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. It was easy to understand what difficulties and delays might be encountered here in case of much rain. But in spite of a few heavy showers the weather favoured us, and on the last day of the month we had successfully passed the rapids. Next morning, after pulling down my tent, the Penyahbongs placed stray pieces of paper on top of the remaining tent-poles as a sign of joy that the kihams were left behind. There still remained some that were obstinate on account of low water, but with our experience and concerted action those were easily overcome, and early in the afternoon we arrived at Djudjang, a rough, unattractive, and overgrown camp, where I decided to stay until next morning. Many Malays die from beri-beri, but there is little malaria among those who work in the utan of the Busang River. The half dozen men who were present were certainly a strong and healthy-looking lot. One of them, with unusually powerful muscles and short legs, declined to be photographed.

Our next camp was at a pleasant widening of the river with a low-lying, spacious beach of pebbles. I pitched my tent on higher ground on the edge of the jungle. Some of the Penyahbongs, always in good humour and enjoying themselves, went out with sumpitans to hunt pig, and about seven o'clock, on a beautiful starlit night, a big specimen was brought in, which I went to look at. While one man opened it by cutting lengthwise across the ribs, another was engaged taking out the poison-carrying, triangular point. With his knife the latter deftly cut all around the wound, taking out some flesh, and after a little while he found part of the point, then the rest. It looked like glass or flint and had been broken transversely in two; usually it is made of bamboo or other hard wood.

The bladder was carefully cut out, and a man carried it off and threw it away in order that the hunters should not be short of breath when walking. The huge head, about fifty centimetres long, which was bearded and had a large snout, was cut off with part of the neck and carried to one of the camps, with a piece of the liver, which is considered the best part. I had declined it, as the meat of the wild pig is very poor and to my taste repulsive; this old male being also unusually tough, the soldiers complained. The following morning I saw the head and jaws almost entirely untouched, too tough even for the Penyahbongs.

Next day the river ran much narrower and between rocky sides. In the forenoon the first prahu came upon an otter eating a huge fish which the strong animal had dragged up on a rock, and of which the men immediately took possession. It was cut up in bits and distributed among all of them, the otter thus saving the expedition thirty-two rations of dried fish that evening and next morning. To each side of the head was attached a powerful long spine which stood straight out. The natives called the fish kendokat.

At one place where the water ran smoothly, one man from each prahu pulled its rattan rope, the rest poling. I saw the Penyahbong who was dragging my prahu suddenly catch sight of something under the big stones over which he walked, and then he stopped to investigate. From my seat I perceived a yellowish snake about one and a half metres long swimming under and among the stones. A man from the prahu following ours came forward quickly and began to chase it in a most determined manner. With his right hand he caught hold of the tail and twisted it; then, as the body was underneath the junction of two stones, with his left hand he tried to seize the head which emerged on the other side. The snake was lively and bit at his hand furiously, which he did not mind in the least. Others came to his assistance and struck at its head with their paddles, but were unable to accomplish their purpose as it was too well entrenched.

A splendid primitive picture of the savage in pursuit of his dinner, the Penyahbong stood erect with his back toward me, holding the tail firmly. After a few moments he bent down again trying in vain to get hold of its neck, but not being able to pull the snake out he had to let the dainty morsel go. Later we saw one swimming down the current, which the Penyahbongs evidently also would have liked a trial at had we not already passed the place.

The river widened out again, the rocks on the sides disappeared, and deep pools were passed, though often the water ran very shallow, so the prahus were dragged along with difficulty. Fish were plentiful, some astonishingly large. In leaping for something on the surface they made splashes as if a man had jumped into the water. On the last day, as the morning mist began to rise, our thirty odd men, eager to get home, poling the prahus with long sticks, made a picturesque sight. In early March, after a successful journey, we arrived at Tamaloe, having consumed only fourteen days from Bahandang because weather conditions had been favourable, with no overflow of the river and little rain. It was pleasant to know that the most laborious part of the expedition was over. I put up my tent under a large durian tree, which was then in bloom.



CHAPTER XVII

THE PENYAHBONGS, MEN OF THE WOODS—RHINOCEROS HUNTERS—CHARACTERISTICS OF THE PENYAHBONGS—EASY HOUSEKEEPING—DAILY LIFE—WOMAN'S LOT

The Penyahbongs until lately were nomadic people, roaming about in the nearby Mller mountains, subsisting on wild sago and the chase and cultivating some tobacco. They lived in bark huts on the ground or in trees. Some eight years previous to my visit they were induced by the government to form kampongs and adopt agricultural pursuits, and while most of them appear to be in the western division, two kampongs were formed east of the mountains, the Sabaoi and the Tamaloe, with less than seventy inhabitants altogether. Tamaloe is the name of an antoh (spirit) who lived here in the distant past.

The kampong consists of four small, poorly built communal houses, and of the Malays who have settled here, in houses of their own making, the most important is Bangsul, who married a daughter of Pisha, the Penyahbong chief. Both before and since their transition to sedentary habits the Penyahbongs have been influenced by the Saputans, their nearest neighbours, four days' journey to the north, on the other side of the water-shed. Their ideas about rice culture and the superstitions and festivals attending it, come from the Saputans, of whom also a few live in Tamaloe. They have only recently learned to swim and many do not yet know how to paddle. It may be of some interest to note the usual occurrence of rain at this kampong as gathered from native observation. April-July there is no rain; August-October, little; November and December have a little more; January much; February and March less.

Every evening as long as we remained here Pisha, the chief, used to sing, reciting mythical events, thereby attracting good antohs (spirits) and keeping the evil ones away, to the end that his people might be in good health and protected against misfortune. His efforts certainly were persevering, and he had a good voice that sounded far into the night, but his songs were of such an extraordinarily melancholy character that it still makes me depressed to remember them. He was an amiable man, whose confidence I gained and who cheerfully gave any information I wanted. Of his five daughters and three sons only the youngest daughter, who was not yet married, was allowed to pronounce Pisha's name, according to custom. Nor was it permissible for his sons-in-law to give me the name, still less for him to do so himself.

After Mr. Demmini's departure all the photographing fell upon me, to which I had no objection, but it was out of the question also to do developing, except of the kodak films, and as the lieutenant, who had done some before, thought he could undertake it, the matter was so arranged. The first attempts, while not wholly successful, were not discouraging, and as time went on the lieutenant turned out satisfactory results. We had a couple of days' visit from the kapala of Sebaoi, a tall and nervous-looking Penyahbong, but friendly, as were the rest of them. I was then engaged in photographing and taking anthropometric measurements of the gently protesting natives, to whose primitive minds these operations appear weirdly mysterious. At first the kapala positively declined to take any part in this work, but finally reached the conclusion that he would be measured, but photographed he could not be, because his wife was pregnant. For that reason he also declined a glass of gin which the lieutenant offered him.

