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 slot 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 more 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.
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