Often in
the jungle, when slightly preparing the ground for erecting the tent,
phosphorescent lights from decayed vegetable matter shone in innumerable
spots, as if a powerful lamp were throwing its light through a grating.
In ascending the hills it was surprising how soon the aspect of the
vegetation changed. The camp we were just leaving was only about a metre
above the Kayan River, so we probably were not more than twenty-odd metres
above sea-level. Twenty metres more, and the jungle vegetation was thinner
even at that short distance. Trees, some of them magnificent specimens of
hard wood, began to assert themselves. Above 100 metres elevation it was
not at all difficult to make one's way through the jungle, even if we had
not had a slight Punan path to follow. It is easier than to ascend the
coast range of northeast Queensland under 18 S.L., where the lawyer palms
are very troublesome. Making a light clearing one evening we opened the
view to a couple of tall trees called in Malay, palapak, raising their
crowns high above the rest; this is one of the trees from which the
natives make their boats. The trunk is very tall and much thicker near the
ground.
Reaching a height of 500 metres, the ground began to be slippery with
yellow mud, but the jungle impeded one less than the thickets around
Lenox, Massachusetts, in the United States. Toward the south of our camp
here, the hill had an incline of 45 degrees or less, and one hardwood tree
that we felled travelled downward for a distance of 150 metres. A pleasant
soft breeze blew for about ten minutes, for the first time on our journey,
and the afternoon was wonderfully cool.
A Kayan messenger here arrived from the kampong, bringing a package which
contained my mail, obligingly sent me by the controleur. The package made
a profound impression on the Dayaks as well as on the Chinese interpreter,
all of whom crowded around my tent to observe what would follow. I went
elsewhere for a little while, but it was of no avail. They were waiting to
see the contents, so I took my chair outside, opened and read my mail,
closely watched all the time by a wondering crowd.
None of our attendant natives had been in this part of the country before
except a Punan, now adopted into the Kayan tribe, who knew it long ago and
his memory at times seemed dimmed. Fresh tracks of rhinoceros and bear
were seen and tapirs are known to exist among these beautiful wooded
hills. Chonggat succeeded in shooting an exceedingly rare squirrel with a
large bushy tail. We finally made camp on top of a hill 674 metres in
height which we called kampong Gunong.
The Dayaks helped me to construct a small shed with a fireplace inside
where I could dry my wet clothing, towels, etc. Of their own initiative
they also put up around the tent some peculiar Dayak ornamentations in the
shape of long spirals of wood shavings hung on to the end of poles or
trees which they planted in the ground. The same kind of decorations are
used at the great festivals, and when a gentle wind set them in motion
they had quite a cheerful, almost festive appearance.
Every morning, almost punctually at five o'clock, the gibbons or
long-armed, man-like apes, began their loud chatter in the tree-tops, more
suggestive of the calls of birds than of animals. They are shy, but become
very tame in confinement and show much affection. A wah-wah, as the animal
is called in this part of the world, will throw his arms around the neck
of his master, and is even more human in his behaviour than the orang-utan,
from which he differs in temperament, being more vivacious and inclined to
mischief. In a kampong I once saw a young gibbon repeatedly descend into a
narrow inclosure to tease a large pig confined there. The latter, although
three or four times as large, seemed entirely at his mercy and was
submissive and frightened, even when his ears were pulled by the wah-wah.
During my travels in the jungle of Borneo, few were the days in which I was
not summoned to rise by the call of the wah-wah, well-nigh as reliable as
an alarm clock.
My stay here was protracted much longer than I expected on account of rain
and fog, which rendered photographing difficult; one or the other
prevailed almost continuously. Frequently sunlight seemed approaching, but
before I could procure and arrange my camera it had vanished, and light
splashes of rain sounded on my tent. This was trying, but one cannot
expect every advantage in the tropics, which are so beautiful most of the
year that I, for one, gladly put up with the discomforts of a wet season.
Rain-storms came from the north and northeast; from our high point of
view, one could see them approaching and hear the noise of the rain on the
top of the jungle many minutes before they arrived. A few times,
especially at night, we had storms that lasted for hours, reaching
sometimes a velocity of eighty kilometres an hour. The trees of the jungle
are naturally not exposed to the force of the wind, standing all together,
so those surrounding our clearing seemed helpless, deprived of their usual
support. Some smaller ones, apparently of soft wood, which had been left
on the clearing, were broken, and the green leaves went flying about.