The valiant man who had tried to catch the yellow snake on our river voyage called on me with his wife, who knew how to embroider well, and I bought some shirts embellished with realistic representations of animals, etc. The husband had that unsightly skin disease (tinea imbricata) that made his body appear to be covered with half-loose fish scales. Next day, to my amazement, he had shed the scales. The previous night he had applied a remedy which made it possible to peel the dead skin off, and his face, chest, and stomach were clean, as were also his legs and arms. His back was still faulty because he had not had enough of the remedy, but he was going to tackle the back that evening. The remedy, which had been taught them by the Saputans, consists of two kinds of bark and the large leaves of a jungle plant with red flowers, one of which was growing near my tent.

All the tribes visited by me suffer more or less from various kinds of skin diseases caused by micro-parasitic animals, the Kenyahs and Oma-Sulings in a much less degree. The most repulsive form, just described, does not seem to interfere with general health. Three of my Kayan carriers thus affected were more muscular and stronger than the rest. One of them was the humorous member of the party, always cutting capers and dancing. Women are less affected than men, and I often saw men with the disfiguring scaly disease whose wives were evidently perfectly free from it.

A party of six fine-looking Penyahbongs were here on a rhinoceros hunting expedition. They came from the western division, and as the rhino had been nearly exterminated in the mountain ranges west and northwest of Tamalo, the hunters were going farther east. Such a party carries no provisions, eating sago and animals that they kill. Their weapons are sumpitans and parangs, and equipment for stamping sago forms part of their outfit. The rhino is approached stealthily and the large spear-point on one end of the sumpitan is thrust into its belly. Thus wounded it is quite possible, in the dense jungle, to keep in touch with it, and, according to trustworthy reports, one man alone is able in this way to kill a rhino. It is hunted for the horn, which Chinamen will buy.

At my request two of the hunters gave war-dances very well, taking turns. Their movements were graceful, and in the moonlight they appeared sinuous as serpents. The same dance obtains in all the tribes visited, and the movement is forward and back, or in a circle. It was performed by one man who in a preliminary way exercised the flexible muscles of the whole body, after which he drew his sword, seized the shield which was lying on the ground and continued his dancing more vigorously, but with equal grace. Pisha, the chief, came to the dance, and the meeting with the new arrivals, though silent and undemonstrative, was decidedly affectionate, especially with one of them who was a near relative. Half embracing each other, they stood thus at least a minute.

The Penyahbongs have rather long legs, take long paces, putting down their heels first. They have great endurance and can walk in one day as far as a Malay can in three. In the mountains the cold weather prevented them from sleeping much. It often happened that they were without food for three days, when they would drink water and smoke tobacco. Trees are climbed in the jumping way described before, and without any mechanical aid. Formerly bathing was not customary. Excrements are left on the ground and not in the water. They don't like the colour red, but prefer black. Fire was made by flint and iron, which they procured from the Saputans.

The hair is not cut nor their teeth. The women wear around the head a ring of cloth inside of which are various odoriferous leaves and flowers of doubtful appreciation by civilised olfactory senses. A strong-smelling piece of skin from the civet cat is often attached to this head ornament, which is also favoured by natives on the Mahakam.

In regard to ear ornamentation the Penyahbongs are at least on a par with the most extreme fashions of the Dayaks. The men make three slits in the ear; in the upper part a wooden disk is enclosed, in the middle the tusk of a large species of cat, and in the lobe, which is stretched very long, hangs a brass coil. The ears of the women have only two incisions, the one in the middle part being adorned with bead strings, while in the lobe up to one hundred tin rings may be seen. They are tatued, and noticeable on the men is a succession of stars across the chest, as if hanging on a thread which is lower in the middle. The stars symbolise the fruits of durian. The colour of the tatuing is obtained from damar.

Formerly they wore scanty garments of fibre, the man wearing only a loin cloth, and in case of cold weather a piece of the same material covered the shoulders and back. The woman had a short skirt folded together at the back, and both sexes used rattan caps. Besides sago their main subsistence was, and still is, all kinds of animals, including carnivorous, monkeys, bears, snakes, etc. The gall and urine bladder were universally thrown away, but at present these organs from bear and large snakes are sold to traders who dispose of them to Chinamen. Formerly these people had no salt.

No cooking utensils were employed. Sago was wrapped in leaves and placed on the fire, and the meat was roasted. There is no cooking separately for men and women, and meals are taken irregularly, but usually twice a day. The crocodile is not eaten, because it would make one mad, nor are domestic dogs or omen birds used for food. Honey is collected by cutting down the tree. Their principal weapon is the sumpitan, which, as usual, with a spear point lashed to one end, also serves as spear and is bought from the Saputans. Parang and shield complete the man's outfit. On the Busang only ten ipoh (upas) trees are known from which poison may be obtained for the blow-pipe darts; to get a new supply a journey of two days down the river is necessary, and six for the return.

Except for a few cases of malaria, among the Penyahbongs there is no disease. In 1911 the cholera epidemic reached them, as well as the Saputans. Of remedies they have none. At the sight of either of the two species of venomous snakes of the king cobra family this native takes to his heels, and if bitten the wound is not treated with ipoh. Until recently they had no blians; there were, at this time, two in Tamaloe, one Saputan and one Malay, and the one in the other kampong learned his art from the Saputans. One man does not kill another, though he may kill a member of the Bukat tribe, neighbouring nomads who live in the northeast of the western division, in the mountains toward Sarawak. Suicide is unknown. It was asserted to me that the Penyahbongs do not steal nor lie, though I found the Saputans untrustworthy in these respects.

There is no marriage ceremony, but the young man must pay the parents of the bride one gong (f. 30), and if the girl is the daughter of a chief her price is six gongs. About half of the men select very youthful wives, from eight years up. There are boys of ten married to girls of a similar age. One boy of fourteen was married to a girl of twenty. Children of the chief being much sought, one of Pisha's daughters, twenty-three years old, had been disposed of when she was at her mother's breast, her future husband being twenty at that time. Upon reaching womanhood she did not like him at first, and for five years declined to share the mat with him. Recently, however, she had begun to associate with him, and they had one child. The children are not beaten, are left to pick up by themselves whatever knowledge is necessary, and when the boy is ten years old he can kill his babi with a sumpitan. The parents of young girls do not allow them to be too intimate with young men.

