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The Malay Archipelago, Volume 1

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Title: The Malay Archipelago, Volume 1

Author: Alfred Russel Wallace


        
Release date: February 1, 2001 [eBook #2530]
                Most recently updated: July 19, 2011

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by Martin Adamson, David Widger and Colin Choat


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO, VOLUME 1 ***




Produced by Martin Adamson, David Widger and Colin Choat






THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO, VOLUME I. (of II.)

By Alfred Russel Wallace




     The land of the orang-utan, and the bird of paradise.

     A narrative of travel, with sketches of man and nature.




     To CHARLES DARWIN,

     AUTHOR OF "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES,"

     I dedicate this book,
     Not only as a token of personal esteem and friendship
     But also
     To express my deep admiration
     For
     His genius and his works.




Contents

PREFACE.

THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO.

   CHAPTER I.     PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
   CHAPTER II.    SINGAPORE.
   CHAPTER III.   MALACCA AND MOUNT OPHIR.
   CHAPTER IV.    BORNEO--THE ORANGUTAN.
   CHAPTER V.     BORNEO--JOURNEY INTO THE INTERIOR.
   CHAPTER VI.    BORNEO--THE DYAKS.
   CHAPTER VII.   JAVA.
   CHAPTER VIII.  SUMATRA.
   CHAPTER IX.    NATURAL HISTORY OF THE INDO-MALAY ISLANDS.
   CHAPTER X.     BALI AND LOMBOCK.
   CHAPTER XI.    LOMBOCK: MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.
   CHAPTER XII.   LOMBOCK: HOW THE RAJAH TOOK THE CENSUS.
   CHAPTER XIII.  TIMOR.
   CHAPTER XIV.   THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE TIMOR GROUP.
   CHAPTER XV.    CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XVI.   CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XVII.  CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XVIII. NATURAL HISTORY OF CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XIX.   BANDA.
   CHAPTER XX.    AMBOYNA.

     
PREFACE.

My readers will naturally ask why I have delayed writing this book
for six years after my return; and I feel bound to give them full
satisfaction on this point.

When I reached England in the spring of 1862, I found myself surrounded
by a room full of packing cases containing the collections that I had,
from time to time, sent home for my private use. These comprised nearly
three thousand bird-skins of about one thousand species, at least twenty
thousand beetles and butterflies of about seven thousand species, and
some quadrupeds and land shells besides. A large proportion of these
I had not seen for years, and in my then weakened state of health, the
unpacking, sorting, and arranging of such a mass of specimens occupied a
long time.

I very soon decided that until I had done something towards naming and
describing the most important groups in my collection, and had worked
out some of the more interesting problems of variation and geographical
distribution (of which I had had glimpses while collecting them), I
would not attempt to publish my travels. Indeed, I could have printed
my notes and journals at once, leaving all reference to questions of
natural history for a future work; but, I felt that this would be as
unsatisfactory to myself as it would be disappointing to my friends, and
uninstructive to the public.

Since my return, up to this date, I have published eighteen papers
in the "Transactions" or "Proceedings of the Linnean Zoological and
Entomological Societies", describing or cataloguing portions of my
collections, along with twelve others in various scientific periodicals
on more general subjects connected with them.

Nearly two thousand of my Coleoptera, and many hundreds of my
butterflies, have been already described by various eminent naturalists,
British and foreign; but a much larger number remains undescribed. Among
those to whom science is most indebted for this laborious work, I must
name Mr. F. P. Pascoe, late President of the Entomological Society of
London, who had almost completed the classification and description
of my large collection of Longicorn beetles (now in his possession),
comprising more than a thousand species, of which at least nine hundred
were previously undescribed and new to European cabinets.

The remaining orders of insects, comprising probably more than two
thousand species, are in the collection of Mr. William Wilson Saunders,
who has caused the larger portion of them to be described by good
entomologists. The Hymenoptera alone amounted to more than nine hundred
species, among which were two hundred and eighty different kinds of
ants, of which two hundred were new.

The six years' delay in publishing my travels thus enables me to give
what I hope may be an interesting and instructive sketch of the main
results yet arrived at by the study of my collections; and as the
countries I have to describe are not much visited or written about, and
their social and physical conditions are not liable to rapid change, I
believe and hope that my readers will gain much more than they will
lose by not having read my book six years ago, and by this time perhaps
forgotten all about it.

I must now say a few words on the plan of my work.

My journeys to the various islands were regulated by the seasons and
the means of conveyance. I visited some islands two or three times at
distant intervals, and in some cases had to make the same voyage four
times over. A chronological arrangement would have puzzled my readers.
They would never have known where they were, and my frequent references
to the groups of islands, classed in accordance with the peculiarities
of their animal productions and of their human inhabitants, would have
been hardly intelligible. I have adopted, therefore, a geographical,
zoological, and ethnological arrangement, passing from island to island
in what seems the most natural succession, while I transgress the order
in which I myself visited them, as little as possible.

I divide the Archipelago into five groups of islands, as follows:

I. THE INDO-MALAY ISLANDS: comprising the Malay Peninsula and Singapore,
Borneo, Java, and Sumatra.

II. THE TIMOR GROUP: comprising the islands of Timor, Flores, Sumbawa,
and Lombock, with several smaller ones.

III. CELEBES: comprising also the Sula Islands and Bouton.

IV. THE MOLUCCAN GROUP: comprising Bouru, Ceram, Batchian, Gilolo,
and Morty; with the smaller islands of Ternate, Tidore, Makian, Kaióa,
Amboyna, Banda, Goram, and Matabello.

V. THE PAPUAN GROUP: comprising the great island of New Guinea, with
the Aru Islands, Mysol, Salwatty, Waigiou, and several others. The Ke
Islands are described with this group on account of their ethnology,
though zoologically and geographically they belong to the Moluccas.

The chapters relating to the separate islands of each of these groups
are followed by one on the Natural History of that group; and the work
may thus be divided into five parts, each treating one of the natural
divisions of the Archipelago.

The first chapter is an introductory one, on the Physical Geography of
the whole region; and the last is a general sketch of the races of man
in the Archipelago and the surrounding countries. With this explanation,
and a reference to the maps which illustrate the work, I trust that my
readers will always know where they are, and in what direction they are
going.

I am well aware that my book is far too small for the extent of the
subjects it touches upon. It is a mere sketch; but so far as it goes,
I have endeavoured to make it an accurate one. Almost the whole of the
narrative and descriptive portions were written on the spot, and
have had little more than verbal alterations. The chapters on Natural
History, as well as many passages in other parts of the work, have been
written in the hope of exciting an interest in the various questions
connected with the origin of species and their geographical
distribution. In some cases I have been able to explain my views in
detail; while in others, owing to the greater complexity of the subject,
I have thought it better to confine myself to a statement of the more
interesting facts of the problem, whose solution is to be found in the
principles developed by Mr. Darwin in his various works. The numerous
illustrations will, it is believed, add much to the interest and value
of the book. They have been made from my own sketches, from photographs,
or from specimens--and such, only subjects that would really illustrate
the narrative or the descriptions, have been chosen.

I have to thank Messrs. Walter and Henry Woodbury, whose acquaintance
I had the pleasure of making in Java, for a number of photographs of
scenery and of natives, which have been of the greatest assistance to
me. Mr. William Wilson Saunders has kindly allowed me to figure the
curious horned flies; and to Mr. Pascoe I am indebted for a loan of
two of the very rare Longicorns which appear in the plate of Bornean
beetles. All the other specimens figured are in my own collection.

As the main object of all my journeys was to obtain specimens of natural
history, both for my private collection and to supply duplicates to
museums and amateurs, I will give a general statement of the number of
specimens I collected, and which reached home in good condition. I must
premise that I generally employed one or two, and sometimes three Malay
servants to assist me; and for nearly half the time had the services of
an English lad, Charles Allen. I was just eight years away from England,
but as I travelled about fourteen thousand miles within the Archipelago,
and made sixty or seventy separate journeys, each involving some
preparation and loss of time, I do not think that more than six years
were really occupied in collecting.

I find that my Eastern collections amounted to:


     310 specimens of Mammalia.
     100 specimens of Reptiles.
     8,050 specimens of Birds.
     7,500 specimens of Shells.
     13,100 specimens of Lepidoptera.
     83,200 specimens of Coleoptera.
     13,400 specimens of other Insects.

     125,660 specimens of natural history in all.

It now only remains for me to thank all those friends to whom I am
indebted for assistance or information. My thanks are more especially
due to the Council of the Royal Geographical Society, through whose
valuable recommendations I obtained important aid from our own
Government and from that of Holland; and to Mr. William Wilson Saunders,
whose kind and liberal encouragement in the early portion of my journey
was of great service to me. I am also greatly indebted to Mr. Samuel
Stevens (who acted as my agent), both for the care he took of my
collections, and for the untiring assiduity with which he kept me
supplied, both with useful information and with whatever necessaries I
required.

I trust that these, and all other friends who have been in any way
interested in my travels and collections, may derive from the perusal of
my book, some faint reflexion of the pleasures I myself enjoyed amid the
scenes and objects it describes.





THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO.



CHAPTER I. PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.

From a look at a globe or a map of the Eastern hemisphere, we shall
perceive between Asia and Australia a number of large and small islands
forming a connected group distinct from those great masses of land, and
having little connection with either of them. Situated upon the Equator,
and bathed by the tepid water of the great tropical oceans, this region
enjoys a climate more uniformly hot and moist than almost any other part
of the globe, and teems with natural productions which are elsewhere
unknown. The richest of fruits and the most precious of spices are
Indigenous here. It produces the giant flowers of the Rafflesia, the
great green-winged Ornithoptera (princes among the butterfly tribes),
the man-like Orangutan, and the gorgeous Birds of Paradise. It is
inhabited by a peculiar and interesting race of mankind--the Malay,
found nowhere beyond the limits of this insular tract, which has hence
been named the Malay Archipelago.

To the ordinary Englishman this is perhaps the least known part of the
globe. Our possessions in it are few and scanty; scarcely any of our
travellers go to explore it; and in many collections of maps it is
almost ignored, being divided between Asia and the Pacific Islands. It
thus happens that few persons realize that, as a whole, it is comparable
with the primary divisions of the globe, and that some of its separate
islands are larger than France or the Austrian Empire. The traveller,
however, soon acquires different ideas. He sails for days or even weeks
along the shores of one of these great islands, often so great that its
inhabitants believe it to be a vast continent. He finds that voyages
among these islands are commonly reckoned by weeks and months, and that
their several inhabitants are often as little known to each other as are
the native races of the northern to those of the southern continent of
America. He soon comes to look upon this region as one apart from the
rest of the world, with its own races of men and its own aspects of
nature; with its own ideas, feelings, customs, and modes of speech, and
with a climate, vegetation, and animated life altogether peculiar to
itself.

From many points of view these islands form one compact geographical
whole, and as such they have always been treated by travellers and men
of science; but, a more careful and detailed study of them under various
aspects reveals the unexpected fact that they are divisible into two
portions nearly equal in extent which differ widely in their natural
products, and really form two parts of the primary divisions of the
earth. I have been able to prove this in considerable detail by
my observations on the natural history of the various parts of the
Archipelago; and, as in the description of my travels and residence in
the several islands I shall have to refer continually to this view, and
adduce facts in support of it, I have thought it advisable to commence
with a general sketch of the main features of the Malayan region as will
render the facts hereafter brought forward more interesting, and their
bearing upon the general question more easily understood. I proceed,
therefore, to sketch the limits and extent of the Archipelago, and to
point out the more striking features of its geology, physical geography,
vegetation, and animal life.

Definition and Boundaries.--For reasons which depend mainly on the
distribution of animal life, I consider the Malay Archipelago to include
the Malay Peninsula as far as Tenasserim and the Nicobar Islands on the
west, the Philippines on the north, and the Solomon Islands, beyond New
Guinea, on the east. All the great islands included within these limits
are connected together by innumerable smaller ones, so that no one
of them seems to be distinctly separated from the rest. With but few
exceptions all enjoy an uniform and very similar climate, and are
covered with a luxuriant forest vegetation. Whether we study their form
and distribution on maps, or actually travel from island to island, our
first impression will be that they form a connected whole, all the parts
of which are intimately related to each other.

Extent of the Archipelago and Islands.--The Malay Archipelago extends
for more than 4,000 miles in length from east to west, and is about
1,300 in breadth from north to south. It would stretch over an expanse
equal to that of all Europe from the extreme west far into Central Asia,
or would cover the widest parts of South America, and extend far beyond
the land into the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. It includes three islands
larger than Great Britain; and in one of them, Borneo, the whole of the
British Isles might be set down, and would be surrounded by a sea of
forests. New Guinea, though less compact in shape, is probably larger
than Borneo. Sumatra is about equal in extent to Great Britain; Java,
Luzon, and Celebes are each about the size of Ireland. Eighteen more
islands are, on the average, as large as Jamaica; more than a hundred
are as large as the Isle of Wight; while the isles and islets of smaller
size are innumerable.

The absolute extent of land in the Archipelago is not greater than that
contained by Western Europe from Hungary to Spain; but, owing to the
manner in which the land is broken up and divided, the variety of its
productions is rather in proportion to the immense surface over which
the islands are spread, than to the quantity of land which they contain.

Geological Contrasts.--One of the chief volcanic belts upon the globe
passes through the Archipelago, and produces a striking contrast in the
scenery of the volcanic and non-volcanic islands. A curving line, marked
out by scores of active, and hundreds of extinct, volcanoes may be
traced through the whole length of Sumatra and Java, and thence by the
islands of Bali, Lombock, Sumbawa, Flores, the Serwatty Islands, Banda,
Amboyna, Batchian, Makian, Tidore, Ternate, and Gilolo, to Morty Island.
Here there is a slight but well-marked break, or shift, of about 200
miles to the westward, where the volcanic belt begins again in North
Celebes, and passes by Siau and Sanguir to the Philippine Islands along
the eastern side of which it continues, in a curving line, to their
northern extremity. From the extreme eastern bend of this belt at Banda,
we pass onwards for 1,000 miles over a non-volcanic district to the
volcanoes observed by Dampier, in 1699, on the north-eastern coast
of New Guinea, and can there trace another volcanic belt through New
Britain, New Ireland, and the Solomon Islands, to the eastern limits of
the Archipelago.

In the whole region occupied by this vast line of volcanoes, and for a
considerable breadth on each side of it, earthquakes are of continual
recurrence, slight shocks being felt at intervals of every few weeks or
months, while more severe ones, shaking down whole villages, and doing
more or less injury to life and property, are sure to happen, in one
part or another of this district, almost every year. On many of the
islands the years of the great earthquakes form the chronological
epochs of the native inhabitants, by the aid of which the ages of their
children are remembered, and the dates of many important events are
determined.

I can only briefly allude to the many fearful eruptions that have taken
place in this region. In the amount of injury to life and property, and
in the magnitude of their effects, they have not been surpassed by
any upon record. Forty villages were destroyed by the eruption of
Papandayang in Java, in 1772, when the whole mountain was blown up by
repeated explosions, and a large lake left in its place. By the great
eruption of Tomboro in Sumbawa, in 1815, 12,000 people were destroyed,
and the ashes darkened the air and fell thickly upon the earth and sea
for 300 miles around. Even quite recently, since I left the country, a
mountain which had been quiescent for more than 200 years suddenly burst
into activity. The island of Makian, one of the Moluccas, was rent
open in 1646 by a violent eruption which left a huge chasm on one side,
extending into the heart of the mountain. It was, when I last visited
it in 1860, clothed with vegetation to the summit, and contained twelve
populous Malay villages. On the 29th of December, 1862, after 215 years
of perfect inaction, it again suddenly burst forth, blowing up and
completely altering the appearance of the mountain, destroying the
greater part of the inhabitants, and sending forth such volumes of ashes
as to darken the air at Ternate, forty miles off, and to almost entirely
destroy the growing crops on that and the surrounding islands.

The island of Java contains more volcanoes, active and extinct, than
any other known district of equal extent. They are about forty-five in
number, and many of them exhibit most beautiful examples of the volcanic
cone on a large scale, single or double, with entire or truncated
summits, and averaging 10,000 feet high.

It is now well ascertained that almost all volcanoes have been slowly
built up by the accumulation of matter--mud, ashes, and lava--ejected
by themselves. The openings or craters, however, frequently shift their
position, so that a country may be covered with a more or less irregular
series of hills in chains and masses, only here and there rising into
lofty cones, and yet the whole may be produced by true volcanic action.
In this manner the greater part of Java has been formed. There has been
some elevation, especially on the south coast, where extensive cliffs
of coral limestone are found; and there may be a substratum of older
stratified rocks; but still essentially Java is volcanic, and that noble
and fertile island--the very garden of the East, and perhaps upon the
whole the richest, the best cultivated, and the best governed tropical
island in the world--owes its very existence to the same intense
volcanic activity which still occasionally devastates its surface.

The great island of Sumatra exhibits, in proportion to its extent, a
much smaller number of volcanoes, and a considerable portion of it has
probably a non-volcanic origin.

To the eastward, the long string of islands from Java, passing by the
north of Timor and away to Banda, are probably all due to volcanic
action. Timor itself consists of ancient stratified rocks, but is said
to have one volcano near its centre.

Going northward, Amboyna, a part of Bouru, and the west end of Ceram,
the north part of Gilolo, and all the small islands around it, the
northern extremity of Celebes, and the islands of Siau and Sanguir, are
wholly volcanic. The Philippine Archipelago contains many active
and extinct volcanoes, and has probably been reduced to its present
fragmentary condition by subsidences attending on volcanic action.

All along this great line of volcanoes are to be found more or less
palpable signs of upheaval and depression of land. The range of islands
south of Sumatra, a part of the south coast of Java and of the islands
east of it, the west and east end of Timor, portions of all the
Moluccas, the Ke and Aru Islands, Waigiou, and the whole south and east
of Gilolo, consist in a great measure of upraised coral-rock, exactly
corresponding to that now forming in the adjacent seas. In many places
I have observed the unaltered surfaces of the elevated reefs, with great
masses of coral standing up in their natural position, and hundreds of
shells so fresh-looking that it was hard to believe that they had
been more than a few years out of the water; and, in fact, it is very
probable that such changes have occurred within a few centuries.

The united lengths of these volcanic belts is about ninety degrees,
or one-fourth of the entire circumference of the globe. Their width is
about fifty miles; but, for a space of two hundred miles on each side
of them, evidences of subterranean action are to be found in recently
elevated coral-rock, or in barrier coral-reefs, indicating recent
submergence. In the very centre or focus of the great curve of volcanoes
is placed the large island of Borneo, in which no sign of recent
volcanic action has yet been observed, and where earthquakes, so
characteristic of the surrounding regions, are entirely unknown. The
equally large island of New Guinea occupies another quiescent area,
on which no sign of volcanic action has yet been discovered. With the
exception of the eastern end of its northern peninsula, the large and
curiously-shaped island of Celebes is also entirely free from volcanoes;
and there is some reason to believe that the volcanic portion has once
formed a separate island. The Malay Peninsula is also non-volcanic.

The first and most obvious division of the Archipelago would therefore
be into quiescent and volcanic regions, and it might, perhaps, be
expected that such a division would correspond to some differences in
the character of the vegetation and the forms of life. This is the case,
however, to a very limited extent; and we shall presently see that,
although this development of subterranean fires is on so vast a
scale--has piled up chains of mountains ten or twelve thousand feet
high--has broken up continents and raised up islands from the ocean--yet
it has all the character of a recent action which has not yet succeeded
in obliterating the traces of a more ancient distribution of land and
water.

