What with the absence of natives and the scarcity of animals and birds,
the time spent here waiting was not exactly pleasant. Notwithstanding the
combined efforts of the collector, the sergeant, and one other soldier,
few specimens were brought in. Mr. Demmini, the photographer, and Mr.
Loing were afflicted with dysentery, from which they recovered in a week.
As a climax came the startling discovery that one of the two money-boxes
belonging to the expedition, containing f. 3,000 in silver, had been
stolen one night from my tent, a few feet away from the pasang-grahan.
They were both standing at one side covered with a bag, and while it was
possible for two men to carry off such a heavy box if one of them lifted
the tent wall, still the theft implied an amount of audacity and skill
with which hitherto I had not credited the Malays. The rain clattering on
the roof of the tent, and the fact that, contrary to Dutch custom, I
always extinguished my lamp at night, was in their favour. After this
occurrence the lamp at night always hung lighted outside of the tent door.
All evidence pointed to the four men from Tumbang Djuloi who recently left
us. The sergeant had noticed their prahus departing from a point lower
down than convenience would dictate, and, as a matter of fact, nobody else
could have done it. But they were gone, we were in seclusion, and there
was nobody to send anywhere.
In the middle of February we had twenty-nine men here from Tamaloe, twenty
of them Penyahbongs and the remainder Malays. The lieutenant had been
successful, and the men had only used two days in coming down with the
current. They were in charge of a Malay called Bangsul, who formerly had
been in the service of a Dutch official, and whose fortune had brought him
to distant Tamaloe, where he had acquired a dominating position over the
Penyahbongs. I wrote a report of the robbery to the captain in Puruk
Tjahu, and sent Longko to Tumbang Djuloi to deliver it to the kapala, who
was requested to forward it. There the matter ended.
I was determined that the loss, though at the time a hard blow, should not
interfere with the carrying out of my plans. By rigid economy it could, at
least partially, be offset, and besides, I felt sure that if the necessity
arose it would be possible later to secure silver from Dutch officials on
the lower Mahakam River. Bangsul and some Penyahbongs, at my request,
searched in the surrounding jungle growth and found a hole that had been
dug of the same size and shape as the stolen box, where no doubt it had
been deposited until taken on board the prahu.
The day previous to our departure Mr. Demmini again was taken ill, and in
accordance with his own wish it was decided that he should return. I let
him have Longko in command of one of the best prahus, and in time he
arrived safely in Batavia, where he had to undergo further treatment.
Longko, the Malay with the reputation for reliability, never brought back
the men and the prahu; their loss, however, was greater than mine, as
their wages, pending good behaviour, were mostly unpaid.
Shortly after their prahu had disappeared from view, on February 20, we
departed in the opposite direction. Our new crew, of Penyahbongs mostly,
who only lately have become acquainted with prahus, were not quite so
efficient as the former, but much more amiable, laughing and cracking
jokes with each other as they ran along over the rocks, pulling the rattan
ropes of the prahus. No sooner did we ascend one kiham than we arrived at
another, but they were still small. Although the day was unusually warm,
there was a refreshing coolness in the shade under the trees that grow
among the rocks along the river.
Early in the afternoon we camped at the foot of the first of twelve great
kihams which must be passed before arriving at Djudjang, the rattan
gatherers' camp. During a heavy shower a Penyahbong went into the jungle
with his sumpitan and returned with a young rusa, quarters of which he
presented to Mr. Loing and myself. Bangsul had travelled here before, and
he thought we probably would need two weeks for the journey to Djudjang
from where, under good weather conditions, three days' poling should bring
us to Tamaloe. He had once been obliged to spend nearly three months on
this trip.
We spent one day here, while all our goods were being taken on human backs
to a place some distance above the kiham. Four Malays and one Penyahbong
wanted remedies for diseases they professed to have. The latter seemed
really ill and had to be excused from work. The rest said they suffered
from demum (malaria), a word that has become an expression for most cases
of indisposition, and I gave them quinine. The natives crave the remedies
the traveller carries, which they think will do them good whether needed
or not.
Much annoyance is experienced from Malays in out-of-the-way places
presenting their ailments, real or fancied, to the traveller's attention.
The Dayaks, not being forward, are much less annoying, though equally
desirous of the white man's medicine. An Ot-Danum once wanted a cure for a
few white spots on the finger-nails. In the previous camp a Penyahbong had
consulted me for a stomach-ache and I gave him what I had at hand, a small
quantity of cholera essence much diluted in a cup of water. All the rest
insisted on having a taste of it, smacking their lips with evident relish.
Early next morning the prahus were hauled up the rapids and then loaded,
after which the journey was continued through a smiling, slightly
mountainous country, with trees hanging over the river.