A pregnant woman must not eat durian which, in falling from the tree, has broken, or stuck in a cleft without reaching the ground, nor any kind of fruit that does not fall straight to earth, nor sago from a palm tree which chanced to become entangled by a branch instead of falling directly to the ground, nor the large hornbill, nor snakes, nor pigs, nor fish that were killed by being struck on the head, or by any other means than with spear or parang, nor land turtle, nor the scaly ant-eater. She must not make a house or take part in making it, and therefore if a pole has to be put in place she must call another woman to do it.

Further, she must not eat an animal which has lost one or both eyes, nor one the foot of which has been crushed, nor an animal of strong odour (like civet cat, skunk, etc., not an offensive smell to these natives); nor are she and her husband permitted to gather rubber, nor may wood be gathered for fire-making which has roads on it made by ants. She must not drink water from a back current, nor water which runs through a fallen tree. A pig may be eaten, but if it has a foetus inside that must be avoided. The husband also observes all these tabus and precautions.

The Penyahbongs rise before dawn. Fire is made, primitive man's greatest comfort, and they seat themselves before it awaiting daylight, the woman brings her child near it, and all smoke strong native tobacco. Without first eating, the man goes out to hunt for animals, usually alone, but if two or three go together they later separate. The hunter leaves his parang at home, taking only the sumpitan. He may not return until the afternoon. Small game he carries home himself, but when a large animal has been killed, as wild pig, deer, bear, large monkey, he will leave it in the utan for his wife to bring home. In case of a rhino being slain he will remove the horn, but the woman will cut up the animal and take it home, unless it is too late, when she postpones the task until the next morning.

The husband is fond of singing, and, accompanying himself by striking the rattan strings attached to the back of a shield, he may occupy himself in this way until the small hours of the morning. Women make mats in the evening, or do work of some kind, and the young people may play and sing for a while, or they may listen to the singing of the lord of the household; but gradually all go to sleep except the wife.

Besides the small knife for splitting rattan, which is the special implement of the Dayak woman, the fair sex of the Penyahbongs has a parang, a spear, an axe, a bone implement used in working rattan mats, and a rattan bag which is carried on the back. The women in several Dayak tribes also possess such feminine accessories. With the Penyahbongs the male chiefly hunts, the female doing all the work. She makes the house, cuts the sago palm, and prepares the sago. When setting forth to bring home the animal killed by her husband she carries her own parang with which to cut it up, placing it inside the rattan bag on her back. With one or two other women she may go out with the dogs to kill wild pigs with a spear. When searching for the many kinds of fruit found in the utan her own axe is carried with which to cut the tree down, for she never climbs to pick the fruit. As for the durian, she waits until it falls ripe to the ground. The woman also brings water and firewood, does all the cooking, and then calls her husband that he may eat. Basketry is not known, but the rattan mat and the mat of palm leaves on which these natives sleep are nicely made by the women, who also manufacture the large mat on which the stamping of sago, by human feet, is performed. In changing abode women carry everything, the men conveying only the sumpitan and the darts, probably also a child that is big enough to walk, but the small child the woman always carries. If the men go to war the women remain behind and defend themselves if attacked.

Although the woman thus bears an absurdly large share of the family burden, nevertheless it cannot be said that her lot is an unhappy one, because she is not the slave of the man, as is the case, for instance, with the Australian savages. From time immemorial their society has known no other conditions, and the married couples are generally happy. Both of them treat their children with affection, and though the husband may become angry, he only uses his tongue, never strikes her, and he has no polygamous inclinations. Divorces, though permissible, do not occur, because there is a natural feeling against illicit relations with the husband or wife of another. Moreover, the rest of the community would resent it. Bangsul, who had been there seven years, had never heard of divorce.

When a man is near death his family and others gather around him to see him die, but without attempt to restore him to health. When dead his eyes are closed, he is washed, and a new chavat of fibre as well as a new shirt of the same material is given him. Tobacco is put in his mouth, four cigarettes on his abdomen, and on his chest and stomach are placed sago and cooked wild pig or some other meat for him to eat. Four bamboos filled with water are set upright near by. His sumpitan with its darts, poison for the darts, the parang, shield, and his musical instruments if he has any—in short, one sample of everything he had is laid down by his side. What little else may be left goes to the widow. When a woman dies she is treated in the same way, but the nose flute is the only instrument that accompanies her.

A tree is cut down and from the log a dugout is made in which the corpse is placed, a board being loosely fastened as a cover. This coffin is placed on a simple platform in the utan. There is no feast attending this rite. I visited the burial-place (taaran) of Tamaloe on the other side of the river about a kilometre away. It was difficult to find, for the small space which is cleared of jungle whenever there is a funeral very soon grows up again. Only two boxes, each containing the corpse of a child, were in good condition, the rest having fallen down and disappeared through the action of rains and wild pigs.

After the husband's death the widow eats only every second day for a month; after that she is free to eat, but for a year she weeps twice a day, morning and evening,—though sometimes she forgets. The father, mother, and sister of the deceased also take part in the one-year period of wailing twice a day. After that period has elapsed the widow may remarry. For the widower there are practically the same regulations, though he does not weep loudly, and after eight months he can look for another wife; but first he must have taken a head.



CHAPTER XVIII

A STRANGE MAMMAL—ANIMAL LIFE IN CENTRAL BORNEO—A SUPERB AND SILENT REALM—VISIT TO A SALT WATER EXUDATION—PASSING THE DIVIDING RIDGE—A MOUSE-DEER CHASE—ON THE KASAO RIVER

I was planning a visit to the headwaters of the Busang River, to be made in connection with our future journey. Few natives, if any, have entered that region, which was described as very mountainous, though the mountains cannot be very high. But all who were approached on the subject, whether Penyahbong or Malay, absolutely declined to take part in an expedition to that country, because they would be killed by an animal called nundun, which is very numerous there. They might be able to tackle one, they said, but as soon as you encounter one there are hundreds more coming for you, and there is nothing else to do but to run for your life. Those regions, although known to be rich in rubber trees, are shunned by all natives. Unless this is an altogether fabulous animal, which is hardly likely to be the case, because the Punans and Bukats confirmed its existence, it would appear to be a kind of bear which perhaps in fruit seasons gathers in great numbers, and which is ferocious.