Contrasts of Vegetation.--Placed immediately upon the Equator and
surrounded by extensive oceans, it is not surprising that the various
islands of the Archipelago should be almost always clothed with a forest
vegetation from the level of the sea to the summits of the loftiest
mountains. This is the general rule. Sumatra, New Guinea, Borneo, the
Philippines and the Moluccas, and the uncultivated parts of Java and
Celebes, are all forest countries, except a few small and unimportant
tracts, due perhaps, in some cases, to ancient cultivation or accidental
fires. To this, however, there is one important exception in the island
of Timor and all the smaller islands around it, in which there is
absolutely no forest such as exists in the other islands, and this
character extends in a lesser degree to Flores, Sumbawa, Lombock, and
Bali.

In Timor the most common trees are Eucalypti of several species, also
characteristic of Australia, with sandalwood, acacia, and other sorts
in less abundance. These are scattered over the country more or less
thickly, but, never so as to deserve the name of a forest. Coarse
and scanty grasses grow beneath them on the more barren hills, and a
luxuriant herbage in the moister localities. In the islands between
Timor and Java there is often a more thickly wooded country abounding
in thorny and prickly trees. These seldom reach any great height, and
during the force of the dry season they almost completely lose
their leaves, allowing the ground beneath them to be parched up, and
contrasting strongly with the damp, gloomy, ever-verdant forests of the
other islands. This peculiar character, which extends in a less degree
to the southern peninsula of Celebes and the east end of Java, is most
probably owing to the proximity of Australia. The south-east monsoon,
which lasts for about two-thirds of the year (from March to November),
blowing over the northern parts of that country, produces a degree of
heat and dryness which assimilates the vegetation and physical aspect of
the adjacent islands to its own. A little further eastward in Timor and
the Ke Islands, a moister climate prevails; the southeast winds blowing
from the Pacific through Torres Straits and over the damp forests of New
Guinea, and as a consequence, every rocky islet is clothed with verdure
to its very summit. Further west again, as the same dry winds blow
over a wider and wider extent of ocean, they have time to absorb fresh
moisture, and we accordingly find the island of Java possessing a less
and less arid climate, until in the extreme west near Batavia, rain
occurs more or less all the year round, and the mountains are everywhere
clothed with forests of unexampled luxuriance.

Contrasts in Depth of Sea.--It was first pointed out by Mr. George
Windsor Earl, in a paper read before the Royal Geographical Society
in 1845, and subsequently in a pamphlet "On the Physical Geography
of South-Eastern Asia and Australia", dated 1855, that a shallow sea
connected the great islands of Sumatra, Java, and Borneo with the
Asiatic continent, with which their natural productions generally
agreed; while a similar shallow sea connected New Guinea and some of the
adjacent islands to Australia, all being characterised by the presence
of marsupials.

We have here a clue to the most radical contrast in the Archipelago, and
by following it out in detail I have arrived at the conclusion that
we can draw a line among the islands, which shall so divide them that
one-half shall truly belong to Asia, while the other shall no less
certainly be allied to Australia. I term these respectively the
Indo-Malayan and the Austro-Malayan divisions of the Archipelago.

On referring to pages 12, 13, and 36 of Mr. Earl's pamphlet, it will be
seen that he maintains the former connection of Asia and Australia as
an important part of his view; whereas, I dwell mainly on their
long continued separation. Notwithstanding this and other important
differences between us, to him undoubtedly belongs the merit of first
indicating the division of the Archipelago into an Australian and an
Asiatic region, which it has been my good fortune to establish by more
detailed observations.

Contrasts in Natural Productions.--To understand the importance of this
class of facts, and its bearing upon the former distribution of land and
sea, it is necessary to consider the results arrived at by geologists
and naturalists in other parts of the world.

It is now generally admitted that the present distribution of living
things on the surface of the earth is mainly the result of the last
series of changes that it has undergone. Geology teaches us that
the surface of the land, and the distribution of land and water, is
everywhere slowly changing. It further teaches us that the forms of life
which inhabit that surface have, during every period of which we possess
any record, been also slowly changing.

It is not now necessary to say anything about how either of those
changes took place; as to that, opinions may differ; but as to the fact
that the changes themselves have occurred, from the earliest geological
ages down to the present day, and are still going on, there is no
difference of opinion. Every successive stratum of sedimentary rock,
sand, or gravel, is a proof that changes of level have taken place; and
the different species of animals and plants, whose remains are found
in these deposits, prove that corresponding changes did occur in the
organic world.

Taking, therefore, these two series of changes for granted, most of the
present peculiarities and anomalies in the distribution of species may
be directly traced to them. In our own islands, with a very few trifling
exceptions, every quadruped, bird, reptile, insect, and plant, is found
also on the adjacent continent. In the small islands of Sardinia and
Corsica, there are some quadrupeds and insects, and many plants, quite
peculiar. In Ceylon, more closely connected to India than Britain is to
Europe, many animals and plants are different from those found in India,
and peculiar to the island. In the Galapagos Islands, almost every
indigenous living thing is peculiar to them, though closely resembling
other kinds found in the nearest parts of the American continent.

Most naturalists now admit that these facts can only be explained by
the greater or less lapse of time since the islands were upraised from
beneath the ocean, or were separated from the nearest land; and this
will be generally (though not always) indicated by the depth of the
intervening sea. The enormous thickness of many marine deposits through
wide areas shows that subsidence has often continued (with intermitting
periods of repose) during epochs of immense duration. The depth of sea
produced by such subsidence will therefore generally be a measure of
time; and in like manner, the change which organic forms have undergone
is a measure of time. When we make proper allowance for the continued
introduction of new animals and plants from surrounding countries by
those natural means of dispersal which have been so well explained by
Sir Charles Lyell and Mr. Darwin, it is remarkable how closely these two
measures correspond. Britain is separated from the continent by a very
shallow sea, and only in a very few cases have our animals or plants
begun to show a difference from the corresponding continental species.
Corsica and Sardinia, divided from Italy by a much deeper sea, present
a much greater difference in their organic forms. Cuba, separated from
Yucatan by a wider and deeper strait, differs more markedly, so that
most of its productions are of distinct and peculiar species; while
Madagascar, divided from Africa by a deep channel three hundred miles
wide, possesses so many peculiar features as to indicate separation at
a very remote antiquity, or even to render it doubtful whether the two
countries have ever been absolutely united.

Returning now to the Malay Archipelago, we find that all the wide
expanse of sea which divides Java, Sumatra, and Borneo from each other,
and from Malacca and Siam, is so shallow that ships can anchor in any
part of it, since it rarely exceeds forty fathoms in depth; and if we go
as far as the line of a hundred fathoms, we shall include the Philippine
Islands and Bali, east of Java. If, therefore, these islands have
been separated from each other and the continent by subsidence of the
intervening tracts of land, we should conclude that the separation
has been comparatively recent, since the depth to which the land has
subsided is so small. It is also to be remarked that the great chain
of active volcanoes in Sumatra and Java furnishes us with a sufficient
cause for such subsidence, since the enormous masses of matter they have
thrown out would take away the foundations of the surrounding district;
and this may be the true explanation of the often-noticed fact that
volcanoes and volcanic chains are always near the sea. The subsidence
they produce around them will, in time, make a sea, if one does not
already exist.

But, it is when we examine the zoology of these countries that we find
what we most require--evidence of a very striking character that these
great islands must have once formed a part of the continent, and could
only have been separated at a very recent geological epoch. The elephant
and tapir of Sumatra and Borneo, the rhinoceros of Sumatra and the
allied species of Java, the wild cattle of Borneo and the kind long
supposed to be peculiar to Java, are now all known to inhabit some part
or other of Southern Asia. None of these large animals could possibly
have passed over the arms of the sea which now separate these countries,
and their presence plainly indicates that a land communication must have
existed since the origin of the species. Among the smaller mammals, a
considerable portion are common to each island and the continent; but
the vast physical changes that must have occurred during the breaking up
and subsidence of such extensive regions have led to the extinction of
some in one or more of the islands, and in some cases there seems also
to have been time for a change of species to have taken place. Birds
and insects illustrate the same view, for every family and almost every
genus of these groups found in any of the islands occurs also on the
Asiatic continent, and in a great number of cases the species are
exactly identical. Birds offer us one of the best means of determining
the law of distribution; for though at first sight it would appear that
the watery boundaries which keep out the land quadrupeds could be easily
passed over by birds, yet practically it is not so; for if we leave out
the aquatic tribes which are pre-eminently wanderers, it is found that
the others (and especially the Passeres, or true perching-birds, which
form the vast majority) are generally as strictly limited by straits and
arms of the sea as are quadrupeds themselves. As an instance, among the
islands of which I am now speaking, it is a remarkable fact that Java
possesses numerous birds which never pass over to Sumatra, though they
are separated by a strait only fifteen miles wide, and with islands in
mid-channel. Java, in fact, possesses more birds and insects peculiar
to itself than either Sumatra or Borneo, and this would indicate that it
was earliest separated from the continent; next in organic individuality
is Borneo, while Sumatra is so nearly identical in all its animal forms
with the peninsula of Malacca, that we may safely conclude it to have
been the most recently dismembered island.

The general result therefore, at which we arrive, is that the great
islands of Java, Sumatra, and Borneo resemble in their natural
productions the adjacent parts of the continent, almost as much as such
widely-separated districts could be expected to do even if they still
formed a part of Asia; and this close resemblance, joined with the fact
of the wide extent of sea which separates them being so uniformly and
remarkably shallow, and lastly, the existence of the extensive range of
volcanoes in Sumatra and Java, which have poured out vast quantities
of subterranean matter and have built up extensive plateaux and lofty
mountain ranges, thus furnishing a vera causa for a parallel line of
subsidence--all lead irresistibly to the conclusion that at a very
recent geological epoch, the continent of Asia extended far beyond its
present limits in a south-easterly direction, including the islands of
Java, Sumatra, and Borneo, and probably reaching as far as the present
100-fathom line of soundings.

The Philippine Islands agree in many respects with Asia and the other
islands, but present some anomalies, which seem to indicate that they
were separated at an earlier period, and have since been subject to many
revolutions in their physical geography.

Turning our attention now to the remaining portion of the Archipelago,
we shall find that all the islands from Celebes and Lombock eastward
exhibit almost as close a resemblance to Australia and New Guinea as
the Western Islands do to Asia. It is well known that the natural
productions of Australia differ from those of Asia more than those of
any of the four ancient quarters of the world differ from each other.
Australia, in fact, stands alone: it possesses no apes or monkeys, no
cats or tigers, wolves, bears, or hyenas; no deer or antelopes, sheep or
oxen; no elephant, horse, squirrel, or rabbit; none, in short, of those
familiar types of quadruped which are met with in every other part
of the world. Instead of these, it has Marsupials only: kangaroos and
opossums; wombats and the duckbilled Platypus. In birds it is almost as
peculiar. It has no woodpeckers and no pheasants--families which
exist in every other part of the world; but instead of them it has the
mound-making brush-turkeys, the honeysuckers, the cockatoos, and the
brush-tongued lories, which are found nowhere else upon the globe. All
these striking peculiarities are found also in those islands which form
the Austro-Malayan division of the Archipelago.

The great contrast between the two divisions of the Archipelago is
nowhere so abruptly exhibited as on passing from the island of Bali to
that of Lombock, where the two regions are in closest proximity. In Bali
we have barbets, fruit-thrushes, and woodpeckers; on passing over to
Lombock these are seen no more, but we have abundance of cockatoos,
honeysuckers, and brush-turkeys, which are equally unknown in Bali, or
any island further west. [I was informed, however, that there were a
few cockatoos at one spot on the west of Bali, showing that the
intermingling of the productions of these islands is now going on.] The
strait is here fifteen miles wide, so that we may pass in two hours from
one great division of the earth to another, differing as essentially in
their animal life as Europe does from America. If we travel from Java
or Borneo to Celebes or the Moluccas, the difference is still more
striking. In the first, the forests abound in monkeys of many kinds,
wild cats, deer, civets, and otters, and numerous varieties of squirrels
are constantly met with. In the latter none of these occur; but the
prehensile-tailed Cuscus is almost the only terrestrial mammal seen,
except wild pigs, which are found in all the islands, and deer (which
have probably been recently introduced) in Celebes and the Moluccas. The
birds which are most abundant in the Western Islands are woodpeckers,
barbets, trogons, fruit-thrushes, and leaf-thrushes; they are seen
daily, and form the great ornithological features of the country. In
the Eastern Islands these are absolutely unknown, honeysuckers and small
lories being the most common birds, so that the naturalist feels himself
in a new world, and can hardly realize that he has passed from the one
region to the other in a few days, without ever being out of sight of
land.

The inference that we must draw from these facts is, undoubtedly, that
the whole of the islands eastwards beyond Java and Borneo do essentially
form a part of a former Australian or Pacific continent, although some
of them may never have been actually joined to it. This continent must
have been broken up not only before the Western Islands were separated
from Asia, but probably before the extreme southeastern portion of Asia
was raised above the waters of the ocean; for a great part of the
land of Borneo and Java is known to be geologically of quite recent
formation, while the very great difference of species, and in many cases
of genera also, between the productions of the Eastern Malay Islands and
Australia, as well as the great depth of the sea now separating them,
all point to a comparatively long period of isolation.

It is interesting to observe among the islands themselves how a shallow
sea always intimates a recent land connexion. The Aru Islands, Mysol,
and Waigiou, as well as Jobie, agree with New Guinea in their species of
mammalia and birds much more closely than they do with the Moluccas,
and we find that they are all united to New Guinea by a shallow sea.
In fact, the 100-fathom line round New Guinea marks out accurately the
range of the true Paradise birds.

It is further to be noted--and this is a very interesting point in
connection with theories of the dependence of special forms of life
on external conditions--that this division of the Archipelago into
two regions characterised by a striking diversity in their natural
productions does not in any way correspond to the main physical or
climatal divisions of the surface. The great volcanic chain runs through
both parts, and appears to produce no effect in assimilating their
productions. Borneo closely resembles New Guinea not only in its vast
size and its freedom from volcanoes, but in its variety of geological
structure, its uniformity of climate, and the general aspect of the
forest vegetation that clothes its surface. The Moluccas are the
counterpart of the Philippines in their volcanic structure, their
extreme fertility, their luxuriant forests, and their frequent
earthquakes; and Bali with the east end of Java has a climate almost
as dry and a soil almost as arid as that of Timor. Yet between these
corresponding groups of islands, constructed as it were after the same
pattern, subjected to the same climate, and bathed by the same oceans,
there exists the greatest possible contrast when we compare their animal
productions. Nowhere does the ancient doctrine--that differences
or similarities in the various forms of life that inhabit different
countries are due to corresponding physical differences or similarities
in the countries themselves--meet with so direct and palpable a
contradiction. Borneo and New Guinea, as alike physically as two
distinct countries can be, are zoologically wide as the poles asunder;
while Australia, with its dry winds, its open plains, its stony deserts,
and its temperate climate, yet produces birds and quadrupeds which are
closely related to those inhabiting the hot damp luxuriant forests,
which everywhere clothe the plains and mountains of New Guinea.

In order to illustrate more clearly the means by which I suppose this
great contrast has been brought about, let us consider what would occur
if two strongly contrasted divisions of the earth were, by natural
means, brought into proximity. No two parts of the world differ so
radically in their productions as Asia and Australia, but the difference
between Africa and South America is also very great, and these two
regions will well serve to illustrate the question we are considering.
On the one side we have baboons, lions, elephants, buffaloes, and
giraffes; on the other spider-monkeys, pumas, tapirs, anteaters,
and sloths; while among birds, the hornbills, turacos, orioles, and
honeysuckers of Africa contrast strongly with the toucans, macaws,
chatterers, and hummingbirds of America.

Now let us endeavour to imagine (what it is very probable may occur in
future ages) that a slow upheaval of the bed of the Atlantic should take
place, while at the same time earthquake-shocks and volcanic action on
the land should cause increased volumes of sediment to be poured down
by the rivers, so that the two continents should gradually spread out by
the addition of newly-formed lands, and thus reduce the Atlantic which
now separates them, to an arm of the sea a few hundred miles wide. At
the same time we may suppose islands to be upheaved in mid-channel; and,
as the subterranean forces varied in intensity, and shifted their points
of greatest action, these islands would sometimes become connected with
the land on one side or other of the strait, and at other times again be
separated from it. Several islands would at one time be joined together,
at another would be broken up again, until at last, after many long ages
of such intermittent action, we might have an irregular archipelago
of islands filling up the ocean channel of the Atlantic, in whose
appearance and arrangement we could discover nothing to tell us which
had been connected with Africa and which with America. The animals and
plants inhabiting these islands would, however, certainly reveal this
portion of their former history. On those islands which had ever formed
a part of the South American continent, we should be sure to find such
common birds as chatterers and toucans and hummingbirds, and some of the
peculiar American quadrupeds; while on those which had been separated
from Africa, hornbills, orioles, and honeysuckers would as certainly be
found. Some portion of the upraised land might at different times have
had a temporary connection with both continents, and would then contain
a certain amount of mixture in its living inhabitants. Such seems to
have been the case with the islands of Celebes and the Philippines.
Other islands, again, though in such close proximity as Bali and
Lombock, might each exhibit an almost unmixed sample of the productions
of the continents of which they had directly or indirectly once formed a
part.

In the Malay Archipelago we have, I believe, a case exactly parallel
to that which I have here supposed. We have indications of a vast
continent, with a peculiar fauna and flora having been gradually and
irregularly broken up; the island of Celebes probably marking its
furthest westward extension, beyond which was a wide ocean. At the
same time Asia appears to have been extending its limits in a southeast
direction, first in an unbroken mass, then separated into islands as
we now see it, and almost coming into actual contact with the scattered
fragments of the great southern land.

From this outline of the subject, it will be evident how important an
adjunct Natural History is to Geology; not only in interpreting
the fragments of extinct animals found in the earth's crust, but in
determining past changes in the surface which have left no geological
record. It is certainly a wonderful and unexpected fact that an accurate
knowledge of the distribution of birds and insects should enable us to
map out lands and continents which disappeared beneath the ocean long
before the earliest traditions of the human race. Wherever the geologist
can explore the earth's surface, he can read much of its past history,
and can determine approximately its latest movements above and below the
sea-level; but wherever oceans and seas now extend, he can do nothing
but speculate on the very limited data afforded by the depth of the
waters. Here the naturalist steps in, and enables him to fill up this
great gap in the past history of the earth.

One of the chief objects of my travels was to obtain evidence of this
nature; and my search after such evidence has been rewarded by great
success, so that I have been able to trace out with some probability the
past changes which one of the most interesting parts of the earth has
undergone. It may be thought that the facts and generalizations here
given would have been more appropriately placed at the end rather than
at the beginning of a narrative of the travels which supplied the facts.
In some cases this might be so, but I have found it impossible to give
such an account as I desire of the natural history of the numerous
islands and groups of islands in the Archipelago, without constant
reference to these generalizations which add so much to their interest.
Having given this general sketch of the subject, I shall be able to show
how the same principles can be applied to the individual islands of a
group, as to the whole Archipelago; and thereby make my account of the
many new and curious animals which inhabit them both, more interesting
and more instructive than if treated as mere isolated facts.

Contrasts of Races.--Before I had arrived at the conviction that the
eastern and western halves of the Archipelago belonged to distinct
primary regions of the earth, I had been led to group the natives of the
Archipelago under two radically distinct races. In this I differed from
most ethnologists who had before written on the subject; for it had
been the almost universal custom to follow William von Humboldt and
Pritchard, in classing all the Oceanic races as modifications of one
type. Observation soon showed me, however, that Malays and Papuans
differed radically in every physical, mental, and moral character; and
more detailed research, continued for eight years, satisfied me that
under these two forms, as types, the whole of the peoples of the Malay
Archipelago and Polynesia could be classified. On drawing the line which
separates these races, it is found to come near to that which divides
the zoological regions, but somewhat eastward of it; a circumstance
which appears to me very significant of the same causes having
influenced the distribution of mankind that have determined the range of
other animal forms.

