains, where they meander in sluggish ways.

The river-banks are lined with nipa palms and mangroves. At low tide you can see the mangroves, standing on trestles of black woody roots, looking like snakes writhing in the mud. Upon these pedestals, a crown of bright green leaves, thirty to forty feet in height, form aquatic forests at the mouth of the rivers all along the coast. Each branch is weighed down by a fruit, which, when ripe, drops into the mud and starts a new tree. The nipa palm has matted roots which easily retain the flotsam and jetsam carried down by the unceasing current of the waters; it has an angular fruit which, like that of the mangrove, sinks into the mud and forms forests on its own account. The incessant action of these encroaching trees add continually to the land. Indeed, there are certain aged natives who have been heard to say that part of the coast near Sirik, although exposed to the constant surf of the north-east monsoon, has encroached on the sea for two miles or more, during their lifetime. When the land reclaimed by the mangroves and nipa palms becomes dryer, the trees die, and give place to other tropical vegetation. On my travels in and out of these rivers, I have often seen, especially on a hot sunny day, the distant line of coast just before it recedes into the

horizon, looking as though it were lifted high up in the air, when, between the line of verdure and the sea, appeared a space of light as though the trees stood on rays of silvery transparency.

DATU BAY NEAR SANTUBONG

The rivers Lundu, Sarawak, Sadong, Batang Lupar, Saribas, Kalaka, and Rejang flow into the Bay of Sarawak. The rivers Oya and Muka (from which two rivers an important trade with sago is carried on), Bintulu and Baram, are situated in the more northern portion of the territory. Owing to the perpetual strife between land and water, these rivers have bars at their mouths, but the bar across the Baram is the most formidable amongst the rivers of the country.

Malays and Milanoes have their settlements on or near the coast, within reach of the tide. Malays are expert fishermen, and excel in boat building. They are Muhammadans, and are the most civilized of the Rajah’s subjects. Milanoes inhabit the Rejang delta, the river-banks of Matu, Oya, Muka, and Bintulu, and are the sago workers of the country. Though mostly Muhammadans, they have a curious superstitious religion of their own. Land Dyaks dwell amongst the mountains and hills south of Kuching; Sea Dyaks frequent the Batang Lupar, Saribas, Kalaka, and the Rejang Rivers; Kayans live more inland, and their tribes are supposed to have settlements right across from west to east of the northern portion of Borneo; nor must we forget the Chinese immigrants who have settlements all over the principality, and who invade it in increasing numbers with every succeeding year, greatly adding to the prosperity of the country. All these people are, as it were, sprinkled over the land. If one could imagine a giant sower dipping into a bag filled with the seeds of mankind and flinging it out haphazard by handfuls, some by the sea, and some by the inland rivers and forests, it might give an idea of the manner in which the population of Sarawak is scattered over the country. The different tribes hold themselves entirely aloof from one another; one never meets with Dyaks residing in Malay settlements, or vice versa, nor do the Chinese build among people of an alien race.

It must be remembered that there are very few roads in Sarawak, and as yet no railways; for it can well be understood that road-making or laying down railway lines would be a costly undertaking in this country, intersected as it is by marshes, hills, mountains, and almost unbridgeable rivers. Commerce and trade, however, thrive without the help of such accessories, for Borneo is known to be one of the best-watered countries in the world, and the produce of its jungles and its forests find an easy passage down the numberless canals and rivers which nature has provided through this watery land. Indeed, it seems to me that there are three things one cannot escape from in Sarawak: these being mountains, trees, and water. The sound of water is heard everywhere; houses are built for the most part on the banks of rivers or streams, so that the tide, as it swishes backwards and forwards, is heard by day and night; daily showers drip on to one’s habitation, and the noise of paddles—for the people use the river as Europeans use their streets—is never lacking. Even the animals seem to imitate the sound of water in their morning and evening cries. For instance, the little monkeys, called wah-wahs, give vent, at the first approach of the sun, to liquid sounds, which, whenever I heard them, made me think of the Spirit of the rain pouring refreshing streams through the trees in which these monkeys congregate.

It is seldom that flowers form an important feature in the landscape of tropical countries. It is true there are flowers in profusion, but they are mostly hidden in the hearts of virgin forests. The purple blossoms of the lagerstremia, the golden cups of the allamanda, scarlet rhododendrons, and convolvuli, mauve and pink and white and yellow, sometimes star with flashes of colour the river-banks more inland; but orchids, pitcher plants, and flowering parasites are generally entangled and hidden in the branches of forest trees, for, like everything lovely, delicate, and perfumed, these have to be diligently sought for before a closer acquaintance can be made. One of the most ravishing experiences of Sarawak are the mysterious whiffs of perfumes meeting one unexpectedly in one’s walks near the forests, or even on journeys up the rivers. These scented currents are messages from unknown blossoms flowering unseen and unsoiled far from mankind. These rare and exquisite visitations always reminded me of the words of Maupassant, “C’est une sensation de bien être qui est presque du bonheur.”

Now to my mind the people of Sarawak match their strange and beautiful surroundings. They love sweet scents and flowers, and, above all, they love the neighbourhood of water, in which, as a fact, they live the greater portion of the day. Every man, woman, and child swims about the streams near their homes in the same way as we take our walks in our gardens. Men and women alike manage boats with wonderful skill, and women are often seen alone in canoes, paddling themselves in search of fruits or vegetables to be found on the banks of streams sometimes a great distance from their village. If you happen to throw in your lot with these people, you insensibly become, in the course of years, as fond of the water as they are, so that, like them, you find yourself perpetually bathing, and after any exertion have recourse to a bath, much as they plunge into the river to cool themselves. Moreover, they are perpetually washing their clothes—I have often thought I have seldom met cleaner people.