It must be admitted that
the work was hard and progress necessarily slow. Nevertheless, it was so
early in the day that I suggested going a little further. Soon, however,
seeing the futility of trying to bring him to my way of thinking, I began
arrangements for making camp. Better to go slowly than not to travel at
all. Close to my tent, growing on low trees, were a great number of
beautiful yellow and white orchids.
Toward sunset, Bangsul surprised me by bringing all the men to my tent. He
said they wanted to go home because they were afraid I should expect too
much of them, as they all wanted to travel plan-plan (slowly). The
Penyahbongs before me were of a decent sort, and even the Malays were a
little more gentle and honest than usual. Bangsul was "the whole thing,"
and I felt myself equal to the situation. This was his first attempt at a
strike for higher wages and came unexpectedly soon, but was quickly
settled by my offer to raise the wages for the six most useful and
strongest men.
After our baggage had been stored above the head of the kihams, and the
prahus had been taken up to the same place, we followed overland. As we
broke camp two argus pheasants flew over the utan through the mist which
the sun was trying to disperse. We walked along the stony course of the
rapids, and when the jungle now and then allowed a peep at the roaring
waters it seemed incredible that the prahus had been hauled up along the
other side. Half an hour's walk brought us to the head of the kihams where
the men were loading the prahus that were lying peacefully in still
waters. The watchmen who had slept here pointed out a tree where about
twenty argus pheasants had roosted.
Waiting for the prahus to be loaded, I sat down on one of the big stones
of the river bank to enjoy a small landscape that presented itself on the
west side of the stream. When long accustomed to the enclosing walls of
the dark jungle a change is grateful to the eye. Against the sky rose a
bold chalk cliff over 200 metres high with wooded summit, the edge fringed
with sago palms in a very decorative manner. This is one of the two ridges
we had seen at a distance; the other is higher and was passed further up
the river. From the foot of the cliff the jungle sloped steeply down
toward the water. The blue sky, a few drifting white clouds, the beautiful
light of the fresh, glorious morning, afforded moments of delight that
made one forget all the trouble encountered in getting here. It seems as
if the places least visited by men are the most attractive.
Four hornbills were flying about. They settled on the branches of a tall
dead tree that towered high above the jungle and deported themselves in
strange ways, moving busily about on the branch; after a few minutes three
of them flew away, the other remaining quietly behind. There are several
kinds of hornbills; they are peculiar birds in that the male is said to
close with mud the entrance to the nest in the hollow stem of the tree,
thus confining the female while she is sitting on her eggs. Only a small
hole is left through which he feeds her.
The great hornbill (rhinoflax vigil) flies high over the jungle in a
straight line and usually is heard before it is seen, so loud is the noise
made by the beating of the wings. Its clamorous call is never to be
forgotten, more startling than the laughter of the laughing jackass of
Australia. The sound inspires the Dayak with courage and fire. When he
takes the young out of the nest, later to serve him as food, the parent
bird darts at the intruder. The hornbill is an embodiment of force that
may be either beneficent or harmful, and has been appropriated by the
Dayaks to serve various purposes. Wooden images of this bird are put up as
guardians, and few designs in textile or basket work are as common as that
of the tingang. The handsome tail feathers of the rhinoceros hornbill,
with transverse bands of alternate white and black, are highly valued; the
warriors attach them to their rattan caps, and from the solid casque with
which the beak of the giant species is provided, are carved the large red
ear ornaments. Aided by the sumpitan the Dayaks and Punans are expert in
bringing down the rather shy birds of the tall trees.
Three hours later we had managed to carry all our goods above the kiham
Duyan, which is only one hundred metres long, but with a fall of at least
four metres; consequently in its lower part it rushes like a disorderly
waterfall. It took the men one and a half hours to pull the empty prahus
up along the irregular bank, and I stood on a low rock which protruded
above the water below the falls, watching the proceedings with much
interest. The day was unusually warm and full of moisture, as, without
hat, in the burning sun I tried for over an hour to get snapshots, while
two kinds of bees, one very small, persistently clung to my hands, face,
and hair.
The journey continued laborious; it consisted mostly in unloading and
reloading the prahus and marching through rough country, now on one side
of the river, now on the other, where the jungle leeches were very active
and the ankles of the men were bleeding. At times the prahus had to be
dragged over the big stones that form the banks of the river.