The reason why exactly the same line does not limit both is sufficiently
intelligible. Man has means of traversing the sea which animals do not
possess; and a superior race has power to press out or assimilate an
inferior one. The maritime enterprise and higher civilization of the
Malay races have enabled them to overrun a portion of the adjacent
region, in which they have entirely supplanted the indigenous
inhabitants if it ever possessed any; and to spread much of their
language, their domestic animals, and their customs far over the
Pacific, into islands where they have but slightly, or not at all,
modified the physical or moral characteristics of the people.

I believe, therefore, that all the peoples of the various islands can be
grouped either with the Malays or the Papuans; and that these two have
no traceable affinity to each other. I believe, further, that all the
races east of the line I have drawn have more affinity for each other
than they have for any of the races west of that line; that, in fact,
the Asiatic races include the Malays, and all have a continental origin,
while the Pacific races, including all to the east of the former
(except perhaps some in the Northern Pacific), are derived, not from
any existing continent, but from lands which now exist or have recently
existed in the Pacific Ocean. These preliminary observations will enable
the reader better to apprehend the importance I attach to the details of
physical form or moral character, which I shall give in describing the
inhabitants of many of the islands.





CHAPTER II. SINGAPORE.

 (A SKETCH OF THE TOWN AND ISLAND AS SEEN DURING SEVERAL VISITS FROM 1854 TO 1862.)

FEW places are more interesting to a traveller from Europe than the town
and island of Singapore, furnishing, as it does, examples of a variety
of Eastern races, and of many different religions and modes of life. The
government, the garrison, and the chief merchants are English; but
the great mass of the population is Chinese, including some of the
wealthiest merchants, the agriculturists of the interior, and most of
the mechanics and labourers. The native Malays are usually fishermen and
boatmen, and they form the main body of the police. The Portuguese of
Malacca supply a large number of the clerks and smaller merchants. The
Klings of Western India are a numerous body of Mahometans, and,
with many Arabs, are petty merchants and shopkeepers. The grooms and
washermen are all Bengalees, and there is a small but highly respectable
class of Parsee merchants. Besides these, there are numbers of Javanese
sailors and domestic servants, as well as traders from Celebes, Bali,
and many other islands of the Archipelago. The harbour is crowded with
men-of-war and trading vessels of many European nations, and hundreds
of Malay praus and Chinese junks, from vessels of several hundred tons
burthen down to little fishing boats and passenger sampans; and the town
comprises handsome public buildings and churches, Mahometan mosques,
Hindu temples, Chinese joss-houses, good European houses, massive
warehouses, queer old Kling and China bazaars, and long suburbs of
Chinese and Malay cottages.

By far the most conspicuous of the various kinds of people in Singapore,
and those which most attract the stranger's attention, are the Chinese,
whose numbers and incessant activity give the place very much the
appearance of a town in China. The Chinese merchant is generally a fat
round-faced man with an important and business-like look. He wears the
same style of clothing (loose white smock, and blue or black trousers)
as the meanest coolie, but of finer materials, and is always clean and
neat; and his long tail tipped with red silk hangs down to his heels.
He has a handsome warehouse or shop in town and a good house in the
country. He keeps a fine horse and gig, and every evening may be seen
taking a drive bareheaded to enjoy the cool breeze. He is rich--he
owns several retail shops and trading schooners, he lends money at high
interest and on good security, he makes hard bargains, and gets fatter
and richer every year.

In the Chinese bazaar are hundreds of small shops in which a
miscellaneous collection of hardware and dry goods are to be found, and
where many things are sold wonderfully cheap. You may buy gimlets at
a penny each, white cotton thread at four balls for a halfpenny, and
penknives, corkscrews, gunpowder, writing-paper, and many other
articles as cheap or cheaper than you can purchase them in England. The
shopkeeper is very good-natured; he will show you everything he has, and
does not seem to mind if you buy nothing. He bates a little, but not so
much as the Klings, who almost always ask twice what they are willing to
take. If you buy a few things from him, he will speak to you afterwards
every time you pass his shop, asking you to walk in and sit down, or
take a cup of tea; and you wonder how he can get a living where so many
sell the same trifling articles.

The tailors sit at a table, not on one; and both they and the shoemakers
work well and cheaply. The barbers have plenty to do, shaving heads and
cleaning ears; for which latter operation they have a great array of
little tweezers, picks, and brushes. In the outskirts of the town are
scores of carpenters and blacksmiths. The former seem chiefly to make
coffins and highly painted and decorated clothes-boxes. The latter are
mostly gun-makers, and bore the barrels of guns by hand out of solid
bars of iron. At this tedious operation they may be seen every day, and
they manage to finish off a gun with a flintlock very handsomely. All
about the streets are sellers of water, vegetables, fruit, soup,
and agar-agar (a jelly made of seaweed), who have many cries
as unintelligible as those of London. Others carry a portable
cooking-apparatus on a pole balanced by a table at the other end, and
serve up a meal of shellfish, rice, and vegetables for two or three
halfpence--while coolies and boatmen waiting to be hired are everywhere
to be met with.

In the interior of the island the Chinese cut down forest trees in the
jungle, and saw them up into planks; they cultivate vegetables, which
they bring to market; and they grow pepper and gambir, which form
important articles of export. The French Jesuits have established
missions among these inland Chinese, which seem very successful. I lived
for several weeks at a time with the missionary at Bukit-tima, about the
centre of the island, where a pretty church has been built and there are
about 300 converts. While there, I met a missionary who had just arrived
from Tonquin, where he had been living for many years. The Jesuits still
do their work thoroughly as of old. In Cochin China, Tonquin, and China,
where all Christian teachers are obliged to live in secret, and
are liable to persecution, expulsion, and sometimes death, every
province--even those farthest in the interior--has a permanent Jesuit
mission establishment constantly kept up by fresh aspirants, who are
taught the languages of the countries they are going to at Penang or
Singapore. In China there are said to be near a million converts; in
Tonquin and Cochin China, more than half a million. One secret of
the success of these missions is the rigid economy practised in the
expenditure of the funds. A missionary is allowed about £30. a year, on
which he lives in whatever country he may be. This renders it possible
to support a large number of missionaries with very limited means; and
the natives, seeing their teachers living in poverty and with none of
the luxuries of life, are convinced that they are sincere in what they
teach, and have really given up home and friends and ease and safety,
for the good of others. No wonder they make converts, for it must be a
great blessing to the poor people among whom they labour to have a man
among them to whom they can go in any trouble or distress, who will
comfort and advise them, who visits them in sickness, who relieves
them in want, and who they see living from day-to-day in danger of
persecution and death--entirely for their sakes.

My friend at Bukit-tima was truly a father to his flock. He preached
to them in Chinese every Sunday, and had evenings for discussion and
conversation on religion during the week. He had a school to teach their
children. His house was open to them day and night. If a man came to him
and said, "I have no rice for my family to eat today," he would give
him half of what he had in the house, however little that might be. If
another said, "I have no money to pay my debt," he would give him half
the contents of his purse, were it his last dollar. So, when he was
himself in want, he would send to some of the wealthiest among his
flock, and say, "I have no rice in the house," or "I have given away my
money, and am in want of such and such articles." The result was that
his flock trusted and loved him, for they felt sure that he was their
true friend, and had no ulterior designs in living among them.

The island of Singapore consists of a multitude of small hills, three or
four hundred feet high, the summits of many of which are still covered
with virgin forest. The mission-house at Bukit-tima was surrounded
by several of these wood-topped hills, which were much frequented by
woodcutters and sawyers, and offered me an excellent collecting ground
for insects. Here and there, too, were tiger pits, carefully covered
over with sticks and leaves, and so well concealed, that in several
cases I had a narrow escape from falling into them. They are shaped
like an iron furnace, wider at the bottom than the top, and are perhaps
fifteen or twenty feet deep so that it would be almost impossible for
a person unassisted to get out of one. Formerly a sharp stake was stuck
erect in the bottom; but after an unfortunate traveller had been killed
by falling on one, its use was forbidden. There are always a few tigers
roaming about Singapore, and they kill on an average a Chinaman every
day, principally those who work in the gambir plantations, which are
always made in newly-cleared jungle. We heard a tiger roar once or twice
in the evening, and it was rather nervous work hunting for insects among
the fallen trunks and old sawpits when one of these savage animals might
be lurking close by, awaiting an opportunity to spring upon us.

Several hours in the middle of every fine day were spent in these
patches of forest, which were delightfully cool and shady by contrast
with the bare open country we had to walk over to reach them. The
vegetation was most luxuriant, comprising enormous forest trees, as well
as a variety of ferns, caladiums, and other undergrowth, and abundance
of climbing rattan palms. Insects were exceedingly abundant and very
interesting, and every day furnished scores of new and curious forms.

In about two months I obtained no less than 700 species of beetles,
a large proportion of which were quite new, and among them were 130
distinct kinds of the elegant Longicorns (Cerambycidae), so much
esteemed by collectors. Almost all these were collected in one patch of
jungle, not more than a square mile in extent, and in all my subsequent
travels in the East I rarely if ever met with so productive a spot. This
exceeding productiveness was due in part no doubt to some favourable
conditions in the soil, climate, and vegetation, and to the season being
very bright and sunny, with sufficient showers to keep everything
fresh. But it was also in a great measure dependent, I feel sure, on
the labours of the Chinese wood-cutters. They had been at work here for
several years, and during all that time had furnished a continual supply
of dry and dead and decaying leaves and bark, together with abundance of
wood and sawdust, for the nourishment of insects and their larvae. This
had led to the assemblage of a great variety of species in a limited
space, and I was the first naturalist who had come to reap the harvest
they had prepared. In the same place, and during my walks in other
directions, I obtained a fair collection of butterflies and of other
orders of insects, so that on the whole I was quite satisfied with
these--my first attempts to gain a knowledge of the Natural History of
the Malay Archipelago.





CHAPTER III. MALACCA AND MOUNT OPHIR.

 (JULY TO SEPTEMBER, 1854.)

BIRDS and most other kinds of animals being scarce at Singapore, I
left it in July for Malacca, where I spent more than two months in the
interior, and made an excursion to Mount Ophir. The old and picturesque
town of Malacca is crowded along the banks of the small river, and
consists of narrow streets of shops and dwelling houses, occupied by the
descendants of the Portuguese, and by Chinamen. In the suburbs are
the houses of the English officials and of a few Portuguese merchants,
embedded in groves of palms and fruit-trees, whose varied and beautiful
foliage furnishes a pleasing relief to the eye, as well as most grateful
shade.

The old fort, the large Government House, and the ruins of a cathedral
attest the former wealth and importance of this place, which was once
as much the centre of Eastern trade as Singapore is now. The following
description of it by Linschott, who wrote two hundred and seventy years
ago, strikingly exhibits the change it has undergone:

"Malacca is inhabited by the Portuguese and by natives of the country,
called Malays. The Portuguese have here a fortress, as at Mozambique,
and there is no fortress in all the Indies, after those of Mozambique
and Ormuz, where the captains perform their duty better than in this
one. This place is the market of all India, of China, of the Moluccas,
and of other islands around about--from all which places, as well
as from Banda, Java, Sumatra, Siam, Pegu, Bengal, Coromandel, and
India--arrive ships which come and go incessantly, charged with an
infinity of merchandises. There would be in this place a much greater
number of Portuguese if it were not for the inconvenience, and
unhealthiness of the air, which is hurtful not only to strangers, but
also to natives of the country. Thence it is that all who live in the
country pay tribute of their health, suffering from a certain disease,
which makes them lose either their skin or their hair. And those who
escape consider it a miracle, which occasions many to leave the country,
while the ardent desire of gain induces others to risk their health, and
endeavour to endure such an atmosphere. The origin of this town, as the
natives say, was very small, only having at the beginning, by reason of
the unhealthiness of the air, but six or seven fishermen who inhabited
it. But the number was increased by the meeting of fishermen from Siam,
Pegu, and Bengal, who came and built a city, and established a peculiar
language, drawn from the most elegant modes of speaking of other
nations, so that in fact the language of the Malays is at present the
most refined, exact, and celebrated of all the East. The name of Malacca
was given to this town, which, by the convenience of its situation, in
a short time grew to such wealth, that it does not yield to the most
powerful towns and regions around about. The natives, both men and
women, are very courteous and are reckoned the most skillful in the
world in compliments, and study much to compose and repeat verses and
love-songs. Their language is in vogue through the Indies, as the French
is here."

At present, a vessel over a hundred tons hardly ever enters its port,
and the trade is entirely confined to a few petty products of the
forests, and to the fruit, which the trees, planted by the old
Portuguese, now produce for the enjoyment of the inhabitants of
Singapore. Although rather subject to fevers, it is not at present
considered very unhealthy.

The population of Malacca consists of several races. The ubiquitous
Chinese are perhaps the most numerous, keeping up their manners,
customs, and language; the indigenous Malays are next in point of
numbers, and their language is the Lingua-franca of the place. Next come
the descendants of the Portuguese--a mixed, degraded, and degenerate
race, but who still keep up the use of their mother tongue, though
ruefully mutilated in grammar; and then there are the English rulers,
and the descendants of the Dutch, who all speak English. The Portuguese
spoken at Malacca is a useful philological phenomenon. The verbs have
mostly lost their inflections, and one form does for all moods, tenses,
numbers, and persons. Eu vai, serves for "I go," "I went," or, "I will
go." Adjectives, too, have been deprived of their feminine and
plural terminations, so that the language is reduced to a marvellous
simplicity, and, with the admixture of a few Malay words, becomes rather
puzzling to one who has heard only the pure Lusitanian.

In costume these several peoples are as varied as in their speech. The
English preserve the tight-fitting coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and
the abominable hat and cravat; the Portuguese patronise a light jacket,
or, more frequently, shirt and trousers only; the Malays wear their
national jacket and sarong (a kind of kilt), with loose drawers; while
the Chinese never depart in the least from their national dress, which,
indeed, it is impossible to improve for a tropical climate, whether as
regards comfort or appearance. The loosely-hanging trousers, and neat
white half-shirt half-jacket, are exactly what a dress should be in this
low latitude.

I engaged two Portuguese to accompany me into the interior; one as
a cook, the other to shoot and skin birds, which is quite a trade in
Malacca. I first stayed a fortnight at a village called Gading, where
I was accommodated in the house of some Chinese converts, to whom I was
recommended by the Jesuit missionaries. The house was a mere shed, but
it was kept clean, and I made myself sufficiently comfortable. My
hosts were forming a pepper and gambir plantation, and in the immediate
neighbourhood were extensive tin-washings, employing over a thousand
Chinese. The tin is obtained in the form of black grains from beds of
quartzose sand, and is melted into ingots in rude clay furnaces. The
soil seemed poor, and the forest was very dense with undergrowth, and
not at all productive of insects; but, on the other hand, birds were
abundant, and I was at once introduced to the rich ornithological
treasures of the Malayan region.

The very first time I fired my gun I brought down one of the most
curious and beautiful of the Malacca birds, the blue-billed gaper
(Cymbirhynchus macrorhynchus), called by the Malays the "Rainbird." It
is about the size of a starling, black and rich claret colour with
white shoulder stripes, and a very large and broad bill of the most pure
cobalt blue above and orange below, while the iris is emerald green.
As the skins dry the bill turns dull black, but even then the bird is
handsome. When fresh killed, the contrast of the vivid blue with the
rich colours of the plumage is remarkably striking and beautiful.
The lovely Eastern trogons, with their rich-brown backs, beautifully
pencilled wings, and crimson breasts, were also soon obtained, as well
as the large green barbets (Megalaema versicolor)--fruit-eating birds,
something like small toucans, with a short, straight bristly bill, and
whose head and neck are variegated with patches of the most vivid blue
and crimson. A day or two after, my hunter brought me a specimen of
the green gaper (Calyptomena viridis), which is like a small
cock-of-the-rock, but entirely of the most vivid green, delicately
marked on the wings with black bars. Handsome woodpeckers and gay
kingfishers, green and brown cuckoos with velvety red faces and green
beaks, red-breasted doves and metallic honeysuckers, were brought in day
after day, and kept me in a continual state of pleasurable excitement.
After a fortnight one of my servants was seized with fever, and on
returning to Malacca, the same disease, attacked the other as well as
myself. By a liberal use of quinine, I soon recovered, and obtaining
other men, went to stay at the Government bungalow of Ayer-panas,
accompanied by a young gentleman, a native of the place, who had a taste
for natural history.

At Ayer-panas we had a comfortable house to stay in, and plenty of
room to dry and preserve our specimens; but, owing to there being no
industrious Chinese to cut down timber, insects were comparatively
scarce, with the exception of butterflies, of which I formed a very fine
collection. The manner in which I obtained one fine insect was curious,
and indicates how fragmentary and imperfect a traveller's collection
must necessarily be. I was one afternoon walking along a favourite road
through the forest, with my gun, when I saw a butterfly on the ground.
It was large, handsome, and quite new to me, and I got close to it
before it flew away. I then observed that it had been settling on the
dung of some carnivorous animal. Thinking it might return to the same
spot, I next day after breakfast took my net, and as I approached the
place was delighted to see the same butterfly sitting on the same piece
of dung, and succeeded in capturing it. It was an entirely new species
of great beauty, and has been named by Mr. Hewitson--Nymphalis calydona.
I never saw another specimen of it, and it was only after twelve years
had elapsed that a second individual reached this country from the
northwestern part of Borneo.

Having determined to visit Mount Ophir, which is situated in the middle
of the peninsula about fifty miles east of Malacca, we engaged six
Malays to accompany us and carry our baggage. As we meant to stay at
least a week at the mountain, we took with us a good supply of rice, a
little biscuit, butter and coffee, some dried fish and a little brandy,
with blankets, a change of clothes, insect and bird boxes, nets, guns
and ammunition. The distance from Ayer-panas was supposed to be about
thirty miles.

Our first day's march lay through patches of forest, clearings, and
Malay villages, and was pleasant enough. At night we slept at the house
of a Malay chief, who lent us a verandah, and gave us a fowl and some
eggs. The next day the country got wilder and more hilly. We passed
through extensive forests, along paths often up to our knees in mud,
and were much annoyed by the leeches for which this district is famous.
These little creatures infest the leaves and herbage by the side of the
paths, and when a passenger comes along they stretch themselves out at
full length, and if they touch any part of his dress or body, quit their
leaf and adhere to it. They then creep on to his feet, legs, or other
part of his body and suck their fill, the first puncture being rarely
felt during the excitement of walking. On bathing in the evening we
generally found half a dozen or a dozen on each of us, most frequently
on our legs, but sometimes on our bodies, and I had one who sucked his
fill from the side of my neck, but who luckily missed the jugular vein.
There are many species of these forest leeches. All are small, but some
are beautifully marked with stripes of bright yellow. They probably
attach themselves to deer or other animals which frequent the forest
paths, and have thus acquired the singular habit of stretching
themselves out at the sound of a footstep or of rustling foliage. Early
in the afternoon we reached the foot of the mountain, and encamped by
the side of a fine stream, whose rocky banks were overgrown with
ferns. Our oldest Malay had been accustomed to shoot birds in this
neighbourhood for the Malacca dealers, and had been to the top of the
mountain, and while we amused ourselves shooting and insect hunting, he
went with two others to clear the path for our ascent the next day.

Early next morning we started after breakfast, carrying blankets and
provisions, as we intended to sleep upon the mountain. After passing
a little tangled jungle and swampy thickets through which our men had
cleared a path, we emerged into a fine lofty forest pretty clear of
undergrowth, and in which we could walk freely. We ascended steadily up
a moderate slope for several miles, having a deep ravine on our left.
We then had a level plateau or shoulder to cross, after which the
ascent was steeper and the forest denser until we came out upon the
"Padang-batu," or stone field, a place of which we had heard much, but
could never get anyone to describe intelligibly. We found it to be a
steep slope of even rock, extending along the mountain side farther than
we could see. Parts of it were quite bare, but where it was cracked and
fissured there grew a most luxuriant vegetation, among which the pitcher
plants were the most remarkable. These wonderful plants never seem to
succeed well in our hot-houses, and are there seen to little advantage.
Here they grew up into half climbing shrubs, their curious pitchers
of various sizes and forms hanging abundantly from their leaves, and
continually exciting our admiration by their size and beauty. A few
coniferae of the genus Dacrydium here first appeared, and in the
thickets just above the rocky surface we walked through groves of those
splendid ferns Dipteris Horsfieldii and Matonia pectinata, which bear
large spreading palmate fronds on slender stems six or eight feet high.
The Matonia is the tallest and most elegant, and is known only from this
mountain, and neither of them is yet introduced into our hot-houses.