Nundun, in Penyahbong and Bukat called bohang (bear), is said to run faster than a dog, is killed with the sumpitan at twenty to thirty metres distance, and is eaten. It is further declared that its habitat extends through the hilly regions between the headwaters of the Busang River and the Upper Barito, and that it is especially numerous near the kampong Kelasin. If any one with the hope of possibly finding a new species of mammal should care to follow the matter up, Kelasin on the Upper Barito would not be an extremely difficult place to reach, with good men. Both the lieutenant and I, having so many rifles, were much inclined to defy the terrors of the nundun, but desirable as this expedition would have been, it had to be given up because of the formidable difficulties in getting men, even if we followed the route over the watershed which is used by the natives.

Bangsul had undertaken to negotiate with us on behalf of the Penyahbongs and the Malays, and although in some ways he was an estimable man, his Malay characteristic of turning everything to his own advantage at times got the better of him and delayed an agreement. At first they demanded a sum amounting to seven florins a day for each of the twenty-nine men needed, but as fourteen Malay rubber-gatherers arrived very opportunely, it was agreed that we should be taken to the Kasao River for 300 florins and my six prahus. The natives had some trouble deciding how the prahus should be divided among them, the kapala insisting upon having the largest and best for himself.

This question having been settled through Bangsul, on March 22 we departed. Our prahus were poled most of the way on a stream which, though rather shallow, ran with a swift current, and at times made my heavily loaded craft take water. In Borneo it usually requires as many days to get up-stream as it takes hours to come down.

We stayed for the night at a former camping place of rattan seekers, a small, narrow clearing on the river brink, on which tents and sheds were huddled closely together in the way military men prefer when travelling in the utan. The paddlers had asked us to be ready at daylight, but at seven o'clock in the chilly and very foggy morning they were still warming themselves around the fire. An hour later, when we had finished loading the prahus, the river began to rise incredibly fast, at the rate of ten centimetres per minute in the first six minutes, and in two hours and a quarter it had risen 2.30 metres, when it became steady. In the meantime we had remade our camp, hoping that the river might permit us to travel next day. Three of the Penyahbongs went out hunting with the only sumpitan we had, and shortly afterward returned with a pig.

Early in the afternoon we were much surprised by the appearance of a prahu with three Dayaks who had a dog and a sumpitan and brought a pig which they had killed in the morning. They were the chief, with two companions, from Data Long on the Kasao River for which we were aiming. The rumour of our party had reached his ears, and with thirty men he had been waiting for us on this side of the watershed. Their scanty provisions soon ran out, and after waiting nine days all had returned home except the present party, whom we welcomed. The new men proved a valuable addition to our crew. The kapala, who was attached to my prahu, was active and gave his orders as if he knew how, a great relief from a weak Malay that hitherto had been at "the helm." When the men with the poles were unable to move the boat against the current, the small, but strongly built man, with a few very powerful pushes, would bring it forward, making it vibrate by his strength.

At Tamaloe animals and birds were not plentiful, the call of the wah-wah usually imparting a little life to the mornings; and I once heard a crow. I do not remember to have seen on the whole Busang River the most familiar of all birds on the Bornean rivers, an ordinary sandpiper that flits before you on the beach. Birds singing in the morning are always rare except in the localities of paddi fields. The one most likely to attract attention on a forenoon is the giant hornbill, and as we advanced up the Busang its laugh might still be heard. Much more unusual was the call of some lonely argus pheasant or a crow. A few of the beautiful white raja birds were observed.

Wild pigs and deer continued plentiful, but the monkeys seemed gradually to disappear. Fish there were in plenty, but they were now of smaller kinds, not agreeable to eat, having an oily taste and mostly very bony. At all our camping places ants of various kinds were numerous, also inside of the tent, but they did not seem to be obnoxious. Just before sunset the loud voices of the cicadas began, and after dark lovely moths were attracted by my lamp, while during the night bats flew in and out of my tent. The humidity of the atmosphere was great. Safety matches would not strike fire unless kept in an airtight box. My cameras were inside of solid steel boxes, provided with rubber bands against the covers, making them water-tight. Nevertheless, upon opening one that had been closed for three weeks the camera inside was found to be white with mould.

It was rough and hard travelling on account of incessant low kihams to be passed, or banks of small stones over which the prahus had to be dragged. The Penyahbongs had not yet learned to be good boatmen, often nearly upsetting the prahu when getting in or out. Occasionally long quiet pools occurred, and the scenery here was grand and thrilling. Graceful trees of infinite variety bent over the water, bearing orchids of various colours, while creepers hung down everywhere, all reflected in a calm surface which seldom is disturbed by the splashing of fish. The orchids were more numerous than I had ever seen before. A delicate yellow one, growing in spikes, had a most unusual aromatic fragrance, as if coming from another world.

In the morning a curtain of fog lies over the landscape, but about nine o'clock it begins to lift, and creeping up over the tree-tops gradually dissolves in the sun-light, while between the trees that border the river the deep-blue sky appears, with beautiful small cumulus clouds suspended in the atmosphere. With the exception, perhaps, of a large blue kingfisher sitting in solitary state on a branch extending over the water, or a distant hornbill with its cheerful grandiose laugh, there are no evidences of animal life, nevertheless the exquisite scenery seems to lure the beholder on and on. To pass through this superb and silent realm was like a pleasant dream. There are no mosquitoes and consequently no malaria.

We were progressing through a country of which little is known accurately beyond its somewhat hilly character, and the fact that it is uninhabited except for small transient parties of Malays searching for rattan or rubber. The upper part of our route to the divide, a comparatively short distance, had not, to my knowledge, been traversed by white men before. Errors were corrected on the map of the watershed region.

One day at noon, while we were waiting for the largest prahu to overtake us, fresh tracks of pig were discovered on the bank, and the Saputan dog, a very wise animal, was landed. A few minutes later he began the peculiar barking which indicated that he had caught the scent, and one man seized a sumpitan and ran off into the utan as fast as his legs could carry him, holding the weapon in his right hand in a horizontal position, spear end first. It sounded as if the dog might be holding the pig in the water a little higher up, but this was soon found to be a mistake when the barking was heard close by. The Saputan kapala then jumped from my prahu, drew his parang, and with wonderful elastic movements disappeared in the utan. Two or three minutes later they returned, one man bearing in his arms a scarcely half-grown live pig, which had been hit by the sumpitan. The whole affair lasted barely ten minutes.

