This record of a time spent among the less well-known portions of Malaysia may be interesting to those whom the goddess of travel has wooed in vain, as perchance to some of those “birds of passage” to whom the islands and continents of the world are as well known as the church-spires and mile-stones of their own land. In the islands of the Malay archipelago—the Gardens of the Sun—Nature is ever beautiful, and man, although often strikingly primitive, is hospitable to the stranger, and not often vile.

A voyage of a few weeks brings us to these beauty-spots of the Eastern Seas—to an “always-afternoon” kind of climate—since they are blessed with the heat and glory of eternal summer—to a place where winter is unknown—monsoon-swept islands oasis-like basking in a warm and shallow desert of sea. Warmed by perpetual sunshine, deluged by copious rains, and thrilled by electricity, they are really enormous conservatories of beautiful vegetation—great Zoological Gardens inhabited by rare birds and curious animals. In these sunny garden scenes man is the Adam of a modern Eden, primitive in habits and numerically insignificant; he has scarcely begun his battle with things inanimate, or his struggle for existence as it is known to us. At home we have man as in some sort the master of Nature, but in the Bornean forests Nature still reigns supreme. Here with us man wrests his sustenance from her—there she is lavish in the bestowal of gifts unsought.

The immediate future of an island larger in area than Great Britain cannot fail to be of interest to political thinkers, especially to those who belong to the “scientific frontier” school. Malay Government is weaker now than it was even at the time Sir James Brooke received Sarawak, and the aid of our own Government is now being sought in favour of the cession of the whole of Northern Borneo—from Gaya Bay to Sabuco—to a public company! Unaided by England, Borneo seems likely to suffer in two ways—either to be annexed by the Government of Manilla, or else to fall into the hands of the promoters of public companies. The Sulu Archipelago has already thus lost its independence; and the question which now suggests itself is, What will England do with her foster-colony, Borneo the Beautiful?

Borneo offers to the student of nature an ever-interesting field for research and study. The local government is very peculiar and interesting. Every village of any pretensions has its “Orang Kaya,” or head man, and his house is at the service of the passing stranger. In any matter of dispute he may be referred to, and my own experience of these petty rulers was on the whole very satisfactory. I found them honest and just in their advice, although at times a little grasping in their bargains.

The ease with which food is obtained in such a tropical land is of course inimical to any great exertion or progress on the part of the natives. That most generous of all food-giving plants, the Banana, is everywhere naturalised in Borneo up to an altitude of 3000 feet. It fruits all the year, its produce being to that of wheat as 133:1, and to that of the potato as 44:1. With rice and a few esculent roots, all easily grown, it gives a profusion of food at a slight expenditure of labour—labour for the most part performed by the women. The Malays of Borneo are morally far inferior to the inland tribes; and, wherever it is possible to them, live in voluptuous ease.

Borneo is the home of the “Orang-utan,” or “wild man of the woods,” an animal which, with its African relative, the “Gorilla,” has occupied the attention of so many of the first thinkers of our time. Here, in its native forests, this large man-like ape lives in the great natural orchards, swinging itself from bough to bough with its peculiarly long arms, building its platform or nest of leafy branches, and eating its meal of fruit in peace. “Let any naturalist,” says a modern observer, “who is prejudiced against the Darwinian views go to the forests of Borneo. Let him there watch from day to day this strangely human form in all its various phases of existence. Let him see it climb, walk, build its nest, eat, and drink, and fight. Let him see the female suckle her young and carry it astride her hip precisely as do the Coolie women of Hindostan. Let him witness the human-like emotions of affection, satisfaction, pain, and childish rage. Let him see all this, and then he may feel how much more potent has been this lesson than all he has read in pages of abstract ratiocination.” After all, the Orang-utan is a poor creature, with but an outer resemblance to the human species. In intelligence he is not only far below the lowest savage, but even inferior to the horse or the dog. No amount of teaching will make the Orang-utan or any other ape practically useful to man. Do all we can for them in a state of confinement, they are simply big helpless monkeys to the last!

The avifauna of the island is very rich. Its pheasants rival those of China in beauty. The great hornbills abound in the fruit groves, and are giants in comparison with their representatives the toucans of South America. Here the humming-birds of the new world are amply represented by the sun-birds. Mound-building megapodia are common, their earth-works rivalling those of the termites; and the edible nest-making swallow works in its dark cave dwellings to satisfy the epicurean tastes of those Eastern aldermen, the mandarins of the Celestial Empire. One peculiar species of kingfisher always makes its nest in company with that of a colony of wild bees. Its young may be fed on the young larvae, or perchance the company of the bees may be courted for the sake of their protection in the event of the nest being attacked.

Amongst my own introductions to European gardens is a singular species of pitcher plant or nepenthes, the urns of which are armed with two sharp and strong spines (see p. 341). Its pitchers always contain insects of various kinds, and I am convinced that the spines are present to prevent birds and insect-hunting animals such as the tarsier from removing these insects from the urns. The stalk of this nepenthes is swollen quite near to the pitcher in a singular manner, and is there punctured by a peculiar species of ant, but I could never satisfactorily account for their presence, unless it be in search of water.

Beccari, during his travels in Borneo, discovered a singular plant—Myrmecodia—parasitic on low jungle trees. Its economy is most interesting. The young seedlings, when about an inch in height, are punctured or bitten by an ant, an operation which causes the stem to become gouty and eventually hollow; in fact, a natural living hive in which the ants then shelter themselves. This is their own gain, and they in turn rush out to resent any attack which may be made on their living nest. A case analogous to this of mutual protection is recorded of an African species of acacia. The most singular thing in connection with this co-operative affair is that unless the young seedling plants are bitten in due course they are said by Beccari to die. I saw this plant daily for a long period, and often amused myself by attacking it in order to see how invariably the ants rushed out in force to repel the intruder. I also noted many young seedlings both living and dead, but of my own knowledge could scarcely venture so far as to say that the dead ones had succumbed owing to the ants having neglected to bite them!

An account of some of the more remarkable of my discoveries and introductions may be found in the Appendix to this volume, p. 339.

In conclusion, I may be allowed to say that the far interior of Borneo still remains to be explored. It is emphatically a wild land without roads or bridges, and a march right across the island from the north-east to the north-west coast, although a formidable undertaking, would if accomplished reveal much that is at present unknown.

F.W. B.