It was very striking to come out from the dark, cool, and shady forest
in which we had been ascending since we started, on to this hot, open
rocky slope where we seemed to have entered at one step from a lowland
to an alpine vegetation. The height, as measured by a sympiesometer, was
about 2,800 feet. We had been told we should find water at Padang-batu
as we were exceedingly thirsty; but we looked about for it in vain. At
last we turned to the pitcher-plants, but the water contained in the
pitchers (about half a pint in each) was full of insects, and otherwise
uninviting. On tasting it, however, we found it very palatable though
rather warm, and we all quenched our thirst from these natural jugs.
Farther on we came to forest again, but of a more dwarf and stunted
character than below; and alternately passing along ridges and
descending into valleys, we reached a peak separated from the true
summit of the mountain by a considerable chasm. Here our porters gave
in, and declared they could carry their loads no further; and certainly
the ascent to the highest peak was very precipitous. But on the spot
where we were there was no water, whereas it was well known that there
was a spring close to the summit, so we determined to go on without
them, and carry with us only what was absolutely necessary. We
accordingly took a blanket each, and divided our food and other articles
among us, and went on with only the old Malay and his son.

After descending into the saddle between the two peaks we found the
ascent very laborious, the slope being so steep, as often to necessitate
hand-climbing. Besides a bushy vegetation the ground was covered
knee-deep with mosses on a foundation of decaying leaves and rugged
rock, and it was a hard hour's climb to the small ledge just below the
summit, where an overhanging rock forms a convenient shelter, and a
little basin collects the trickling water. Here we put down our loads,
and in a few minutes more stood on the summit of Mount Ophir, 4,000
feet above the sea. The top is a small rocky platform covered with
rhododendrons and other shrubs. The afternoon was clear, and the view
fine in its way--ranges of hill and valley everywhere covered with
interminable forest, with glistening rivers winding among them.

In a distant view a forest country is very monotonous, and no mountain I
have ever ascended in the tropics presents a panorama equal to that from
Snowdon, while the views in Switzerland are immeasurably superior.
When boiling our coffee I took observations with a good boiling-point
thermometer, as well as with the sympiesometer, and we then enjoyed our
evening meal and the noble prospect that lay before us. The night was
calm and very mild, and having made a bed of twigs and branches over
which we laid our blankets, we passed a very comfortable night. Our
porters had followed us after a rest, bringing only their rice to cook,
and luckily we did not require the baggage they left behind them. In the
morning I caught a few butterflies and beetles, and my friend got a few
land-shells; and we then descended, bringing with us some specimens of
the ferns and pitcher-plants of Padang-batu.

The place where we had first encamped at the foot of the mountain being
very gloomy, we chose another in a kind of swamp near a stream overgrown
with Zingiberaceous plants, in which a clearing was easily made. Here
our men built two little huts without sides that would just shelter us
from the rain; we lived in them for a week, shooting and insect-hunting,
and roaming about the forests at the foot of the mountain. This was the
country of the great Argus pheasant, and we continually heard its cry.
On asking the old Malay to try and shoot one for me, he told me that
although he had been for twenty years shooting birds in these forests he
had never yet shot one, and had never even seen one except after it had
been caught. The bird is so exceedingly shy and wary, and runs along
the ground in the densest parts of the forest so quickly, that it is
impossible to get near it; and its sober colours and rich eye-like
spots, which are so ornamental when seen in a museum, must harmonize
well with the dead leaves among which it dwells, and render it very
inconspicuous. All the specimens sold in Malacca are caught in snares,
and my informant, though he had shot none, had snared plenty.

The tiger and rhinoceros are still found here, and a few years ago
elephants abounded, but they have lately all disappeared. We found some
heaps of dung, which seemed to be that of elephants, and some tracks of
the rhinoceros, but saw none of the animals. However, we kept a fire up
all night in case any of these creatures should visit us, and two of our
men declared that they did one day see a rhinoceros. When our rice was
finished, and our boxes full of specimens, we returned to Ayer-Panas,
and a few days afterwards went on to Malacca, and thence to Singapore.
Mount Ophir has quite a reputation for fever, and all our friends were
astonished at our recklessness in staying so long at its foot; but none
of us suffered in the least, and I shall ever look back with pleasure
to my trip as being my first introduction to mountain scenery in the
Eastern tropics.

The meagreness and brevity of the sketch I have here given of my visit
to Singapore and the Malay Peninsula is due to my having trusted chiefly
to some private letters and a notebook, which were lost; and to a paper
on Malacca and Mount Ophir which was sent to the Royal Geographical
Society, but which was neither read nor printed owing to press of matter
at the end of a session, and the MSS. of which cannot now be found. I
the less regret this, however, as so many works have been written on
these parts; and I always intended to pass lightly over my travels in
the western and better known portions of the Archipelago, in order to
devote more space to the remoter districts, about which hardly anything
has been written in the English language.





CHAPTER IV. BORNEO--THE ORANGUTAN.

I ARRIVED at Sarawak on November 1st, 1854, and left it on January 25th,
1856. In the interval I resided at many different localities, and saw
a good deal of the Dyak tribes as well as of the Bornean Malays. I
was hospitably entertained by Sir James Brooke, and lived in his house
whenever I was at the town of Sarawak in the intervals of my journeys.
But so many books have been written about this part of Borneo since I
was there, that I shall avoid going into details of what I saw and heard
and thought of Sarawak and its ruler, confining myself chiefly to my
experiences as a naturalist in search of shells, insects, birds and the
Orangutan, and to an account of a journey through a part of the interior
seldom visited by Europeans.

The first four months of my visit were spent in various parts of
the Sarawak River, from Santubong at its mouth up to the picturesque
limestone mountains and Chinese gold-fields of Bow and Bede. This part
of the country has been so frequently described that I shall pass it
over, especially as, owing to its being the height of the wet season, my
collections were comparatively poor and insignificant.

In March 1865 I determined to go to the coalworks which were being
opened near the Simunjon River, a small branch of the Sadong, a river
east of Sarawak and between it and the Batang-Lupar. The Simunjon enters
the Sadong River about twenty miles up. It is very narrow and very
winding, and much overshadowed by the lofty forest, which sometimes
almost meets over it. The whole country between it and the sea is a
perfectly level forest-covered swamp, out of which rise a few isolated
hills, at the foot of one of which the works are situated. From the
landing-place to the hill a Dyak road had been formed, which consisted
solely of tree-trunks laid end to end. Along these the barefooted
natives walk and carry heavy burdens with the greatest ease, but to a
booted European it is very slippery work, and when one's attention is
constantly attracted by the various objects of interest around, a few
tumbles into the bog are almost inevitable. During my first walk along
this road I saw few insects or birds, but noticed some very handsome
orchids in flower, of the genus Coelogyne, a group which I afterwards
found to be very abundant, and characteristic of the district. On the
slope of the hill near its foot a patch of forest had been cleared away,
and several rude houses erected, in which were residing Mr. Coulson
the engineer, and a number of Chinese workmen. I was at first kindly
accommodated in Mr. Coulson's house, but finding the spot very suitable
for me and offering great facilities for collecting, I had a small house
of two rooms and a verandah built for myself. Here I remained nearly
nine months, and made an immense collection of insects, to which class
of animals I devoted my chief attention, owing to the circumstances
being especially favourable.

In the tropics a large proportion of the insects of all orders, and
especially of the large and favourite group of beetles, are more or less
dependent on vegetation, and particularly on timber, bark, and leaves
in various stages of decay. In the untouched virgin forest, the insects
which frequent such situations are scattered over an immense extent of
country, at spots where trees have fallen through decay and old age, or
have succumbed to the fury of the tempest; and twenty square miles of
country may not contain so many fallen and decayed trees as are to be
found in any small clearing. The quantity and the variety of beetles
and of many other insects that can be collected at a given time in any
tropical locality, will depend, first upon the immediate vicinity of a
great extent of virgin forest, and secondly upon the quantity of trees
that for some months past have been, and which are still being cut down,
and left to dry and decay upon the ground.

Now, during my whole twelve years' collecting in the western and eastern
tropics, I never enjoyed such advantages in this respect as at the
Simunjon coalworks. For several months from twenty to fifty Chinamen and
Dyaks were employed almost exclusively in clearing a large space in the
forest, and in making a wide opening for a railroad to the Sadong River,
two miles distant. Besides this, sawpits were established at various
points in the jungle, and large trees were felled to be cut up into
beams and planks. For hundreds of miles in every direction a magnificent
forest extended over plain and mountain, rock and morass, and I arrived
at the spot just as the rains began to diminish and the daily sunshine
to increase; a time which I have always found the most favourable season
for collecting. The number of openings, sunny places, and pathways were
also an attraction to wasps and butterflies; and by paying a cent each
for all insects that were brought me, I obtained from the Dyaks and the
Chinamen many fine locusts and Phasmidae, as well as numbers of handsome
beetles.

When I arrived at the mines, on the 14th of March, I had collected in
the four preceding months, 320 different kinds of beetles. In less
than a fortnight I had doubled this number, an average of about 24 new
species every day. On one day I collected 76 different kinds, of which
34 were new to me. By the end of April I had more than a thousand
species, and they then went on increasing at a slower rate, so that
I obtained altogether in Borneo about two thousand distinct kinds,
of which all but about a hundred were collected at this place, and on
scarcely more than a square mile of ground. The most numerous and most
interesting groups of beetles were the Longicorns and Rhynchophora, both
pre-eminently wood-feeders. The former, characterised by their graceful
forms and long antenna, were especially numerous, amounting to nearly
three hundred species, nine-tenths of which were entirely new, and many
of them remarkable for their large size, strange forms, and beautiful
colouring. The latter correspond to our weevils and allied groups, and
in the tropics are exceedingly numerous and varied, often swarming upon
dead timber, so that I sometimes obtained fifty or sixty different kinds
in a day. My Bornean collections of this group exceeded five hundred
species.

My collection of butterflies was not large; but I obtained some rare
and very handsome insects, the most remarkable being the Ornithoptera
Brookeana, one of the most elegant species known. This beautiful
creature has very long and pointed wings, almost resembling a sphinx
moth in shape. It is deep velvety black, with a curved band of spots of
a brilliant metallic-green colour extending across the wings from tip to
tip, each spot being shaped exactly like a small triangular feather, and
having very much the effect of a row of the wing coverts of the Mexican
trogon, laid upon black velvet. The only other marks are a broad
neck-collar of vivid crimson, and a few delicate white touches on the
outer margins of the hind wings. This species, which was then quite new
and which I named after Sir James Brooke, was very rare. It was seen
occasionally flying swiftly in the clearings, and now and then settling
for an instant at puddles and muddy places, so that I only succeeded in
capturing two or three specimens. In some other parts of the country I
was assured it was abundant, and a good many specimens have been sent
to England; but as yet all have been males, and we are quite unable to
conjecture what the female may be like, owing to the extreme isolation
of the species, and its want of close affinity to any other known
insect.

One of the most curious and interesting reptiles which I met with in
Borneo was a large tree-frog, which was brought me by one of the Chinese
workmen. He assured me that he had seen it come down in a slanting
direction from a high tree, as if it flew. On examining it, I found the
toes very long and fully webbed to their very extremity, so that when
expanded they offered a surface much larger than the body. The
forelegs were also bordered by a membrane, and the body was capable of
considerable inflation. The back and limbs were of a very deep shining
green colour, the undersurface and the inner toes yellow, while the
webs were black, rayed with yellow. The body was about four inches long,
while the webs of each hind foot, when fully expanded, covered a surface
of four square inches, and the webs of all the feet together about
twelve square inches. As the extremities of the toes have dilated
discs for adhesion, showing the creature to be a true tree frog, it is
difficult to imagine that this immense membrane of the toes can be for
the purpose of swimming only, and the account of the Chinaman, that it
flew down from the tree, becomes more credible. This is, I believe, the
first instance known of a "flying frog," and it is very interesting to
Darwinians as showing that the variability of the toes which have been
already modified for purposes of swimming and adhesive climbing, have
been taken advantage of to enable an allied species to pass through the
air like the flying lizard. It would appear to be a new species of the
genus Rhacophorus, which consists of several frogs of a much smaller
size than this, and having the webs of the toes less developed.

During my stay in Borneo I had no hunter to shoot for me regularly, and,
being myself fully occupied with insects, I did not succeed in obtaining
a very good collection of the birds or Mammalia, many of which, however,
are well known, being identical with species found in Malacca. Among the
Mammalia were five squirrels,and two tigercats--the Gymnurus Rafflesii,
which looks like a cross between a pig and a polecat, and the Cynogale
Bennetti--a rare, otter-like animal, with very broad muzzle clothed with
long bristles.

One of my chief objects in coming to stay at Simunjon was to see the
Orangutan (or great man-like ape of Borneo) in his native haunts, to
study his habits, and obtain good specimens of the different varieties
and species of both sexes, and of the adult and young animals. In all
these objects I succeeded beyond my expectations, and will now give some
account of my experience in hunting the Orangutan, or "Mias," as it is
called by the natives; and as this name is short, and easily pronounced,
I shall generally use it in preference to Simia satyrus, or Orangutan.

Just a week after my arrival at the mines, I first saw a Mias. I was out
collecting insects, not more than a quarter of a mile from the house,
when I heard a rustling in a tree near, and, looking up, saw a large
red-haired animal moving slowly along, hanging from the branches by its
arms. It passed on from tree to tree until it was lost in the jungle,
which was so swampy that I could not follow it. This mode of progression
was, however, very unusual, and is more characteristic of the Hylobates
than of the Orang. I suppose there was some individual peculiarity in
this animal, or the nature of the trees just in this place rendered it
the most easy mode of progression.

About a fortnight afterwards I heard that one was feeding in a tree in
the swamp just below the house, and, taking my gun, was fortunate enough
to find it in the same place. As soon as I approached, it tried to
conceal itself among the foliage; but, I got a shot at it, and the
second barrel caused it to fall down almost dead, the two balls having
entered the body. This was a male, about half-grown, being scarcely
three feet high. On April 26th, I was out shooting with two Dyaks, when
we found another about the same size. It fell at the first shot, but did
not seem much hurt, and immediately climbed up the nearest tree, when I
fired, and it again fell, with a broken arm and a wound in the body. The
two Dyaks now ran up to it, and each seized hold of a hand, telling me
to cut a pole, and they would secure it. But although one arm was broken
and it was only a half-grown animal, it was too strong for these young
savages, drawing them up towards its mouth notwithstanding all their
efforts, so that they were again obliged to leave go, or they would have
been seriously bitten. It now began climbing up the tree again; and, to
avoid trouble, I shot it through the heart.

On May 2nd, I again found one on a very high tree, when I had only a
small 80-bore gun with me. However, I fired at it, and on seeing me it
began howling in a strange voice like a cough, and seemed in a great
rage, breaking off branches with its hands and throwing them down, and
then soon made off over the tree-tops. I did not care to follow it,
as it was swampy, and in parts dangerous, and I might easily have lost
myself in the eagerness of pursuit.

On the 12th of May I found another, which behaved in a very similar
manner, howling and hooting with rage, and throwing down branches. I
shot at it five times, and it remained dead on the top of the tree,
supported in a fork in such a manner that it would evidently not fall.
I therefore returned home, and luckily found some Dyaks, who came back
with me, and climbed up the tree for the animal. This was the first
full-grown specimen I had obtained; but it was a female, and not nearly
so large or remarkable as the full-grown males. It was, however, 3 ft.
6 in. high, and its arms stretched out to a width of 6 ft. 6 in. I
preserved the skin of this specimen in a cask of arrack, and prepared a
perfect skeleton, which was afterwards purchased for the Derby Museum.

Only four days afterwards some Dyaks saw another Mias near the same
place, and came to tell me. We found it to be a rather large one, very
high up on a tall tree. At the second shot it fell rolling over, but
almost immediately got up again and began to climb. At a third shot it
fell dead. This was also a full-grown female, and while preparing to
carry it home, we found a young one face downwards in the bog. This
little creature was only about a foot long, and had evidently been
hanging to its mother when she first fell. Luckily it did not appear to
have been wounded, and after we had cleaned the mud out of its mouth it
began to cry out, and seemed quite strong and active. While carrying
it home it got its hands in my beard, and grasped so tightly that I had
great difficulty in getting free, for the fingers are habitually bent
inwards at the last joint so as to form complete hooks. At this time it
had not a single tooth, but a few days afterwards it cut its two lower
front teeth. Unfortunately, I had no milk to give it, as neither Malays,
Chinese nor Dyaks ever use the article, and I in vain inquired for
any female animal that could suckle my little infant. I was therefore
obliged to give it rice-water from a bottle with a quill in the cork,
which after a few trials it learned to suck very well. This was very
meagre diet, and the little creature did not thrive well on it,
although I added sugar and cocoa-nut milk occasionally, to make it
more nourishing. When I put my finger in its mouth it sucked with great
vigour, drawing in its cheeks with all its might in the vain effort to
extract some milk, and only after persevering a long time would it give
up in disgust, and set up a scream very like that of a baby in similar
circumstances.

When handled or nursed, it was very quiet and contented, but when laid
down by itself would invariably cry; and for the first few nights was
very restless and noisy. I fitted up a little box for a cradle, with a
soft mat for it to lie upon, which was changed and washed every day; and
I soon found it necessary to wash the little Mias as well. After I had
done so a few times, it came to like the operation, and as soon as it
was dirty would begin crying and not leave off until I took it out and
carried it to the spout, when it immediately became quiet, although
it would wince a little at the first rush of the cold water and make
ridiculously wry faces while the stream was running over its head. It
enjoyed the wiping and rubbing dry amazingly, and when I brushed its
hair seemed to be perfectly happy, lying quite still with its arms and
legs stretched out while I thoroughly brushed the long hair of its back
and arms. For the first few days it clung desperately with all four
hands to whatever it could lay hold of, and I had to be careful to
keep my beard out of its way, as its fingers clutched hold of hair more
tenaciously than anything else, and it was impossible to free myself
without assistance. When restless, it would struggle about with its
hands up in the air trying to find something to take hold of, and, when
it had got a bit of stick or rag in two or three of its hands, seemed
quite happy. For want of something else, it would often seize its own
feet, and after a time it would constantly cross its arms and grasp with
each hand the long hair that grew just below the opposite shoulder. The
great tenacity of its grasp soon diminished, and I was obliged to
invent some means to give it exercise and strengthen its limbs. For this
purpose I made a short ladder of three or four rounds, on which I put
it to hang for a quarter of an hour at a time. At first it seemed much
pleased, but it could not get all four hands in a comfortable position,
and, after changing about several times, would leave hold of one hand
after the other, and drop onto the floor. Sometimes when hanging only
by two hands, it would loose one, and cross it to the opposite shoulder,
grasping its own hair; and, as this seemed much more agreeable than
the stick, it would then loose the other and tumble down, when it would
cross both and lie on its back quite contentedly, never seeming to be
hurt by its numerous tumbles. Finding it so fond of hair, I endeavoured
to make an artificial mother, by wrapping up a piece of buffalo-skin
into a bundle, and suspending it about a foot from the floor. At first
this seemed to suit it admirably, as it could sprawl its legs about and
always find some hair, which it grasped with the greatest tenacity. I
was now in hopes that I had made the little orphan quite happy; and so
it seemed for some time, until it began to remember its lost parent, and
try to suck. It would pull itself up close to the skin, and try about
everywhere for a likely place; but, as it only succeeded in getting
mouthfuls of hair and wool, it would be greatly disgusted, and scream
violently, and, after two or three attempts, let go altogether. One day
it got some wool into its throat, and I thought it would have choked,
but after much gasping it recovered, and I was obliged to take the
imitation mother to pieces again, and give up this last attempt to
exercise the little creature.