At another place, where we were again waiting for the big prahu, the Penyahbongs amused themselves with wrestling in water up to their shoulders. After some dancing around, the fight would invariably finish by both disappearing and after a few seconds coming to view again. This caused much merriment, especially to the wrestlers themselves, who laughed immoderately when reappearing.

We entered the tributary Bulau, and a couple of hours later arrived at its junction with Bakkaang, at the source of which we expected to cross the watershed. The river, which was rather narrow, would be difficult to ascend unless we had showers. Luckily rain fell during the night, and although delayed by trees that had fallen across the stream, which was from six to ten metres wide, we made a good day's work and camped at an attractive old clearing of rattan gatherers.

I spent the next forenoon in an excursion to a place within the jungle, where birds and animals sometimes congregate in great numbers to obtain the salt water which issues from the earth or rocks. This masin (salt water) was known to the Malay rattan seekers in our party, who had snared birds and deer there. In the dry season hundreds of birds of various kinds would gather. By wading up a small stream for twenty minutes we reached a place where water exuded from a rock, especially at its top, and by following the stream upward for another twenty minutes we arrived at the larger one, where the ooze from the rocks overflowed the ground. Only tracks were seen, but our guide said that after three rainless days in succession birds and animals would be sure to come there. Myriads of yellowish-gray flies covered the ground as well as the rocks, and after having taken some specimens of algae, also some white gelatinous stuff with which the Malays rub themselves when afflicted with beri-beri, I returned to camp.

In spite of frequent light showers the stream failed to rise appreciably, and our goods had to be carried on the back of the men to our next camping place. The following morning we started in a heavy rain at which we rejoiced, because it enabled us to use our prahus until we reached the foot of the dividing ridge. At noon we arrived in camp, with our clothing thoroughly wet. What the downpour might have left intact the Penyahbongs, forgetting everything but the safety of the prahus, had done their best to drench by splashing water all the time. Just as we had made camp the rain ceased and with it, being near the source of the stream, the overflow too passed away. In dry weather it would be a tedious trip to get up the Bakkaang.

For two days we were busy carrying our goods to the top of the ridge. Neither the Malays nor the Penyahbongs are very strong carriers, and they complained of being stenga mati (half dead) from their exertions. On the third day, when the ascent was to be finished, eight of them complained of being sakit (sick) or played out, and they looked it. Fortunately the Saputan chief, who a few days previously had left us to procure more men, returned with four companions, who came in very opportunely. The ascent is neither long nor difficult, a seldom used path leading across the ridge at the most convenient place. The elevation above sea level, taken April 2, by boiling point thermometer, was 425 metres (1,394.38 feet), and the ridge seemed to run evenly to either side. The space for a camp was somewhat cramped, and the small yellow bees that are so persistent in clinging to one's face and hands were very numerous; they will sting if irritated. Even the lieutenant, ordinarily impervious to that kind of annoyance, sought the protection of his mosquito net.

The calls of argus pheasant and wah-wah next morning sounded familiar. The north side of the Bukit, or mountain (the name applied by the natives to the ridge), is steeper and rougher than the south side, but the descent presents no difficulties. We followed the small river Brani, most of the time wading it. The distance to the junction of the Brani with the Kasao River [*] is hardly five hours' walking, but copious showers, which at times changed the river to a torrential stream, interfered with the transportation of our goods, which required five days.

[Footnote *: Kasao is the Malay name. The Saputans call the river Katju.]

Our friend, the Saputan chief, had materially assisted us, and he was desired to walk down to his kampong—by boat only an hour's journey on the swift current—and bring men and prahus to take us away. He was very willing and exceedingly efficient, but he was also, in his childish way, intent on making as much out of us as possible. He wanted to bring too many prahus and men, for all the male population of the kampong were anxious to get this job, he said. I made him a fair offer, and three times he came to tell me that he still had to think over it. Finally, after three hours' deliberation, he accepted my proposition—provided I would pay for two days instead of one! In order to get action, and considering all the days they voluntarily had waited for us at the ridge, I acceded to this amendment and he went away happy.

The men and the prahus came promptly and we began loading; I was glad at the prospect of getting away from the low-lying country, where we had our camp among bamboo trees, with the chance of being flooded should the river rise too high. As we were standing near my tent, getting ready to take it down, a plandok (mouse-deer, tragulus) came along—among the Saputans, and probably most Dayaks, reputed to be the wisest and most cunning of all animals, and in folklore playing the part of our fox. It was conspicuously pregnant and passed unconcernedly just back of the tent. As the flesh is a favourite food of both Dayaks and Malays they immediately gave chase, shouting and trying to surround it, which made the plandok turn back; then the wonderfully agile Saputan chief darted after it and actually caught it alive. Extraordinary agility is characteristic of most Dayaks. An army officer in his report of the Katingans describes how a Dayak "suddenly jumped overboard, drew his parang, and with one stroke cut a fish through the middle. Before we knew what had happened the material for our supper was on board."

After a pleasant drifting down the current of the Kasao River, about noon on April 7 we arrived at Data Long, a Saputan kampong consisting of three small communal houses. On the river bank a small space had been cleared of grass for my tent. The people seemed very amenable to my purposes and there was a primitive atmosphere at the place. We had used seventeen days from Tamalo, much in excess of the time calculated, but under unfavourable circumstances we might easily have used double. There was reason to be satisfied at arriving here safely without having incurred any losses. We could look forward with confidence to the remainder of the journey, mainly down the great Mahakam River, toward distant Samarinda, because the Dayaks along the route were very numerous and had plenty of prahus.



CHAPTER XIX

THE SAPUTANS—HOW THE EARS OF THE CHIEF WERE PIERCED—AN UNEXPECTED ATTACK OF FILARIASIS—DEPARTURE FROM THE SAPUTANS—DOWN THE KASAO RIVER— "TOBOGGANING" THE KIHAMS

The Penyahbongs, men of the jungle, who left us to return home, had not proved such good workers as the Saputans, who, though in a pronounced degree smaller, mostly below medium size, are very strongly built. The first named, nevertheless, are their superiors both physically and morally. The more homely-looking Saputans, though friendly and willing to assist you, try to gain an advantage in bargaining. They set high prices on all things purchased from them and cheat if permitted to do so. Although no case of actual stealing came to my notice, they are dishonest, untruthful, and less intelligent than the tribes hitherto met. The chiefs from two neighbouring kampongs paid us visits, and they and their men made a somewhat better impression, besides having less skin disease.

The Saputans are a crude and somewhat coarse people who formerly lived in caves in the mountains further east, between the Mahakam and the Murung (Barito) Rivers, and migrated here less than a hundred years ago. Lidju, a Long-Glat raja from Batokelau, who at one time was my interpreter and assistant, told me that the Saputans had made a contract with his grandfather to take them to the Kasao. This report was confirmed by the kapala of Batokelau. The Saputans probably do not number over 500 all told.

The custom of cutting the teeth, eight in upper front and six in the lower jaw, is observed to some extent, but is not regularly practised. Both sexes have shrill, sharp voices. The men admire women who have long hair, light yellow skin, and long extension of the ear-lobes. The women like men to be strong and brave on headhunting expeditions. Suicide is very rare. They may use ipoh or tuba for the purpose. All animals are eaten without restriction. The men are good hunters and know how to kill the tiger-cat with sumpitan or spear. They also make good, large mats from split rattan, which are spread on the floor, partly covering it. The women make mats from palm leaves, and when the Saputans are preparing for the night's rest the latter kind is unrolled over the rattan variety. Formerly sumpitans were made in sufficient number, but the art of the blacksmith has almost died out, only one remaining at the present time, and most of the sumpitans are bought from the Bukats on the Mahakam River.

There appear to be more men than women in the tribe. Children are wanted, and though the usual number in a family is four, sometimes there is only one. There are no restrictions in diet for a pregnant woman beyond the prohibition of eating of other people's food.

Only when the chief has a wedding is there any festival, which consists in eating. There is no marriage ceremony, but having secured the girl's consent and paid her father and mother the young man simply goes to her mat. They then remain two days in the house, because they are afraid of the omen birds. On the third day both go to fetch water from the river and she begins to husk rice. Monogamy is practised, only the chief being allowed to have five or more wives. The very enterprising kapala of Data Long, to the displeasure of his first wife, recently had acquired a second, the daughter of a Penihing chief. While the payment of a parang may be sufficient to secure a wife from among the kampong people, a chiefs daughter is worth ten gongs, and in order to raise the money necessary to obtain the gongs he set all the men of the kampong to work, gathering rattan, for one month. Though each of them received something for his labour, it was less than one-fourth of the amount accruing from the sale of the product, leaving him sufficient to pay the price demanded for the new bride. In Long Iram a gong may be bought for f. 30-80, and for purposes of comparison the fact is mentioned that a Malay usually is required to pay f. 60 to the girl's father to insure his consent to the marriage.

April was rainy, with frequent showers day and night, and thunder was heard every evening. Life there was the same as in most Dayak kampongs, nearly all the people being absent during the day at the ladangs, and in the evening they bring home the roots of the calladium, or other edible roots and plants, which are cooked for food. The paddi had been harvested, but the crop was poor, and therefore they had made no feast. There is no dancing here except war dances. For a generation they have been gathering rubber, taking it far down the Mahakam to be sold. Of late years rubber has nearly disappeared in these parts, so they have turned their attention to rattan.

One day a man was seen running with a sumpitan after a dog that had hydrophobia, and which repeatedly passed my tent. The apparent attempt to kill the animal was not genuine. He was vainly trying to catch it that he might tie its legs and throw it into the river, because the people believe that the shedding of a dog's blood would surely result in misfortune to their health or crops. After three days the dog disappeared.

In Data Long few were those men, women, and children who had not some form of the skin diseases usual among the Dayaks, which were rendered still more repugnant by their habit of scratching until the skin bleeds. A man and wife whose skin looked dry and dead, the whole body exhibiting a whitish colour, one day came to my tent. Standing, or crouching, before the tent opening they formed a most offensive picture, vigorously scratching themselves, while particles of dead skin dropped in such quantity that after some minutes the ground actually showed an accumulation resembling snow. They were accompanied by a twelve-year-old daughter who, strange to say, had a perfectly clean skin.

The belief about disease and its cure is identical with that of other tribes I have met. The evil antohs are believed to be very numerous in the mountainous region at the headwaters of the Kasao River, from whence they visit the kampongs, though only the blians are able to see them. The dead person is given new garments and the body is placed in a wooden box made of boards tied together, which is carried to a cave in the mountains, three days' travel from Data Laong. There are many caves on the steep mountain-side and each kampong has its own.

The Saputans were shy about being photographed, but their objections could be overcome by payments of coin. The kapala, always alive to the value of money, set the example by consenting to pose with his family for a consideration of one florin to each. But the risks incurred, of the usual kinds hitherto described, were believed to be so great that even the sum of ten florins was asked as reward in the case of a single man. A prominent man from another kampong was preparing to make holes through the ears of the kapala, and for a compensation I was permitted to photograph the operation, which is an important one. It is the privilege of chiefs and men who have taken heads to wear a tiger-cat's corner tooth inserted in a hole in the upper part of each ear. The operation must not be performed when the man in question has a small child.

Surrounded by four men, the kapala seated himself on the stump of a tree. The hair was first cut away above the ears, a long board was placed upright behind and against his right ear, and the operator adjusted his tool—an empty rifle cartridge of small calibre, which was encased in the end of a small piece of wood. After having carefully ascertained that all was in order he struck the tool, using a loose axe-head with sure hand, two or three times. The supporting board was removed and a bamboo cylinder of exactly the same size as the empty cartridge, which was held in readiness, was immediately put into the hole. The round piece of cartilage which had been cut out was taken care of, lest it be eaten by a dog and cause illness. Blood streamed profusely from the ear, and, strange to tell, the robust man looked as if he were going to faint. The four assistants closed round him, stroking his arms, and he attempted to rise, but had to resume his seat.

Usually nothing untoward happens at such operations, but in this case an evil antoh had taken possession of the kapala and was eating blood from the wound. The principal blian was hastily sent for, and arriving promptly, proceeded to relieve the suffering kapala. He clapped his hands over the ear, and, withdrawing, opened them twice in quick succession, then, after a similar third effort, a fair-sized stone (less than a centimetre in diameter) was produced and thrown into the river. Slight rain began to fall, and the scene was brought to a dramatic conclusion by the exhausted chief being ignominiously carried away on the back of a strong young man. At the house another stone was produced by the same sleight-of-hand, but more strenuous measures had to be adopted in order to remedy the uncanny incident.