After the first week I found I could feed it better with a spoon, and
give it a little more varied and more solid food. Well-soaked biscuit
mixed with a little egg and sugar, and sometimes sweet potatoes, were
readily eaten; and it was a never-failing amusement to observe the
curious changes of countenance by which it would express its approval
or dislike of what was given to it. The poor little thing would lick its
lips, draw in its cheeks, and turn up its eyes with an expression of
the most supreme satisfaction when it had a mouthful particularly to its
taste. On the other hand, when its food was not sufficiently sweet or
palatable, it would turn the mouthful about with its tongue for a moment
as if trying to extract what flavour there was, and then push it all
out between its lips. If the same food was continued, it would set up a
scream and kick about violently, exactly like a baby in a passion.

After I had had the little Mias about three weeks, I fortunately
obtained a young hare-lip monkey (Macacus cynomolgus), which, though
small, was very active, and could feed itself. I placed it in the
same box with the Mias, and they immediately became excellent friends,
neither exhibiting the least fear of the other. The little monkey would
sit upon the other's stomach, or even on its face, without the least
regard to its feelings. While I was feeding the Mias, the monkey would
sit by, picking up all that was spilt, and occasionally putting out its
hands to intercept the spoon; and as soon as I had finished would pick
off what was left sticking to the Mias' lips, and then pull open its
mouth and see if any still remained inside; afterwards lying down on the
poor creature's stomach as on a comfortable cushion. The little helpless
Mias would submit to all these insults with the most exemplary patience,
only too glad to have something warm near it, which it could clasp
affectionately in its arms. It sometimes, however, had its revenge; for
when the monkey wanted to go away, the Mias would hold on as long as it
could by the loose skin of its back or head, or by its tail, and it was
only after many vigorous jumps that the monkey could make his escape.

It was curious to observe the different actions of these two animals,
which could not have differed much in age. The Mias, like a very young
baby, lying on its back quite helpless, rolling lazily from side to
side, stretching out all four hands into the air, wishing to grasp
something, but hardly able to guide its fingers to any definite object;
and when dissatisfied, opening wide its almost toothless mouth, and
expressing its wants by a most infantine scream. The little monkey, on
the other hand, in constant motion, running and jumping about wherever
it pleased, examining everything around it, seizing hold of the smallest
object with the greatest precision, balancing itself on the edge of the
box or running up a post, and helping itself to anything eatable that
came in its way. There could hardly be a greater contrast, and the baby
Mias looked more baby-like by the comparison.

When I had had it about a month, it began to exhibit some signs of
learning to run alone. When laid upon the floor it would push itself
along by its legs, or roll itself over, and thus make an unwieldy
progression. When lying in the box it would lift itself up to the edge
into almost an erect position, and once or twice succeeded in tumbling
out. When left dirty, or hungry, or otherwise neglected, it would scream
violently until attended to, varied by a kind of coughing or pumping
noise very similar to that which is made by the adult animal. If no one
was in the house, or its cries were not attended to, it would be quiet
after a little while, but the moment it heard a footstep would begin
again harder than ever.

After five weeks it cut its two upper front teeth, but in all this time
it had not grown the least bit, remaining both in size and weight the
same as when I first procured it. This was no doubt owing to the want
of milk or other equally nourishing food. Rice-water, rice, and biscuits
were but a poor substitute, and the expressed milk of the cocoa-nut
which I sometimes gave it did not quite agree with its stomach. To this
I imputed an attack of diarrhoea from which the poor little creature
suffered greatly, but a small dose of castor-oil operated well, and
cured it. A week or two afterwards it was again taken ill, and this time
more seriously. The symptoms were exactly those of intermittent fever,
accompanied by watery swellings on the feet and head. It lost all
appetite for its food, and, after lingering for a week a most pitiable
object, died, after being in my possession nearly three months. I much
regretted the loss of my little pet, which I had at one time looked
forward to bringing up to years of maturity, and taking home to England.
For several months it had afforded me daily amusement by its curious
ways and the inimitably ludicrous expression of its little countenance.
Its weight was three pounds nine ounces, its height fourteen inches,
and the spread of its arms twenty-three inches. I preserved its skin and
skeleton, and in doing so found that when it fell from the tree it must
have broken an arm and a leg, which had, however, united so rapidly that
I had only noticed the hard swellings on the limbs where the irregular
junction of the bones had taken place.

Exactly a week after I had caught this interesting little animal, I
succeeded in shooting a full-grown male Orangutan. I had just come home
from an entomologising excursion when Charles [Charles Allen, an English
lad of sixteen, accompanied me as an assistant] rushed in out of breath
with running and excitement, and exclaimed, interrupted by gasps, "Get
the gun, sir,--be quick,--such a large Mias!" "Where is it?" I asked,
taking hold of my gun as I spoke, which happened luckily to have one
barrel loaded with ball. "Close by, sir--on the path to the mines--he
can't get away." Two Dyaks chanced to be in the house at the time, so I
called them to accompany me, and started off, telling Charley to bring
all the ammunition after me as soon as possible. The path from our
clearing to the mines led along the side of the hill a little way up its
slope, and parallel with it at the foot a wide opening had been made for
a road, in which several Chinamen were working, so that the animal could
not escape into the swampy forest below without descending to cross
the road or ascending to get round the clearings. We walked cautiously
along, not making the least noise, and listening attentively for any
sound which might betray the presence of the Mias, stopping at intervals
to gaze upwards. Charley soon joined us at the place where he had seen
the creature, and having taken the ammunition and put a bullet in
the other barrel, we dispersed a little, feeling sure that it must be
somewhere near, as it had probably descended the hill, and would not be
likely to return again.

After a short time I heard a very slight rustling sound overhead, but on
gazing up could see nothing. I moved about in every direction to get a
full view into every part of the tree under which I had been standing,
when I again heard the same noise but louder, and saw the leaves shaking
as if caused by the motion of some heavy animal which moved off to an
adjoining tree. I immediately shouted for all of them to come up and try
and get a view, so as to allow me to have a shot. This was not an easy
matter, as the Mias had a knack of selecting places with dense foliage
beneath. Very soon, however, one of the Dyaks called me and pointed
upwards, and on looking I saw a great red hairy body and a huge black
face gazing down from a great height, as if wanting to know what was
making such a disturbance below. I instantly fired, and he made off at
once, so that I could not then tell whether I had hit him.

He now moved very rapidly and very noiselessly for so large an animal,
so I told the Dyaks to follow and keep him in sight while I loaded.
The jungle was here full of large angular fragments of rock from the
mountain above, and thick with hanging and twisted creepers. Running,
climbing, and creeping among these, we came up with the creature on the
top of a high tree near the road, where the Chinamen had discovered him,
and were shouting their astonishment with open mouths: "Ya Ya, Tuan;
Orangutan, Tuan." Seeing that he could not pass here without descending,
he turned up again towards the hill, and I got two shots, and following
quickly, had two more by the time he had again reached the path, but he
was always more or less concealed by foliage, and protected by the large
branch on which he was walking. Once while loading I had a splendid view
of him, moving along a large limb of a tree in a semi-erect posture, and
showing it to be an animal of the largest size. At the path he got on
to one of the loftiest trees in the forest, and we could see one leg
hanging down useless, having been broken by a ball. He now fixed himself
in a fork, where he was hidden by thick foliage, and seemed disinclined
to move. I was afraid he would remain and die in this position, and as
it was nearly evening. I could not have got the tree cut down that day.
I therefore fired again, and he then moved off, and going up the hill
was obliged to get on to some lower trees, on the branches of one of
which he fixed himself in such a position that he could not fall, and
lay all in a heap as if dead, or dying.

I now wanted the Dyaks to go up and cut off the branch he was resting
on, but they were afraid, saying he was not dead, and would come and
attack them. We then shook the adjoining tree, pulled the hanging
creepers, and did all we could to disturb him, but without effect, so I
thought it best to send for two Chinamen with axes to cut down the tree.
While the messenger was gone, however, one of the Dyaks took courage
and climbed towards him, but the Mias did not wait for him to get near,
moving off to another tree, where he got on to a dense mass of branches
and creepers which almost completely hid him from our view. The tree was
luckily a small one, so when the axes came we soon had it cut through;
but it was so held up by jungle ropes and climbers to adjoining trees
that it only fell into a sloping position. The Mias did not move, and
I began to fear that after all we should not get him, as it was near
evening, and half a dozen more trees would have to be cut down before
the one he was on would fall. As a last resource we all began pulling at
the creepers, which shook the tree very much, and, after a few minutes,
when we had almost given up all hope, down he came with a crash and a
thud like the fall of a giant. And he was a giant, his head and body
being fully as large as a man's. He was of the kind called by the
Dyaks "Mias Chappan," or "Mias Pappan," which has the skin of the face
broadened out to a ridge or fold at each side. His outstretched arms
measured seven feet three inches across, and his height, measuring
fairly from the top of the head to the heel was four feet two inches.
The body just below the arms was three feet two inches round, and
was quite as long as a man's, the legs being exceedingly short in
proportion. On examination we found he had been dreadfully wounded. Both
legs were broken, one hip-joint and the root of the spine completely
shattered, and two bullets were found flattened in his neck and jaws.
Yet he was still alive when he fell. The two Chinamen carried him home
tied to a pole, and I was occupied with Charley the whole of the next
day preparing the skin and boiling the bones to make a perfect skeleton,
which are now preserved in the Museum at Derby.

About ten days after this, on June 4th, some Dyaks came to tell us that
the day before a Mias had nearly killed one of their companions. A few
miles down the river there is a Dyak house, and the inhabitants saw a
large Orang feeding on the young shoots of a palm by the riverside. On
being alarmed he retreated towards the jungle which was close by, and a
number of the men, armed with spears and choppers, ran out to intercept
him. The man who was in front tried to run his spear through the
animal's body, but the Mias seized it in his hands, and in an instant
got hold of the man's arm, which he seized in his mouth, making his
teeth meet in the flesh above the elbow, which he tore and lacerated in
a dreadful manner. Had not the others been close behind, the man
would have been more seriously injured, if not killed, as he was quite
powerless; but they soon destroyed the creature with their spears
and choppers. The man remained ill for a long time, and never fully
recovered the use of his arm.

They told me the dead Mias was still lying where it had been killed, so
I offered them a reward to bring it up to our landing-place immediately,
which they promised to do. They did not come, however, until the next
day, and then decomposition had commenced, and great patches of the hair
came off, so that it was useless to skin it. This I regretted much, as
it was a very fine full-grown male. I cut off the head and took it home
to clean, while I got my men to make a closed fence about five feet high
around the rest of the body, which would soon be devoured by maggots,
small lizards, and ants, leaving me the skeleton. There was a great gash
in his face, which had cut deep into the bone, but the skull was a very
fine one, and the teeth were remarkably large and perfect.

On June 18th I had another great success, and obtained a fine adult
male. A Chinaman told me he had seen him feeding by the side of the path
to the river, and I found him at the same place as the first individual
I had shot. He was feeding on an oval green fruit having a fine red
arillus, like the mace which surrounds the nutmeg, and which alone he
seemed to eat, biting off the thick outer rind and dropping it in a
continual shower. I had found the same fruit in the stomach of some
others which I had killed. Two shots caused this animal to loose his
hold, but he hung for a considerable time by one hand, and then fell
flat on his face and was half buried in the swamp. For several minutes
he lay groaning and panting, while we stood close around, expecting
every breath to be his last. Suddenly, however, by a violent effort
he raised himself up, causing us all to step back a yard or two, when,
standing nearly erect, he caught hold of a small tree, and began to
ascend it. Another shot through the back caused him to fall down dead. A
flattened bullet was found in his tongue, having entered the lower part
of the abdomen and completely traversed the body, fracturing the first
cervical vertebra. Yet it was after this fearful wound that he had
risen, and begun climbing with considerable facility. This also was a
full-grown male of almost exactly the same dimensions as the other two I
had measured.

On June 21st I shot another adult female, which was eating fruit in a
low tree, and was the only one which I ever killed by a single ball.

On June 24th I was called by a Chinaman to shoot a Mias, which, he said,
was on a tree close by his house, at the coal-mines. Arriving at the
place, we had some difficulty in finding the animal, as he had gone off
into the jungle, which was very rocky and difficult to traverse. At last
we found him up a very high tree, and could see that he was a male of
the largest size. As soon as I had fired, he moved higher up the tree,
and while he was doing so I fired again; and we then saw that one arm
was broken. He had now reached the very highest part of an immense tree,
and immediately began breaking off boughs all around, and laying them
across and across to make a nest. It was very interesting to see how
well he had chosen his place, and how rapidly he stretched out his
unwounded arm in every direction, breaking off good-sized boughs with
the greatest ease, and laying them back across each other, so that in
a few minutes he had formed a compact mass of foliage, which entirely
concealed him from our sight. He was evidently going to pass the night
here, and would probably get away early the next morning, if not wounded
too severely. I therefore fired again several times, in hopes of making
him leave his nest; but, though I felt sure I had hit him, as at each
shot he moved a little, he would not go away. At length he raised
himself up, so that half his body was visible, and then gradually sank
down, his head alone remaining on the edge of the nest. I now felt sure
he was dead, and tried to persuade the Chinaman and his companion to cut
down the tree; but it was a very large one, and they had been at work
all day, and nothing would induce them to attempt it. The next morning,
at daybreak, I came to the place, and found that the Mias was evidently
dead, as his head was visible in exactly the same position as before.
I now offered four Chinamen a day's wages each to cut the tree down
at once, as a few hours of sunshine would cause decomposition on the
surface of the skin; but, after looking at it and trying it, they
determined that it was very big and very hard, and would not attempt
it. Had I doubled my offer, they would probably have accepted it, as it
would not have been more than two or three hours' work; and had I been
on a short visit only, I would have done so; but as I was a resident,
and intended remaining several months longer, it would not have answered
to begin paying too exorbitantly, or I should have got nothing done in
the future at a lower rate.

For some weeks after, a cloud of flies could be seen all day, hovering
over the body of the dead Mias; but in about a month all was quiet, and
the body was evidently drying up under the influence of a vertical sun
alternating with tropical rains. Two or three months later two Malays,
on the offer of a dollar, climbed the tree and let down the dried
remains. The skin was almost entirely enclosing the skeleton, and
inside were millions of the pupa-cases of flies and other insects, with
thousands of two or three species of small necrophagous beetles. The
skull had been much shattered by balls, but the skeleton was perfect,
except one small wristbone, which had probably dropped out and been
carried away by a lizard.

Three days after I had shot this one and lost it, Charles found three
small Orangs feeding together. We had a long chase after them, and had a
good opportunity of seeing how they make their way from tree to tree by
always choosing those limbs whose branches are intermingled with
those of some other tree, and then grasping several of the small twigs
together before they venture to swing themselves across. Yet they do
this so quickly and certainly, that they make way among the trees at the
rate of full five or six miles an hour, as we had continually to run to
keep up with them. One of these we shot and killed, but it remained high
up in the fork of a tree; and, as young animals are of comparatively
little interest, I did not have the tree cut down to get it.

At this time I had the misfortune to slip among some fallen trees,
and hurt my ankle; and, not being careful enough at first, it became a
severe inflamed ulcer, which would not heal, and kept me a prisoner in
the house the whole of July and part of August. When I could get out
again, I determined to take a trip up a branch of the Simunjon River to
Semabang, where there was said to be a large Dyak house, a mountain with
abundance of fruit, and plenty of Orangs and fine birds. As the river
was very narrow, and I was obliged to go in a very small boat with
little luggage, I only took with me a Chinese boy as a servant. I
carried a cask of medicated arrack to put Mias skins in, and stores and
ammunition for a fortnight. After a few miles, the stream became very
narrow and winding, and the whole country on each side was flooded. On
the banks were an abundance of monkeys--the common Macacus cynomolgus,
a black Semnopithecus, and the extraordinary long-nosed monkey (Nasalis
larvatus), which is as large as a three-year old child, has a very long
tail, and a fleshy nose longer than that of the biggest-nosed man. The
further we went on the narrower and more winding the stream became;
fallen trees sometimes blocked up our passage, and sometimes tangled
branches and creepers met completely across it, and had to be cut away
before we could get on. It took us two days to reach Semabang, and we
hardly saw a bit of dry land all the way. In the latter part of the
journey I could touch the bushes on each side for miles; and we were
often delayed by the screw-pines (Pandanus), which grow abundantly in
the water, falling across the stream. In other places dense rafts of
floating grass completely filled up the channel, making our journey a
constant succession of difficulties.

Near the landing-place we found a fine house, 250 feet long, raised high
above the ground on posts, with a wide verandah and still wider platform
of bamboo in front of it. Almost all the people, however, were away on
some excursion after edible birds'-nests or bees'-wax, and there only
remained in the house two or three old men and women with a lot of
children. The mountain or hill was close by, covered with a complete
forest of fruit-trees, among which the Durian and Mangosteen were very
abundant; but the fruit was not yet quite ripe, except a little here
and there. I spent a week at this place, going out everyday in various
directions about the mountain, accompanied by a Malay, who had stayed
with me while the other boatmen returned. For three days we found no
Orangs, but shot a deer and several monkeys. On the fourth day, however,
we found a Mias feeding on a very lofty Durian tree, and succeeded in
killing it, after eight shots. Unfortunately it remained in the tree,
hanging by its hands, and we were obliged to leave it and return home,
as it was several miles off. As I felt pretty sure it would fall during
the night, I returned to the place early the next morning, and found
it on the ground beneath the tree. To my astonishment and pleasure, it
appeared to be a different kind from any I had yet seen; for although a
full-grown male, by its fully developed teeth and very large canines,
it had no sign of the lateral protuberance on the face, and was about
one-tenth smaller in all its dimensions than the other adult males.
The upper incisors, however, appeared to be broader than in the larger
species, a character distinguishing the Simia morio of Professor Owen,
which he had described from the cranium of a female specimen. As it was
too far to carry the animal home, I set to work and skinned the body on
the spot, leaving the head, hands, and feet attached, to be finished at
home. This specimen is now in the British Museum.

At the end of a week, finding no more Orangs, I returned home; and,
taking in a few fresh stores, and this time accompanied by Charles, went
up another branch of the river, very similar in character, to a place
called Menyille, where there were several small Dyak houses and one
large one. Here the landing place was a bridge of rickety poles, over a
considerable distance of water; and I thought it safer to leave my cask
of arrack securely placed in the fork of a tree. To prevent the natives
from drinking it, I let several of them see me put in a number of snakes
and lizards; but I rather think this did not prevent them from tasting
it. We were accommodated here in the verandah of the large house, in
which were several great baskets of dried human heads, the trophies of
past generations of head-hunters. Here also there was a little mountain
covered with fruit-trees, and there were some magnificent Durian trees
close by the house, the fruit of which was ripe; and as the Dyaks looked
upon me as a benefactor in killing the Mias, which destroys a great deal
of their fruit, they let us eat as much as we liked; we revelled in this
emperor of fruits in its greatest perfection.