A pig was brought up into the room, where blood from its throat was collected. Part of it was smeared on the kapala, and part was mixed with uncooked rice as a sacrifice to some good antoh, who is called upon to drive the evil one away. Outside on the river bank four stalks of bamboo, which had branches and leaves at the top, were placed in a slanting position. From the stems of these were hung two diminutive bamboo receptacles made in the form of square, stiff mats, on which was placed the mixture of rice and blood for the antoh to eat. Also suspended were two short pieces of bamboo cut open lengthwise so as to form two small troughs, into which a little blood was poured for the same supernatural power to drink.

When all this had been made ready the old blian, accompanied by two young pupils, took position before the sacrifice. For about ten minutes he spoke, with his face to the south, requesting a good antoh to come and the evil one to depart, after which he, the young men, and the kapala, who stood near, all repeatedly threw up rice in a southerly direction. This was done in expectation that the good antoh, having eaten of the sacrifice, would feel disposed to drive the bad one away.

In the middle of April I was seized with an attack of filariasis, a disorder caused by the sting of a certain kind of mosquito. During the day I had felt pain in the glands of the loins, which were swollen, without giving the matter any particular attention. As I am not in the habit of being ill, in fact, so far had prided myself on growing younger each year, this experience of suddenly becoming very weak and miserable was most unexpected. Vomiting set in, so I went immediately to bed, and slept soundly during the night and also most of the next day, when I found myself with an extremely high fever, much more severe than that which accompanies malaria, a pernicious form of which I once passed through on the west coast of Mexico. Until many months afterward I did not know the nature of my disorder, but resorted to the simple remedy always available—to stop eating, as Japanese soldiers are reported to do when wounded. On the fourth day the fever abated, after which improvement was rapid. Two days later my general condition was fair, although the lower part of the right leg, especially about the ankle, was red and swollen. I soon felt completely restored in spite of the fact that a painless swelling of the ankle remained.

Two months later I had another attack, as sudden and unexpected as the first. This was ushered in by a chill exactly like that preceding malaria, but the fever that followed was less severe than on the former occasion, and in a few days I was well again.

More than a year afterward hypodermic injections of sodium cacodylate were attempted with apparent success, though the swellings continued. Many months later an improvement in the condition of the leg was gradually brought about, to which perhaps a liberal consumption of oranges separate from meals, largely contributed. This affection is not common in Borneo. A native authority in Kasungan, on the Katingan River in South Borneo, himself a Kahayan, told me of a remedy by which he and eight other natives had been completely cured. It is a diffusion from three kinds of plants, applied externally, samples of which I took.

On the last day of April we were able to continue our journey down the Kasao River, in seven prahus with twenty-eight men, twenty-four of whom were Penihings, who, with their raja, as the chiefs are called on the Mahakam, had arrived from below by appointment. Owing to my recent distressing experience I was not sorry to say farewell to Data Laong, where the women and children were afraid of me to the last, on account of my desire to have them photographed. The Saputans are kind, but their intellect is of a low order, and the unusual prevalence of skin disease renders them unattractive though always interesting subjects.

A glorious morning! The river, running high and of a dirty yellowish-green colour, carried us swiftly with the current in the cool atmosphere of the morning mist which the sun gradually cleared away. Repeatedly, though for a few moments only, an enchanting fragrance was wafted to me from large, funnel-shaped, fleshy white flowers with violet longitudinal stripes that covered one of the numerous varieties of trees on our way. Many blossoms had fallen into the water and floated on the current with us. It was a pleasure to have again real Dayak paddlers, which I had not had since my travels in the Bultmgan.

We dashed through the tall waves of many smaller rapids and suddenly, while I was having breakfast, which to save time is always taken in the prahus, I found myself near what appeared to be a rapidly declining kiham. A fathomless abyss seemed yawning before us, although the approach thereto was enticing, as the rushing waters turned into white foam and played in the strong sunlight. We passed a timid prahu which was waiting at one side of the course, but had I desired to do so there was no time to stop my prahu. That might have meant calamity, for we were already within a few seconds of the rushing, turbulent waters. So down we went, with a delightful sensation of dancing, falling water, strong sunlight, and the indescribable freshness and swiftness of it all. The Penihing at the bow looked back at me and nodded with a satisfied expression on his countenance, as if to say: "That was well done."

There were kihams after kihams to be passed; at one place where the rapids were long, from twelve to eighteen men helped to direct each prahu with rattan ropes, preventing it from going where the water was deep and the waves ran high. But my men, who appeared to be skilful, evidently decided not to depend on the rattan but steered deliberately out into the deep water; the prahu began to move swiftly, and, tossed by the big waves, the large tins and boxes were shaken about and threatened to fall overboard. The bundle of one of the Dayaks actually dropped into the water. There were only four men in the prahu, and the one at the bow, on whom so much depends for safety, seeing that it was his bundle, immediately jumped after it, leaving the boat to its fate. Luckily there was no reason for the others to do likewise, and I escaped with drenched legs and a wet kodak.

New kihams soon compelled us to take out half the load and make double trips, which proved slow and tedious work. I sat on the rocks waiting, and ate luncheon, which consisted of one small tin of macquerel in oil, put up in France, very convenient for travelling. In front of me on the other side of the river a lonely Malay was working eagerly, trying to float a big bundle of rattan which had lodged in the midst of a waterfall against a large stone, and which finally he succeeded in loosening. Suddenly it floated, and as suddenly he leaped upon it, riding astride it down the foaming waters.

The prospect for some smooth sailing now appeared favourable, but scarcely had I made myself comfortable, lying down in my prahu, before I was drenched by furious waves into which we had plunged. We soon got out of them, however, and continued our swift travel downward. In the distance most of our prahus could be seen in a calm inlet on the other side, where Mr. Loing was awaiting our arrival; but my men continued on their course. In a few seconds we entered the boiling waves of the rapids, down which we went at thrilling speed. We literally jumped a small waterfall, then, sharply turning to the left, passed another. More than a third of the boat was in the air as we leaped over it. The Dayaks stand in the prahu and every nerve is at full tension. The man at the bow shouts and warns. They are daring, but manage to avoid the hidden rocks with which the course of the river is studded, now steering slightly to the left, now more to the right. Thirty or fifty centimetres one way or the other may make all the difference between safety and disaster. Three men in a small prahu which follows immediately behind, seeing that they cannot avoid dashing against a rock, jump overboard, pull the boat out of its course, and save it.