The very day after my arrival in this place, I was so fortunate as to
shoot another adult male of the small Orang, the Mias-kassir of the
Dyaks. It fell when dead, but caught in a fork of the tree and remained
fixed. As I was very anxious to get it, I tried to persuade two young
Dyaks who were with me to cut down the tree, which was tall, perfectly
straight and smooth-barked, and without a branch for fifty or sixty
feet. To my surprise, they said they would prefer climbing up it, but it
would be a good deal of trouble, and, after a little talking together,
they said they would try. They first went to a clump of bamboo that
stood near, and cut down one of the largest stems. From this they
chopped off a short piece, and splitting it, made a couple of stout
pegs, about a foot long and sharp at one end. Then cutting a thick piece
of wood for a mallet, they drove one of the pegs into the tree and hung
their weight upon it. It held, and this seemed to satisfy them, for they
immediately began making a quantity of pegs of the same kind, while I
looked on with great interest, wondering how they could possibly ascend
such a lofty tree by merely driving pegs in it, the failure of any one
of which at a good height would certainly cause their death. When about
two dozen pegs were made, one of them began cutting some very long and
slender bamboo from another clump, and also prepared some cord from the
bark of a small tree. They now drove in a peg very firmly at about three
feet from the ground, and bringing one of the long bamboos, stood it
upright close to the tree, and bound it firmly to the two first pegs, by
means of the bark cord and small notches near the head of each peg.
One of the Dyaks now stood on the first peg and drove in a third, about
level with his face, to which he tied the bamboo in the same way, and
then mounted another step, standing on one foot, and holding by the
bamboo at the peg immediately above him, while he drove in the next one.
In this manner he ascended about twenty feet; when the upright bamboo
was becoming thin, another was handed up by his companion, and this was
joined by tying both bamboos to three or four of the pegs. When this
was also nearly ended, a third was added, and shortly after, the lowest
branches of the tree were reached, along which the young Dyak scrambled,
and soon sent the Mias tumbling down headlong. I was exceedingly struck
by the ingenuity of this mode of climbing, and the admirable manner in
which the peculiar properties of the bamboo were made available. The
ladder itself was perfectly safe, since if any one peg were loose or
faulty, and gave way, the strain would be thrown on several others
above and below it. I now understood the use of the line of bamboo pegs
sticking in trees, which I had often seen, and wondered for what purpose
they could have been put there. This animal was almost identical in size
and appearance with the one I had obtained at Semabang, and was the only
other male specimen of the Simia morio which I obtained. It is now in
the Derby Museum.

I afterwards shot two adult females and two young ones of different
ages, all of which I preserved. One of the females, with several young
ones, was feeding on a Durian tree with unripe fruit; and as soon as she
saw us she began breaking off branches and the great spiny fruits
with every appearance of rage, causing such a shower of missiles as
effectually kept us from approaching too near the tree. This habit of
throwing down branches when irritated has been doubted, but I have, as
here narrated, observed it myself on at least three separate occasions.
It was however always the female Mias who behaved in this way, and
it may be that the male, trusting more to his great strength and his
powerful canine teeth, is not afraid of any other animal, and does not
want to drive them away, while the parental instinct of the female leads
her to adopt this mode of defending herself and her young ones.

In preparing the skins and skeletons of these animals, I was much
troubled by the Dyak dogs, which, being always kept in a state of
semi-starvation, are ravenous for animal food. I had a great iron pan,
in which I boiled the bones to make skeletons, and at night I covered
this over with boards, and put heavy stones upon it; but the dogs
managed to remove these and carried away the greater part of one of my
specimens. On another occasion they gnawed away a good deal of the upper
leather of my strong boots, and even ate a piece of my mosquito-curtain,
where some lamp-oil had been spilt over it some weeks before.

On our return down the stream, we had the fortune to fall in with a
very old male Mias, feeding on some low trees growing in the water. The
country was flooded for a long distance, but so full of trees and stumps
that the laden boat could not be got in among them, and if it could have
been we should only have frightened the Mias away. I therefore got into
the water, which was nearly up to my waist, and waded on until I was
near enough for a shot. The difficulty then was to load my gun again,
for I was so deep in the water that I could not hold the gun sloping
enough to pour the powder in. I therefore had to search for a shallow
place, and after several shots under these trying circumstances, I was
delighted to see the monstrous animal roll over into the water. I now
towed him after me to the stream, but the Malays objected to having the
animal put into the boat, and he was so heavy that I could not do it
without their help. I looked about for a place to skin him, but not a
bit of dry ground was to be seen, until at last I found a clump of two
or three old trees and stumps, between which a few feet of soil had
collected just above the water, which was just large enough for us to
drag the animal upon it. I first measured him, and found him to be by
far the largest I had yet seen, for, though the standing height was the
same as the others (4 feet 2 inches), the outstretched arms were 7
feet 9 inches, which was six inches more than the previous one, and
the immense broad face was 13 1/2 inches wide, whereas the widest I had
hitherto seen was only 11 1/2 inches. The girth of the body was 3 feet
7 1/2 inches. I am inclined to believe, therefore, that the length and
strength of the arms, and the width of the face continues increasing to
a very great age, while the standing height, from the sole of the foot
to the crown of the head, rarely if ever exceeds 4 feet 2 inches.

As this was the last Mias I shot, and the last time I saw an adult
living animal, I will give a sketch of its general habits, and any other
facts connected with it. The Orangutan is known to inhabit Sumatra and
Borneo, and there is every reason to believe that it is confined to
these two great islands, in the former of which, however, it seems to be
much more rare. In Borneo it has a wide range, inhabiting many districts
on the southwest, southeast, northeast, and northwest coasts, but
appears to be chiefly confined to the low and swampy forests. It seems,
at first sight, very inexplicable that the Mias should be quite unknown
in the Sarawak valley, while it is abundant in Sambas, on the west, and
Sadong, on the east. But when we know the habits and mode of life of
the animal, we see a sufficient reason for this apparent anomaly in
the physical features of the Sarawak district. In the Sadong, where I
observed it, the Mias is only found when the country is low level and
swampy, and at the same time covered with a lofty virgin forest. From
these swamps rise many isolated mountains, on some of which the Dyaks
have settled and covered with plantations of fruit trees. These are a
great attraction to the Mias, which comes to feed on the unripe fruits,
but always retires to the swamp at night. Where the country becomes
slightly elevated, and the soil dry, the Mias is no longer to be found.
For example, in all the lower part of the Sadong valley it abounds, but
as soon as we ascend above the limits of the tides, where the country,
though still flat, is high enough to be dry, it disappears. Now the
Sarawak valley has this peculiarity--the lower portion though swampy, is
not covered with a continuous lofty forest, but is principally occupied
by the Nipa palm; and near the town of Sarawak where the country becomes
dry, it is greatly undulated in many parts, and covered with small
patches of virgin forest, and much second-growth jungle on the ground,
which has once been cultivated by the Malays or Dyaks.

Now it seems probable to me that a wide extent of unbroken and equally
lofty virgin forest is necessary to the comfortable existence of these
animals. Such forests form their open country, where they can roam in
every direction with as much facility as the Indian on the prairie, or
the Arab on the desert, passing from tree-top to tree-top without ever
being obliged to descend upon the earth. The elevated and the drier
districts are more frequented by man, more cut up by clearings and low
second-growth jungle--not adapted to its peculiar mode of progression,
and where it would therefore be more exposed to danger, and more
frequently obliged to descend upon the earth. There is probably also a
greater variety of fruit in the Mias district, the small mountains which
rise like islands out of it serving as gardens or plantations of a sort,
where the trees of the uplands are to be found in the very midst of the
swampy plains.

It is a singular and very interesting sight to watch a Mias making his
way leisurely through the forest. He walks deliberately along some of
the larger branches in the semi-erect attitude which the great length
of his arms and the shortness of his legs cause him naturally to assume;
and the disproportion between these limbs is increased by his walking
on his knuckles, not on the palm of the hand, as we should do. He seems
always to choose those branches which intermingle with an adjoining
tree, on approaching which he stretches out his long arms, and seizing
the opposing boughs, grasps them together with both hands, seems to try
their strength, and then deliberately swings himself across to the next
branch, on which he walks along as before. He never jumps or springs,
or even appears to hurry himself, and yet manages to get along almost
as quickly as a person can run through the forest beneath. The long
and powerful arms are of the greatest use to the animal, enabling it
to climb easily up the loftiest trees, to seize fruits and young leaves
from slender boughs which will not bear its weight, and to gather leaves
and branches with which to form its nest. I have already described how
it forms a nest when wounded, but it uses a similar one to sleep on
almost every night. This is placed low down, however, on a small tree
not more than from twenty to fifty feet from the ground, probably
because it is warmer and less exposed to wind than higher up. Each Mias
is said to make a fresh one for himself every night; but I should think
that is hardly probable, or their remains would be much more abundant;
for though I saw several about the coal-mines, there must have been many
Orangs about every day, and in a year their deserted nests would become
very numerous. The Dyaks say that, when it is very wet, the Mias covers
himself over with leaves of pandanus, or large ferns, which has perhaps
led to the story of his making a hut in the trees.

The Orang does not leave his bed until the sun has well risen and has
dried up the dew upon the leaves. He feeds all through the middle of the
day, but seldom returns to the same tree two days running. They do not
seem much alarmed at man, as they often stared down upon me for several
minutes, and then only moved away slowly to an adjacent tree. After
seeing one, I have often had to go half a mile or more to fetch my gun,
and in nearly every case have found it on the same tree, or within
a hundred yards, when I returned. I never saw two full-grown animals
together, but both males and females are sometimes accompanied by
half-grown young ones, while, at other times, three or four young ones
were seen in company. Their food consists almost exclusively of fruit,
with occasionally leaves, buds, and young shoots. They seem to prefer
unripe fruits, some of which were very sour, others intensely bitter,
particularly the large red, fleshy arillus of one which seemed an
especial favourite. In other cases they eat only the small seed of a
large fruit, and they almost always waste and destroy more than they
eat, so that there is a continual rain of rejected portions below the
tree they are feeding on. The Durian is an especial favourite, and
quantities of this delicious fruit are destroyed wherever it grows
surrounded by forest, but they will not cross clearings to get at them.
It seems wonderful how the animal can tear open this fruit, the outer
covering of which is so thick and tough, and closely covered with strong
conical spines. It probably bites off a few of these first, and then,
making a small hole, tears open the fruit with its powerful fingers.

The Mias rarely descends to the ground, except when pressed by hunger,
it seeks succulent shoots by the riverside; or, in very dry weather,
has to search after water, of which it generally finds sufficient in the
hollows of leaves. Only once I saw two half-grown Orangs on the ground
in a dry hollow at the foot of the Simunjon hill. They were playing
together, standing erect, and grasping each other by the arms. It may
be safely stated, however, that the Orang never walks erect, unless when
using its hands to support itself by branches overhead or when attacked.
Representations of its walking with a stick are entirely imaginary.

The Dyaks all declare that the Mias is never attacked by any animal in
the forest, with two rare exceptions; and the accounts I received
of these are so curious that I give them nearly in the words of my
informants, old Dyak chiefs, who had lived all their lives in the places
where the animal is most abundant. The first of whom I inquired said:
"No animal is strong enough to hurt the Mias, and the only creature he
ever fights with is the crocodile. When there is no fruit in the jungle,
he goes to seek food on the banks of the river where there are plenty
of young shoots that he likes, and fruits that grow close to the water.
Then the crocodile sometimes tries to seize him, but the Mias gets upon
him, and beats him with his hands and feet, and tears him and kills
him." He added that he had once seen such a fight, and that he believes
that the Mias is always the victor.

My next informant was the Orang Kaya, or chief of the Balow Dyaks, on
the Simunjon River. He said: "The Mias has no enemies; no animals
dare attack it but the crocodile and the python. He always kills the
crocodile by main strength, standing upon it, pulling open its jaws, and
ripping up its throat. If a python attacks a Mias, he seizes it with his
hands, and then bites it, and soon kills it. The Mias is very strong;
there is no animal in the jungle so strong as he."

It is very remarkable that an animal so large, so peculiar, and of such
a high type of form as the Orangutan, should be confined to so limited
a district--to two islands, and those almost the last inhabited by
the higher Mammalia; for, east of Borneo and Java, the Quadrumania,
Ruminants, Carnivora, and many other groups of Mammalia diminish
rapidly, and soon entirely disappear. When we consider, further, that
almost all other animals have in earlier ages been represented by allied
yet distinct forms--that, in the latter part of the tertiary period,
Europe was inhabited by bears, deer, wolves, and cats; Australia by
kangaroos and other marsupials; South America by gigantic sloths and
ant-eaters; all different from any now existing, though intimately
allied to them--we have every reason to believe that the Orangutan, the
Chimpanzee, and the Gorilla have also had their forerunners. With what
interest must every naturalist look forward to the time when the caves
and tertiary deposits of the tropics may be thoroughly examined, and the
past history and earliest appearance of the great man-like apes be made
known at length.

I will now say a few words as to the supposed existence of a Bornean
Orang as large as the Gorilla. I have myself examined the bodies of
seventeen freshly-killed Orangs, all of which were carefully measured;
and of seven of them, I preserved the skeleton. I also obtained two
skeletons killed by other persons. Of this extensive series, sixteen
were fully adult, nine being males, and seven females. The adult males
of the large Orangs only varied from 4 feet 1 inch to 4 feet 2 inches
in height, measured fairly to the heel, so as to give the height of the
animal if it stood perfectly erect; the extent of the outstretched arms,
from 7 feet 2 inches to 7 feet 8 inches; and the width of the face, from
10 inches to 13 1/2 inches. The dimensions given by other naturalists
closely agree with mine. The largest Orang measured by Temminck was 4
feet high. Of twenty-five specimens collected by Schlegel and Muller,
the largest old male was 4 feet 1 inch; and the largest skeleton in
the Calcutta Museum was, according to Mr. Blyth, 4 feet 1 1/2 inch.
My specimens were all from the northwest coast of Borneo; those of the
Dutch from the west and south coasts; and no specimen has yet reached
Europe exceeding these dimensions, although the total number of skins
and skeletons must amount to over a hundred.

Strange to say, however, several persons declare that they have measured
Orangs of a much larger size. Temminck, in his Monograph of the Orang,
says that he has just received news of the capture of a specimen 5 feet
3 inches high. Unfortunately, it never seems to have a reached Holland,
for nothing has since been heard of any such animal. Mr. St. John, in
his "Life in the Forests of the Far East," vol. ii. p. 237, tells us
of an Orang shot by a friend of his, which was 5 feet 2 inches from the
heel to the top of the head, the arm 17 inches in girth, and the wrist
12 inches! The head alone was brought to Sarawak, and Mr. St. John tells
us that he assisted to measure this, and that it was 15 inches broad
by 14 long. Unfortunately, even this skull appears not to have been
preserved, for no specimen corresponding to these dimensions has yet
reached England.

In a letter from Sir James Brooke, dated October 1857 in which he
acknowledges the receipt of my Papers on the Orang, published in the
"Annals and Magazine of Natural History," he sends me the measurements
of a specimen killed by his nephew, which I will give exactly as I
received it: "September 3rd, 1867, killed female Orangutan. Height, from
head to heel, 4 feet 6 inches. Stretch from fingers to fingers across
body, 6 feet 1 inch. Breadth of face, including callosities, 11 inches."
Now, in these dimensions, there is palpably one error; for in every
Orang yet measured by any naturalist, an expanse of arms of 6 feet 1
inch corresponds to a height of about 3 feet 6 inches, while the largest
specimens of 4 feet to 4 feet 2 inches high, always have the extended
arms as much as 7 feet 3 inches to 7 feet 8 inches. It is, in fact, one
of the characters of the genus to have the arms so long that an animal
standing nearly erect can rest its fingers on the ground. A height of
4 feet 6 inches would therefore require a stretch of arms of at least 8
feet! If it were only 6 feet to that height, as given in the dimensions
quoted, the animal would not be an Orang at all, but a new genus of
apes, differing materially in habits and mode of progression. But Mr.
Johnson, who shot this animal, and who knows Orangs well, evidently
considered it to be one; and we have therefore to judge whether it is
more probable that he made a mistake of two feet in the stretch of the
arms, or of one foot in the height. The latter error is certainly the
easiest to make, and it will bring his animal into agreement, as to
proportions and size, with all those which exist in Europe. How easy it
is to be deceived as to the height of these animals is well shown in
the case of the Sumatran Orang, the skin of which was described by Dr.
Clarke Abel. The captain and crew who killed this animal declared that
when alive he exceeded the tallest man, and looked so gigantic that they
thought he was 7 feet high; but that, when he was killed and lay upon
the ground, they found he was only about 6 feet. Now it will hardly be
credited that the skin of this identical animal exists in the Calcutta
Museum, and Mr. Blyth, the late curator, states "that it is by no means
one of the largest size"; which means that it is about 4 feet high!

Having these undoubted examples of error in the dimensions of Orangs,
it is not too much to conclude that Mr. St. John's friend made a similar
error of measurement, or rather, perhaps, of memory; for we are not told
that the dimensions were noted down at the time they were made. The only
figures given by Mr. St. John on his own authority are that "the head
was 15 inches broad by 14 inches long." As my largest male was 13 1/2
broad across the face, measured as soon as the animal was killed, I
can quite understand that when the head arrived at Sarawak from the
Batang-Lupar, after two or three days' voyage, it was so swollen by
decomposition as to measure an inch more than when it was fresh. On the
whole, therefore, I think it will be allowed, that up to this time
we have not the least reliable evidence of the existence of Orangs in
Borneo more than 4 feet 2 inches high.





CHAPTER V. BORNEO--JOURNEY INTO THE INTERIOR.

 (NOVEMBER 1855 TO JANUARY 1856.)

As the wet season was approaching, I determined to return to Sarawak,
sending all my collections with Charles Allen around by sea, while I
myself proposed to go up to the sources of the Sadong River and descend
by the Sarawak valley. As the route was somewhat difficult, I took the
smallest quantity of baggage, and only one servant, a Malay lad named
Bujon, who knew the language of the Sadong Dyaks, with whom he had
traded. We left the mines on the 27th of November, and the next day
reached the Malay village of Gúdong, where I stayed a short time to buy
fruit and eggs, and called upon the Datu Bandar, or Malay governor of
the place. He lived in a large, and well-built house, very dirty outside
and in, and was very inquisitive about my business, and particularly
about the coal-mines. These puzzle the natives exceedingly, as they
cannot understand the extensive and costly preparations for working
coal, and cannot believe it is to be used only as fuel when wood is so
abundant and so easily obtained. It was evident that Europeans seldom
came here, for numbers of women skeltered away as I walked through the
village and one girl about ten or twelve years old, who had just brought
a bamboo full of water from the river, threw it down with a cry of
horror and alarm the moment she caught sight of me, turned around and
jumped into the stream. She swam beautifully, and kept looking back as
if expecting I would follow her, screaming violently all the time; while
a number of men and boys were laughing at her ignorant terror.

At Jahi, the next village, the stream became so swift in consequence of
a flood, that my heavy boat could make no way, and I was obliged to send
it back and go on in a very small open one. So far the river had been
very monotonous, the banks being cultivated as rice-fields, and little
thatched huts alone breaking the unpicturesque line of muddy bank
crowned with tall grasses, and backed by the top of the forest behind
the cultivated ground. A few hours beyond Jahi we passed the limits
of cultivation, and had the beautiful virgin forest coming down to the
water's edge, with its palms and creepers, its noble trees, its ferns,
and epiphytes. The banks of the river were, however, still generally
flooded, and we had some difficulty in finding a dry spot to sleep
on. Early in the morning we reached Empugnan, a small Malay village,
situated at the foot of an isolated mountain which had been visible from
the mouth of the Simunjon River. Beyond here the tides are not felt,
and we now entered upon a district of elevated forest, with a finer
vegetation. Large trees stretch out their arms across the stream,
and the steep, earthy banks are clothed with ferns and zingiberaceous
plants.

Early in the afternoon we arrived at Tabókan, the first village of the
Hill Dyaks. On an open space near the river, about twenty boys were
playing at a game something like what we call "prisoner's base;" their
ornaments of beads and brass wire and their gay-coloured kerchiefs and
waist-cloths showing to much advantage, and forming a very pleasing
sight. On being called by Bujon, they immediately left their game to
carry my things up to the "headhouse,"--a circular building attached to
most Dyak villages, and serving as a lodging for strangers, the place
for trade, the sleeping-room of the unmarried youths, and the general
council-chamber. It is elevated on lofty posts, has a large fireplace in
the middle and windows in the roof all round, and forms a very pleasant
and comfortable abode. In the evening it was crowded with young men and
boys, who came to look at me. They were mostly fine young fellows, and
I could not help admiring the simplicity and elegance of their costume.
Their only dress is the long "chawat," or waist-cloth, which hangs down
before and behind. It is generally of blue cotton, ending in three
broad bands of red, blue, and white. Those who can afford it wear a
handkerchief on the head, which is either red, with a narrow border
of gold lace, or of three colours, like the "chawat." The large flat
moon-shaped brass earrings, the heavy necklace of white or black beads,
rows of brass rings on the arms and legs, and armlets of white shell,
all serve to relieve and set off the pure reddish brown skin and
jet-black hair. Add to this the little pouch containing materials for
betel-chewing, and a long slender knife, both invariably worn at the
side, and you have the everyday dress of the young Dyak gentleman.

The "Orang Kaya," or rich man, as the chief of the tribe is called,
now came in with several of the older men; and the "bitchara" or talk
commenced, about getting a boat and men to take me on the next morning.
As I could not understand a word of their language, which is very
different from Malay, I took no part in the proceedings, but was
represented by my boy Bujon, who translated to me most of what was said.
A Chinese trader was in the house, and he, too, wanted men the next day;
but on his hinting this to the Orang Kaya, he was sternly told that a
white man's business was now being discussed, and he must wait another
day before his could be thought about.

After the "bitchara" was over and the old chiefs gone, I asked the young
men to play or dance, or amuse themselves in their accustomed way; and
after some little hesitation they agreed to do so. They first had a
trial of strength, two boys sitting opposite each other, foot being
placed against foot, and a stout stick grasped by both their hands. Each
then tried to throw himself back, so as to raise his adversary up from
the ground, either by main strength or by a sudden effort. Then one of
the men would try his strength against two or three of the boys; and
afterwards they each grasped their own ankle with a hand, and while one
stood as firm as he could, the other swung himself around on one leg, so
as to strike the other's free leg, and try to overthrow him. When these
games had been played all around with varying success, we had a novel
kind of concert. Some placed a leg across the knee, and struck the
fingers sharply on the ankle, others beat their arms against their sides
like a cock when he is going to crow, this making a great variety of
clapping sounds, while another with his hand under his armpit produced a
deep trumpet note; and, as they all kept time very well, the effect was
by no means unpleasing. This seemed quite a favourite amusement with
them, and they kept it up with much spirit.

The next morning we started in a boat about thirty feet long, and
only twenty-eight inches wide. The stream here suddenly changes its
character. Hitherto, though swift, it had been deep and smooth, and
confined by steep banks. Now it rushed and rippled over a pebbly, sandy,
or rocky bed, occasionally forming miniature cascades and rapids, and
throwing up on one side or the other broad banks of finely coloured
pebbles. No paddling could make way here, but the Dyaks with bamboo
poles propelled us along with great dexterity and swiftness, never
losing their balance in such a narrow and unsteady vessel, though
standing up and exerting all their force. It was a brilliant day, and
the cheerful exertions of the men, the rushing of the sparkling waters,
with the bright and varied foliage, which from either bank stretched
over our heads, produced an exhilarating sensation which recalled my
canoe voyages on the grander waters of South America.

Early in the afternoon we reached the village of Borotói, and, though it
would have been easy to reach the next one before night, I was obliged
to stay, as my men wanted to return and others could not possibly go on
with me without the preliminary talking. Besides, a white man was too
great a rarity to be allowed to escape them, and their wives would never
have forgiven them if, when they returned from the fields, they found
that such a curiosity had not been kept for them to see. On entering the
house to which I was invited, a crowd of sixty or seventy men, women,
and children gathered around me, and I sat for half an hour like some
strange animal submitted for the first time to the gaze of an inquiring
public. Brass rings were here in the greatest profusion, many of the
women having their arms completely covered with them, as well as their
legs from the ankle to the knee. Round the waist they wear a dozen
or more coils of fine rattan stained red, to which the petticoat is
attached. Below this are generally a number of coils of brass wire, a
girdle of small silver coins, and sometimes a broad belt of brass ring
armour. On their heads they wear a conical hat without a crown, formed
of variously coloured beads, kept in shape by rings of rattan, and
forming a fantastic but not unpicturesque headdress.

Walking out to a small hill near the village, cultivated as a
rice-field, I had a fine view of the country, which was becoming quite
hilly, and towards the south, mountainous. I took bearings and sketches
of all that was visible, an operation which caused much astonishment
to the Dyaks who accompanied me, and produced a request to exhibit the
compass when I returned. I was then surrounded by a larger crowd than
before, and when I took my evening meal in the midst of a circle of
about a hundred spectators anxiously observing every movement and
criticising every mouthful, my thoughts involuntarily recurred to the
lion at feeding time. Like those noble animals, I too was used to it,
and it did not affect my appetite. The children here were more shy than
at Tabókan, and I could not persuade them to play. I therefore turned
showman myself, and exhibited the shadow of a dog's head eating, which
pleased them so much that all the village in succession came out to
see it. The "rabbit on the wall" does not do in Borneo, as there is
no animal it resembles. The boys had tops shaped something like
whipping-tops, but spun with a string.

The next morning we proceeded as before, but the river had become so
rapid and shallow and the boats were all so small, that though I had
nothing with me but a change of clothes, a gun, and a few cooking
utensils, two were required to take me on. The rock which appeared
here and there on the riverbank was an indurated clay-slate, sometimes
crystalline, and thrown up almost vertically. Right and left of us rose
isolated limestone mountains, their white precipices glistening in
the sun and contrasting beautifully with the luxuriant vegetation that
elsewhere clothed them. The river bed was a mass of pebbles, mostly
pure white quartz, but with abundance of jasper and agate, presenting a
beautifully variegated appearance. It was only ten in the morning when
we arrived at Budw, and, though there were plenty of people about, I
could not induce them to allow me to go on to the next village. The
Orang Kaya said that if I insisted on having men, of course he would get
them, but when I took him at his word and said I must have them, there
came a fresh remonstrance; and the idea of my going on that day seemed
so painful that I was obliged to submit. I therefore walked out over
the rice-fields, which are here very extensive, covering a number of the
little hills and valleys into which the whole country seems broken up,
and obtained a fine view of hills and mountains in every direction.

In the evening the Orang Kaya came in full dress (a spangled velvet
jacket, but no trousers), and invited me over to his house, where he
gave me a seat of honour under a canopy of white calico and coloured
handkerchiefs. The great verandah was crowded with people, and large
plates of rice with cooked and fresh eggs were placed on the ground as
presents for me. A very old man then dressed himself in bright-coloured
cloths and many ornaments, and sitting at the door, murmured a long
prayer or invocation, sprinkling rice from a basin he held in his hand,
while several large gongs were loudly beaten and a salute of muskets
fired off. A large jar of rice wine, very sour but with an agreeable
flavour, was then handed around, and I asked to see some of their
dances. These were, like most savage performances, very dull and
ungraceful affairs; the men dressing themselves absurdly like women, and
the girls making themselves as stiff and ridiculous as possible. All the
time six or eight large Chinese gongs were being beaten by the vigorous
arms of as many young men, producing such a deafening discord that I was
glad to escape to the round house, where I slept very comfortably with
half a dozen smoke-dried human skulls suspended over my head.

The river was now so shallow that boats could hardly get along. I
therefore preferred walking to the next village, expecting to see
something of the country, but was much disappointed, as the path lay
almost entirely through dense bamboo thickets. The Dyaks get two crops
off the ground in succession; one of rice, and the other of sugar-cane,
maize, and vegetables. The ground then lies fallow eight or ten years,
and becomes covered with bamboos and shrubs, which often completely
arch over the path and shut out everything from the view. Three hours'
walking brought us to the village of Senankan, where I was again obliged
to remain the whole day, which I agreed to do on the promise of the
Orang Kaya that his men should next day take me through two other
villages across to Senna, at the head of the Sarawak River. I amused
myself as I best could till evening, by walking about the high ground
near, to get views of the country and bearings of the chief mountains.
There was then another public audience, with gifts of rice and eggs, and
drinking of rice wine. These Dyaks cultivate a great extent of ground,
and supply a good deal of rice to Sarawak. They are rich in gongs, brass
trays, wire, silver coins, and other articles in which a Dyak's wealth
consists; and their women and children are all highly ornamented with
bead necklaces, shells, and brass wire.

In the morning I waited some time, but the men that were to accompany me
did not make their appearance. On sending to the Orang Kaya I found that
both he and another head-man had gone out for the day, and on inquiring
the reason was told that they could not persuade any of their men to
go with me because the journey was a long and fatiguing one. As I was
determined to get on, I told the few men that remained that the chiefs
had behaved very badly, and that I should acquaint the Rajah with their
conduct, and I wanted to start immediately. Every man present made some
excuse, but others were sent for, and by dint of threats and promises,
and the exertion of all Bujon's eloquence, we succeeded in getting off
after two hours' delay.

For the first few miles our path lay over a country cleared for
rice-fields, consisting entirely of small but deep and sharply-cut
ridges and valleys without a yard of level ground. After crossing the
Kayan river, a main branch of the Sadong, we got on to the lower slopes
of the Seboran Mountain, and the path lay along a sharp and moderately
steep ridge, affording an excellent view of the country. Its features
were exactly those of the Himalayas in miniature, as they are described
by Dr. Hooker and other travellers, and looked like a natural model
of some parts of those vast mountains on a scale of about a
tenth--thousands of feet being here represented by hundreds. I now
discovered the source of the beautiful pebbles which had so pleased me
in the riverbed. The slatey rocks had ceased, and these mountains seemed
to consist of a sandstone conglomerate, which was in some places a mere
mass of pebbles cemented together. I might have known that such small
streams could not produce such vast quantities of well-rounded pebbles
of the very hardest materials. They had evidently been formed in past
ages, by the action of some continental stream or seabeach, before the
great island of Borneo had risen from the ocean. The existence of such a
system of hills and valleys reproducing in miniature all the features of
a great mountain region, has an important bearing on the modern theory
that the form of the ground is mainly due to atmospheric rather than
to subterranean action. When we have a number of branching valleys and
ravines running in many different directions within a square mile,
it seems hardly possible to impute their formation, or even their
origination, to rents and fissures produced by earthquakes. On the other
hand, the nature of the rock, so easily decomposed and removed by water,
and the known action of the abundant tropical rains, are in this case,
at least, quite sufficient causes for the production of such valleys.
But the resemblance between their forms and outlines, their mode of
divergence, and the slopes and ridges that divide them, and those of the
grand mountain scenery of the Himalayas, is so remarkable, that we are
forcibly led to the conclusion that the forces at work in the two cases
have been the same, differing only in the time they have been in action,
and the nature of the material they have had to work upon.

About noon we reached the village of Menyerry, beautifully situated on
a spur of the mountain about 600 feet above the valley, and affording
a delightful view of the mountains of this part of Borneo. I here got a
sight of Penrissen Mountain, at the head of the Sarawak River, and one
of the highest in the district, rising to about 6,000 feet above the
sea. To the south the Rowan, and further off the Untowan Mountains in
the Dutch territory appeared equally lofty. Descending from Menyerry we
again crossed the Kayan, which bends round the spur, and ascended to the
pass which divides the Sadong and Sarawak valleys, and which is about
2,000 feet high. The descent from this point was very fine. A stream,
deep in a rocky gorge, rushed on each side of us, to one of which we
gradually descended, passing over many lateral gullys and along the
faces of some precipices by means of native bamboo bridges. Some of
these were several hundred feet long and fifty or sixty high, a single
smooth bamboo four inches diameter forming the only pathway, while a
slender handrail of the same material was often so shaky that it could
only be used as a guide rather than a support.

Late in the afternoon we reached Sodos, situated on a spur between two
streams, but so surrounded by fruit trees that little could be seen
of the country. The house was spacious, clean and comfortable, and the
people very obliging. Many of the women and children had never seen a
white man before, and were very sceptical as to my being the same colour
all over, as my face. They begged me to show them my arms and body, and
they were so kind and good-tempered that I felt bound to give them some
satisfaction, so I turned up my trousers and let them see the colour of
my leg, which they examined with great interest.

In the morning early we continued our descent along a fine valley, with
mountains rising 2,000 or 3,000 feet in every direction. The little
river rapidly increased in size until we reached Senna, when it had
become a fine pebbly stream navigable for small canoes. Here again the
upheaved slatey rock appeared, with the same dip and direction as in the
Sadong River. On inquiring for a boat to take me down the stream, I was
told that the Senna Dyaks, although living on the river-banks, never
made or used boats. They were mountaineers who had only come down into
the valley about twenty years before, and had not yet got into new
habits. They are of the same tribe as the people of Menyerry and Sodos.
They make good paths and bridges, and cultivate much mountain land, and
thus give a more pleasing and civilized aspect to the country than where
the people move about only in boats, and confine their cultivation to
the banks of the streams.

After some trouble I hired a boat from a Malay trader, and found three
Dyaks who had been several times with Malays to Sarawak, and thought
they could manage it very well. They turned out very awkward, constantly
running aground, striking against rocks, and losing their balance so as
almost to upset themselves and the boat--offering a striking contrast
to the skill of the Sea Dyaks. At length we came to a really dangerous
rapid where boats were often swamped, and my men were afraid to pass it.
Some Malays with a boatload of rice here overtook us, and after safely
passing down kindly sent back one of their men to assist me. As it was,
my Dyaks lost their balance in the critical part of the passage, and
had they been alone would certainly have upset the boat. The river now
became exceedingly picturesque, the ground on each side being partially
cleared for ricefields, affording a good view of the country. Numerous
little granaries were built high up in trees overhanging the river, and
having a bamboo bridge sloping up to them from the bank; and here and
there bamboo suspension bridge crossed the stream, where overhanging
trees favoured their construction.

I slept that night in the village of the Sebungow Dyaks, and the next
day reached Sarawak, passing through a most beautiful country where
limestone mountains with their fantastic forms and white precipices shot
up on every side, draped and festooned with a luxuriant vegetation.
The banks of the Sarawak River are everywhere covered with fruit trees,
which supply the Dyaks with a great deal of their food. The Mangosteen,
Lansat, Rambutan, Jack, Jambou, and Blimbing, are all abundant; but
most abundant and most esteemed is the Durian, a fruit about which very
little is known in England, but which both by natives and Europeans
in the Malay Archipelago is reckoned superior to all others. The old
traveller Linschott, writing in 1599, says: "It is of such an excellent
taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other fruits of the world,
according to those who have tasted it." And Doctor Paludanus adds: "This
fruit is of a hot and humid nature. To those not used to it, it seems at
first to smell like rotten onions, but immediately when they have tasted
it, they prefer it to all other food. The natives give it honourable
titles, exalt it, and make verses on it." When brought into a house the
smell is often so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste
it. This was my own case when I first tried it in Malacca, but in Borneo
I found a ripe fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, I at
once became a confirmed Durian eater.

The Durian grows on a large and lofty forest tree, somewhat resembling
an elm in its general character, but with a more smooth and scaly bark.
The fruit is round or slightly oval, about the size of a large cocoanut,
of a green colour, and covered all over with short stout spines
the bases of which touch each other, and are consequently somewhat
hexagonal, while the points are very strong and sharp. It is so
completely armed, that if the stalk is broken off it is a difficult
matter to lift one from the ground. The outer rind is so thick and
tough, that from whatever height it may fall it is never broken. From
the base to the apex five very faint lines may be traced, over which
the spines arch a little; these are the sutures of the carpels, and show
where the fruit may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand.
The five cells are satiny white within, and are each filled with an oval
mass of cream-coloured pulp, imbedded in which are two or three seeds
about the size of chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable part, and its
consistency and flavour are indescribable. A rich butter-like custard
highly flavoured with almonds gives the best general idea of it,
but intermingled with it come wafts of flavour that call to mind
cream-cheese, onion-sauce, brown sherry, and other incongruities. Then
there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else
possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor
sweet, nor juicy; yet one feels the want of none of these qualities, for
it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and
the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact
to eat Durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to
experience.

When the fruit is ripe it falls of itself, and the only way to eat
Durians in perfection is to get them as they fall; and the smell is
then less overpowering. When unripe, it makes a very good vegetable if
cooked, and it is also eaten by the Dyaks raw. In a good fruit season
large quantities are preserved salted, in jars and bamboos, and kept the
year round, when it acquires a most disgusting odour to Europeans, but
the Dyaks appreciate it highly as a relish with their rice. There are in
the forest two varieties of wild Durians with much smaller fruits, one
of them orange-coloured inside; and these are probably the origin of
the large and fine Durians, which are never found wild. It would not,
perhaps, be correct to say that the Durian is the best of all fruits,
because it cannot supply the place of the subacid juicy kinds, such as
the orange, grape, mango, and mangosteen, whose refreshing and cooling
qualities are so wholesome and grateful; but as producing a food of the
most exquisite flavour, it is unsurpassed. If I had to fix on two only,
as representing the perfection of the two classes, I should certainly
choose the Durian and the Orange as the king and queen of fruits.

The Durian is, however, sometimes dangerous. When the fruit begins to
ripen it falls daily and almost hourly, and accidents not unfrequently
happen to persons walking or working under the trees. When a Durian
strikes a man in its fall, it produces a dreadful wound, the strong
spines tearing open the flesh, while the blow itself is very heavy; but
from this very circumstance death rarely ensues, the copious effusion
of blood preventing the inflammation which might otherwise take place. A
Dyak chief informed me that he had been struck down by a Durian falling
on his head, which he thought would certainly have caused his death, yet
he recovered in a very short time.

Poets and moralists, judging from our English trees and fruits, have
thought that small fruits always grew on lofty trees, so that their fall
should be harmless to man, while the large ones trailed on the ground.
Two of the largest and heaviest fruits known, however, the Brazil-nut
fruit (Bertholletia) and Durian, grow on lofty forest trees, from which
they fall as soon as they are ripe, and often wound or kill the native
inhabitants. From this we may learn two things: first, not to draw
general conclusions from a very partial view of nature; and secondly,
that trees and fruits, no less than the varied productions of the animal
kingdom, do not appear to be organized with exclusive reference to the
use and convenience of man.

During my many journeys in Borneo, and especially during my various
residences among the Dyaks, I first came to appreciate the admirable
qualities of the Bamboo. In those parts of South America which I had
previously visited, these gigantic grasses were comparatively scarce;
and where found but little used, their place being taken as to one class
of uses by the great variety of Palms, and as to another by calabashes
and gourds. Almost all tropical countries produce Bamboos, and wherever
they are found in abundance the natives apply them to a variety of
uses. Their strength, lightness, smoothness, straightness, roundness and
hollowness, the facility and regularity with which they can be split,
their many different sizes, the varying length of their joints, the
ease with which they can be cut and with which holes can be made through
them, their hardness outside, their freedom from any pronounced taste
or smell, their great abundance, and the rapidity of their growth and
increase, are all qualities which render them useful for a hundred
different purposes, to serve which other materials would require much
more labour and preparation. The Bamboo is one of the most wonderful
and most beautiful productions of the tropics, and one of nature's most
valuable gifts to uncivilized man.

The Dyak houses are all raised on posts, and are often two or three
hundred feet long and forty or fifty wide. The floor is always formed
of strips split from large Bamboos, so that each may be nearly flat and
about three inches wide, and these are firmly tied down with rattan to
the joists beneath. When well made, this is a delightful floor to walk
upon barefooted, the rounded surfaces of the bamboo being very smooth
and agreeable to the feet, while at the same time affording a firm hold.
But, what is more important, they form with a mat over them an excellent
bed, the elasticity of the Bamboo and its rounded surface being far
superior to a more rigid and a flatter floor. Here we at once find a use
for Bamboo which cannot be supplied so well by another material without
a vast amount of labour--palms and other substitutes requiring much
cutting and smoothing, and not being equally good when finished. When,
however, a flat, close floor is required, excellent boards are made by
splitting open large Bamboos on one side only, and flattening them out
so as to form slabs eighteen inches wide and six feet long, with which
some Dyaks floor their houses. These with constant rubbing of the feet
and the smoke of years become dark and polished, like walnut or old oak,
so that their real material can hardly be recognised. What labour is
here saved to a savage whose only tools are an axe and a knife, and who,
if he wants boards, must hew them out of the solid trunk of a tree, and
must give days and weeks of labour to obtain a surface as smooth and
beautiful as the Bamboo thus treated affords him. Again, if a temporary
house is wanted, either by the native in his plantation or by the
traveller in the forest, nothing is so convenient as the Bamboo, with
which a house can be constructed with a quarter of the labour and time
than if other materials are used.

As I have already mentioned, the Hill Dyaks in the interior of Sarawak
make paths for long distances from village to village and to their
cultivated grounds, in the course of which they have to cross many
gullies and ravines, and even rivers; or sometimes, to avoid a long
circuit, to carry the path along the face of a precipice. In all these
cases the bridges they construct are of Bamboo, and so admirably adapted
is the material for this purpose, that it seems doubtful whether they
ever would have attempted such works if they had not possessed it. The
Dyak bridge is simple but well designed. It consists merely of stout
Bamboos crossing each other at the road-way like the letter X, and
rising a few feet above it. At the crossing they are firmly bound
together, and to a large Bamboo which lays upon them and forms the only
pathway, with a slender and often very shaky one to serve as a handrail.
When a river is to be crossed, an overhanging tree is chosen from which
the bridge is partly suspended and partly supported by diagonal struts
from the banks, so as to avoid placing posts in the stream itself, which
would be liable to be carried away by floods. In carrying a path along
the face of a precipice, trees and roots are made use of for suspension;
struts arise from suitable notches or crevices in the rocks, and if
these are not sufficient, immense Bamboos fifty or sixty feet long are
fixed on the banks or on the branch of a tree below. These bridges
are traversed daily by men and women carrying heavy loads, so that any
insecurity is soon discovered, and, as the materials are close at hand,
immediately repaired. When a path goes over very steep ground, and
becomes slippery in very wet or very dry weather, the Bamboo is used
in another way. Pieces are cut about a yard long, and opposite notches
being made at each end, holes are formed through which pegs are driven,
and firm and convenient steps are thus formed with the greatest ease and
celerity. It is true that much of this will decay in one or two seasons,
but it can be so quickly replaced as to make it more economical than
using a harder and more durable wood.

One of the most striking uses to which Bamboo is applied by the Dyaks,
is to assist them in climbing lofty trees by driving in pegs in the way
I have already described at page 85. This method is constantly used in
order to obtain wax, which is one of the most valuable products of the
country. The honey-bee of Borneo very generally hangs its combs under
the branches of the Tappan, a tree which towers above all others in the
forest, and whose smooth cylindrical trunk often rises a hundred feet
without a branch. The Dyaks climb these lofty trees at night,
building up their Bamboo ladder as they go, and bringing down gigantic
honeycombs. These furnish them with a delicious feast of honey and young
bees, besides the wax, which they sell to traders, and with the proceeds
buy the much-coveted brass wire, earrings, and bold-edged handkerchiefs
with which they love to decorate themselves. In ascending Durian and
other fruit trees which branch at from thirty to fifty feet from the
ground, I have seen them use the Bamboo pegs only, without the upright
Bamboo which renders them so much more secure.

The outer rind of the Bamboo, split and shaved thin, is the strongest
material for baskets; hen-coops, bird-cages, and conical fish-traps
are very quickly made from a single joint, by splitting off the skin in
narrow strips left attached to one end, while rings of the same material
or of rattan are twisted in at regular distances. Water is brought to
the houses by little aqueducts formed of large Bamboos split in half
and supported on crossed sticks of various heights so as to give it
a regular fall. Thin long-jointed Bamboos form the Dyaks' only
water-vessels, and a dozen of them stand in the corner of every house.
They are clean, light, and easily carried, and are in many ways superior
to earthen vessels for the same purpose. They also make excellent
cooking utensils; vegetables and rice can be boiled in them to
perfection, and they are often used when travelling. Salted fruit or
fish, sugar, vinegar, and honey are preserved in them instead of in jars
or bottles. In a small Bamboo case, prettily carved and ornamented,
the Dyak carries his sirih and lime for betel chewing, and his little
long-bladed knife has a Bamboo sheath. His favourite pipe is a huge
hubble-bubble, which he will construct in a few minutes by inserting a
small piece of Bamboo for a bowl obliquely into a large cylinder about
six inches from the bottom containing water, through which the smoke
passes to a long slender Bamboo tube. There are many other small matters
for which Bamboo is daily used, but enough has now been mentioned to
show its value. In other parts of the Archipelago I have myself seen it
applied to many new uses, and it is probable that my limited means of
observation did not make me acquainted with one-half the ways in which
it is serviceable to the Dyaks of Sarawak.

While upon the subject of plants I may here mention a few of the more
striking vegetable productions of Borneo. The wonderful Pitcher-plants,
forming the genus Nepenthes of botanists, here reach their greatest
development. Every mountain-top abounds with them, running along
the ground, or climbing over shrubs and stunted trees; their elegant
pitchers hanging in every direction. Some of these are long and slender,
resembling in form the beautiful Philippine lace-sponge (Euplectella),
which has now become so common; others are broad and short. Their
colours are green, variously tinted and mottled with red or purple.
The finest yet known were obtained on the summit of Kini-balou, in
North-west Borneo. One of the broad sort, Nepenthes rajah, will hold two
quarts of water in its pitcher. Another, Nepenthes Edwardsiania, has
a narrow pitcher twenty inches long; while the plant itself grows to a
length of twenty feet.

Ferns are abundant, but are not so varied as on the volcanic mountains
of Java; and Tree-ferns are neither so plentiful nor so large as on that
island. They grow, however, quite down to the level of the sea, and are
generally slender and graceful plants from eight to fifteen feet high.
Without devoting much time to the search I collected fifty species of
Ferns in Borneo, and I have no doubt a good botanist would have obtained
twice the number. The interesting group of Orchids is very abundant,
but, as is generally the case, nine-tenths of the species have small
and inconspicuous flowers. Among the exceptions are the fine Coelogynes,
whose large clusters of yellow flowers ornament the gloomiest
forests, and that most extraordinary plant, Vanda Lowii, which last
is particularly abundant near some hot springs at the foot of the
Penin-jauh Mountain. It grows on the lower branches of trees, and its
strange pendant flower-spires often hang down so as almost to reach the
ground. These are generally six or eight feet long, bearing large and
handsome flowers three inches across, and varying in colour from orange
to red, with deep purple-red spots. I measured one spike, which reached
the extraordinary length of nine feet eight inches, and bore thirty-six
flowers, spirally arranged upon a slender thread-like stalk. Specimens
grown in our English hot-houses have produced flower-spires of equal
length, and with a much larger number of blossoms.

Flowers were scarce, as is usual in equatorial forests, and it was only
at rare intervals that I met with anything striking. A few fine
climbers were sometimes seen, especially a handsome crimson and yellow
Aeschynanthus, and a fine leguminous plant with clusters of large
Cassia-like flowers of a rich purple colour. Once I found a number
of small Anonaceous trees of the genus Polyalthea, producing a most
striking effect in the gloomy forest shades. They were about thirty feet
high, and their slender trunks were covered with large star-like crimson
flowers, which clustered over them like garlands, and resembled some
artificial decoration more than a natural product.

The forests abound with gigantic trees with cylindrical, buttressed, or
furrowed stems, while occasionally the traveller comes upon a wonderful
fig-tree, whose trunk is itself a forest of stems and aerial roots.
Still more rarely are found trees which appear to have begun growing in
mid-air, and from the same point send out wide-spreading branches above
and a complicated pyramid of roots descending for seventy or eighty feet
to the ground below, and so spreading on every side, that one can stand
in the very centre with the trunk of the tree immediately overhead.
Trees of this character are found all over the Archipelago, and the
accompanying illustration (taken from one which I often visited in the
Aru Islands) will convey some idea of their general character. I believe
that they originate as parasites, from seeds carried by birds and
dropped in the fork of some lofty tree. Hence descend aerial roots,
clasping and ultimately destroying the supporting tree, which is in time
entirely replaced by the humble plant which was at first dependent upon
it. Thus we have an actual struggle for life in the vegetable kingdom,
not less fatal to the vanquished than the struggles among animals which
we can so much more easily observe and understand. The advantage of
quicker access to light and warmth and air, which is gained in one way
by climbing plants, is here obtained by a forest tree, which has the
means of starting in life at an elevation which others can only attain
after many years of growth, and then only when the fall of some other
tree has made room for then. Thus it is that in the warm and moist and
equable climate of the tropics, each available station is seized upon
and becomes the means of developing new forms of life especially adapted
to occupy it.

On reaching Sarawak early in December, I found there would not be an
opportunity of returning to Singapore until the latter end of January.
I therefore accepted Sir James Brooke's invitation to spend a week with
him and Mr. St. John at his cottage on Peninjauh. This is a very steep
pyramidal mountain of crystalline basaltic rock, about a thousand feet
high, and covered with luxuriant forest. There are three Dyak villages
upon it, and on a little platform near the summit is the rude wooden
lodge where the English Rajah was accustomed to go for relaxation and
cool fresh air. It is only twenty miles up the river, but the road
up the mountain is a succession of ladders on the face of precipices,
bamboo bridges over gullies and chasms, and slippery paths over rocks
and tree-trunks and huge boulders as big as houses. A cool spring under
an overhanging rock just below the cottage furnished us with refreshing
baths and delicious drinking water, and the Dyaks brought us daily
heaped-up baskets of Mangosteens and Lansats, two of the most delicious
of the subacid tropical fruits. We returned to Sarawak for Christmas
(the second I had spent with Sir James Brooke), when all the Europeans
both in the town and from the out-stations enjoyed the hospitality of
the Rajah, who possessed in a pre-eminent degree the art of making every
one around him comfortable and happy.

A few days afterwards I returned to the mountain with Charles and a
Malay boy named Ali and stayed there three weeks for the purpose of
making a collection of land-shells, butterflies and moths, ferns and
orchids. On the hill itself ferns were tolerably plentiful, and I made
a collection of about forty species. But what occupied me most was
the great abundance of moths which on certain occasions I was able to
capture. As during the whole of my eight years' wanderings in the East
I never found another spot where these insects were at all plentiful,
it will be interesting to state the exact conditions under which I here
obtained them.

On one side of the cottage there was a verandah, looking down the whole
side of the mountain and to its summit on the right, all densely clothed
with forest. The boarded sides of the cottage were whitewashed, and the
roof of the verandah was low, and also boarded and whitewashed. As soon
as it got dark I placed my lamp on a table against the wall, and with
pins, insect-forceps, net, and collecting-boxes by my side, sat down
with a book. Sometimes during the whole evening only one solitary moth
would visit me, while on other nights they would pour in, in a continual
stream, keeping me hard at work catching and pinning till past midnight.
They came literally by the thousands. These good nights were very few.
During the four weeks that I spent altogether on the hill I only had
four really good nights, and these were always rainy, and the best
of them soaking wet. But wet nights were not always good, for a rainy
moonlight night produced next to nothing. All the chief tribes of moths
were represented, and the beauty and variety of the species was very
great. On good nights I was able to capture from a hundred to two
hundred and fifty moths, and these comprised on each occasion from half
to two-thirds that number of distinct species. Some of them would settle
on the wall, some on the table, while many would fly up to the roof and
give me a chase all over the verandah before I could secure them. In
order to show the curious connection between the state of weather and
the degree in which moths were attracted to light, I add a list of my
captures each night of my stay on the hill:


     Date (1855)    No. of Moths     Remarks

     Dec. 13th             1     Fine; starlight.
          14th            75     Drizzly and fog.
          15th            41     Showery; cloudy.
          16th           158     (120 species.) Steady rain.
          17th            82     Wet; rather moonlight.
          18th             9     Fine; moonlight.
          19th             2     Fine; clear moonlight.
          31st           200     (130 species.) Dark and windy;
                                 heavy rain.

     Date (1856)
     Jan. 1st            185      Very wet.
          2d              68      Cloudy and showers.
          3d              50      Cloudy.
          4th             12      Fine.
          5th             10      Fine.
          6th              8      Very fine.
          7th              8      Very fine.
          8th             10      Fine.
          9th             36      Showery.
         10th             30      Showery.
         11th            260      Heavy rain all night, and dark.
         12th             56      Showery.
         13th             44      Showery; some moonlight.
         14th              4      Fine; moonlight.
         15th             24      Rain; moonlight.
         16th              6      Showers; moonlight.
         17th              6      Showers; moonlight.
         18th              1      Showers; moonlight.
     Total             1,386

It thus appears that on twenty-six nights I collected 1,386 moths, but
that more than 800 of them were collected on four very wet and dark
nights. My success here led me to hope that, by similar arrangements, I
might on every island be able to obtain an abundance of these insects;
but, strange to say, during the six succeeding years, I was never once
able to make any collections at all approaching those at Sarawak. The
reason for this I can pretty well understand to be owing to the absence
of some one or other essential condition that were here all combined.
Sometimes the dry season was the hindrance; more frequently residence
in a town or village not close to virgin forest, and surrounded by other
houses whose lights were a counter-attraction; still more frequently
residence in a dark palm-thatched house, with a lofty roof, in whose
recesses every moth was lost the instant it entered. This last was the
greatest drawback, and the real reason why I never again was able to
make a collection of moths; for I never afterwards lived in a solitary
jungle-house with a low boarded and whitewashed verandah, so constructed
as to prevent insects at once escaping into the upper part of the house,
quite out of reach.

After my long experience, my numerous failures, and my one success, I
feel sure that if any party of naturalists ever make a yacht-voyage to
explore the Malayan Archipelago, or any other tropical region, making
entomology one of their chief pursuits, it would well repay them to
carry a small framed verandah, or a verandah-shaped tent of white
canvas, to set up in every favourable situation, as a means of making
a collection of nocturnal Lepidoptera, and also of obtaining rare
specimens of Coleoptera and other insects. I make the suggestion here,
because no one would suspect the enormous difference in results that
such an apparatus would produce; and because I consider it one of the
curiosities of a collector's experience, to have found out that some
such apparatus is required.

When I returned to Singapore I took with me the Malay lad named Ali,
who subsequently accompanied me all over the Archipelago. Charles
Allen preferred staying at the Mission-house, and afterwards obtained
employment in Sarawak and in Singapore, until he again joined me four
years later at Amboyna in the Moluccas.





CHAPTER VI. BORNEO--THE DYAKS.

THE manners and customs of the aborigines of Borneo have been described
in great detail, and with much fuller information than I possess, in the
writings of Sir James Brooke, Messrs. Low, St. John, Johnson Brooke,
and many others. I do not propose to go over the ground again, but shall
confine myself to a sketch, from personal observation, of the general
character of the Dyaks, and of such physical, moral, and social
characteristics as have been less frequently noticed.

The Dyak is closely allied to the Malay, and more remotely to the
Siamese, Chinese, and other Mongol races. All these are characterised by
a reddish-brown or yellowish-brown skin of various shades, by jet-black
straight hair, by the scanty or deficient beard, by the rather small and
broad nose, and high cheekbones; but none of the Malayan races have the
oblique eyes which are characteristic of the more typical Mongols. The
average stature of the Dyaks is rather more than that of the Malays,
while it is considerably under that of most Europeans. Their forms are
well proportioned, their feet and hands small, and they rarely or never
attain the bulk of body so often seen in Malays and Chinese.

I am inclined to rank the Dyaks above the Malays in mental capacity,
while in moral character they are undoubtedly superior to them. They
are simple and honest, and become the prey of the Malay and Chinese
traiders, who cheat and plunder them continually. They are more lively,
more talkative, less secretive, and less suspicious than the Malay,
and are therefore pleasanter companions. The Malay boys have little
inclination for active sports and games, which form quite a feature in
the life of the Dyak youths, who, besides outdoor games of skill and
strength, possess a variety of indoor amusements. One wet day, in a Dyak
house, when a number of boys and young men were about me, I thought
to amuse them with something new, and showed them how to make "cat's
cradle" with a piece of string. Greatly to my surprise, they knew all
about it, and more than I did; for, after Charles and I had gone through
all the changes we could make, one of the boys took it off my hand, and
made several new figures which quite puzzled me. They then showed me a
number of other tricks with pieces of string, which seemed a favourite
amusement with them.

Even these apparently trifling matters may assist us to form a truer
estimate of the Dyaks' character and social condition. We learn thereby,
that these people have passed beyond that first stage of savage life in
which the struggle for existence absorbs all of the faculties, and in
which every thought and idea is connected with war or hunting, or the
provision for their immediate necessities. These amusements indicate a
capability of civilization, an aptitude to enjoy other than mere sensual
pleasures, which might be taken advantage of to elevate their whole
intellectual and social life.

The moral character of the Dyaks is undoubtedly high--a statement which
will seem strange to those who have heard of them only as head-hunters
and pirates. The Hill Dyaks of whom I am speaking, however, have never
been pirates, since they never go near the sea; and head-hunting is a
custom originating in the petty wars of village with village, and tribe
with tribe, which no more implies a bad moral character than did the
custom of the slave-trade a hundred years ago imply want of general
morality in all who participated in it. Against this one stain on their
character (which in the case of the Sarawak Dyaks no longer exists)
we have to set many good points. They are truthful and honest to a
remarkable degree. From this cause it is very often impossible to get
from them any definite information, or even an opinion. They say, "If
I were to tell you what I don't know, I might tell a lie;" and whenever
they voluntarily relate any matter of fact, you may be sure they are
speaking the truth. In a Dyak village the fruit trees have each their
owner, and it has often happened to me, on asking an inhabitant to
gather me some fruit, to be answered, "I can't do that, for the owner of
the tree is not here;" never seeming to contemplate the possibility of
acting otherwise. Neither will they take the smallest thing belonging to
an European. When living at Simunjon, they continually came to my house,
and would pick up scraps of torn newspaper or crooked pins that I had
thrown away, and ask as a great favour whether they might have them.
Crimes of violence (other than head-hunting) are almost unknown; for
in twelve years, under Sir James Brooke's rule, there had been only one
case of murder in a Dyak tribe, and that one was committed by a stranger
who had been adopted into the tribe. In several other matters of
morality they rank above most uncivilized, and even above many civilized
nations. They are temperate in food and drink, and the gross sensuality
of the Chinese and Malays is unknown among them. They have the usual
fault of all people in a half-savage state--apathy and dilatoriness,
but, however annoying this may be to Europeans who come in contact
with them, it cannot be considered a very grave offence, or be held to
outweigh their many excellent qualities.

During my residence among the Hill Dyaks, I was much struck by the
apparent absence of those causes which are generally supposed to check
the increase of population, although there were plain indications
of stationary or but slowly increasing numbers. The conditions most
favourable to a rapid increase of population are: an abundance of food,
a healthy climate, and early marriages. Here these conditions all exist.
The people produce far more food than they consume, and exchange the
surplus for gongs and brass cannon, ancient jars, and gold and silver
ornaments, which constitute their wealth. On the whole, they appear very
free from disease, marriages take place early (but not too early),
and old bachelors and old maids are alike unknown. Why, then, we must
inquire, has not a greater population been produced? Why are the Dyak
villages so small and so widely scattered, while nine-tenths of the
country is still covered with forest?

Of all the checks to population among savage nations mentioned by
Malthus--starvation, disease, war, infanticide, immorality, and
infertility of the women--the last is that which he seems to think least
important, and of doubtful efficacy; and yet it is the only one that
seems to me capable of accounting for the state of the population among
the Sarawak Dyaks. The population of Great Britain increases so as to
double itself in about fifty years. To do this it

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