Ahead was another turn in the river where the third kiham in succession awaited us, and after some moments of comparative quiet we again dashed down into turbulent waves, and making a swift turn to the right on a downward grade glided into smoother waters. The excitement was over and the experience had been as delightful as it was unexpected. It reminded one of tobogganing in Norway and was great fun, although the enjoyment was always mingled with feelings of anxiety concerning the cameras and instruments.

The luggage was unloaded from the prahus which were waiting at the head of the last rapids, and was carried on the backs of natives who afterward took the empty boats down. Although the men had worked incessantly for nine hours, on the advice of the chief it was decided to proceed to Samariting, the first Penihing kampong. Half the goods was stored near the beach, to be called for the following day, and the now comfortably loaded prahus made ready for the descent of the next rapids, which he said were risky. He therefore was going to walk himself and advised us to do likewise. Rain began to fall. On the high river bank I waited to see them off. The first prahu had to return and take another course; the men all seemed to be hesitating. Finally it made a fresh dash forward. Near the end of the long rapids it almost disappeared from view, appeared again, steering first to right then rapidly to left again. There was the dangerous place, and having in this manner seen most of them pass successfully, I walked on and shortly afterward boarded my prahu, which carried us swiftly down to Samariting.

The river bank on which the kampong is built is lower than usual, and the place is clean and attractive. All the people look strikingly more healthy than the Saputans, and I saw a few very nice-looking young girls. The men swarmed round me like bees, all wanting in a most amiable way to help put up my tent. During the day I had lost the cover of my red kettle—annoying enough when it cannot by any means be replaced—but even a more serious loss would have been compensated by the delightful experience of the day, which was without other mishaps.

Our goods having been safely brought in, the next day about noon we started in fully loaded prahus. All went well with the exception of one of the smaller boats which, timidly working down along the bank, suddenly turned over and subsided on a rock. The men did their best to save the contents, the rapid current making it impossible for us to stop until we were a hundred metres further down, where the Dayaks made ready to gether up boxes and other articles that came floating on the current. Nothing was lost, but everything got wet.



CHAPTER XX

ARRIVAL ON THE MAHAKAM RIVER—AMONG THE PENIHINGS—LONG KAI, A PLEASANT PLACE—A BLIANAS SHIELD—PUNANS AND BUKATS, SIMPLE-MINDED NOMADS—EXTREME PENALTY FOR UNFAITHFULNESS—LONG TJEHAN

A few minutes later we came in sight of the Mahakam River. At this point it is only forty to fifty metres wide, and the placid stream presented a fine view, with surrounding hills in the distance. In the region of the Upper Mahakam River, above the rapids, where we had now arrived, it is estimated there are living nearly 10,000 Dayaks of various tribes, recognised under the general name Bahau, which they also employ themselves, besides their tribal names.

The first European to enter the Mahakam district was the Dutch ethnologist, Doctor A.W. Nieuwenhuis, at the end of the last century. He came from the West, and in addition to scientific research his mission was political, seeking by peaceful means to win the natives to Dutch allegiance. In this he succeeded, though not without difficulty and danger. Although he was considerate and generous, the Penihing chief Blarey, apprehensive of coming evil, twice tried to kill him, a fact of which the doctor probably was not aware at the time. Kwing Iran, the extraordinary Kayan chief, knew of it and evidently prevented the plan from being executed. Blarey did not like to have Europeans come to that country, which belonged to the natives, as he expressed it.

The Penihing kampong, Sungei Lobang, was soon reached. It is newly made, in accordance with the habit of the Dayaks to change the location of their villages every fourteen or fifteen years, and lies on a high bank, or rather a mud-ridge, which falls steeply down on all sides. It was the residence of the chief and the Penihings who brought us here, and if conditions proved favourable I was prepared to make a stay of several weeks in this populous kampong, which consists of several long, well-constructed buildings. The Dayaks assisted in putting up my tent, and of their own accord made a low palisade of bamboo sticks all around it as protection against the roaming pigs and dogs of the place. It proved of excellent service, also keeping away the obnoxious fowls, and during the remainder of my travels this measure of security, which I adopted, added considerably to my comfort. On receiving their payment in the evening the Dayaks went away in bad humour because they had expected that such a tuan besar as I was would give them more than the usual wages allowed when serving the Company, as the government is called. This tuan, they said, had plenty of money to boang (throw) away, and he had also a good heart.

Otherwise, however, these natives were kindly disposed and more attractive than either of the two tribes last visited. In husking rice the Penyahbongs, Saputans, and Penihings have the same method of gathering the grains back again under the pestle with the hands instead of with the feet, as is the custom of the Kenyahs and Kayans. All day there were brought for sale objects of ethnography, also beetles, animals, and birds. Two attractive young girls sold me their primitive necklaces, consisting of small pieces of the stalks of different plants, some of them odoriferous, threaded on a string. One girl insisted that I put hers on and wear it, the idea that it might serve any purpose other than to adorn the neck never occurring to them. Two men arrived from Nohacilat, a neighbouring kampong, to sell two pieces of aboriginal wearing apparel, a tunic and a skirt. Such articles are very plentiful down there, they said, and offered them at an astonishingly reasonable price.

Malay is not spoken here, and we got on as best we could—nevertheless the want of an interpreter was seriously felt. The chief himself spoke some and might have served fairly well, but he studiously remained away from me, and even took most of the men from the kampong to make prahus at another place. I was told that he was afraid of me, and certainly his behaviour was puzzling. Three months later I was enlightened on this point by the information that he had been arrested on account of the murder by spear of a woman and two men, a most unusual occurrence among Dayaks, who, as a rule, never kill any one in their own tribe. With the kampong well-nigh deserted, it soon became evident that nothing was to be gained by remaining and that I would better change the scene of my activities to Long Kai, another Penihing kampong further down the river.

A small garrison had been established there, and by sending a message we secured prahus and men, which enabled us to depart from our present encampment. There were some rapids to pass in which our collector of animals and birds nearly had his prahu swamped, and although it was filled with water, owing to his pluck nothing was lost. At Long Kai the lieutenant and Mr. Loing put up a long shed of tent material, while I placed my tent near friendly trees, at the end of a broad piece of road on the river bank, far enough from the kampong to avoid its noises and near enough to the river to enjoy its pleasant murmur.

When going to their ladangs in the morning the Dayaks passed my tent, thence following the tiny affluent, Kai, from which the kampong received its name. Under the trees I often had interviews with the Penihings, and also with the nomadic Bukats and Punans who had formed settlements in the neighbouring country. Some of them came of their own accord, others were called by Tingang, the kapala of Long Kai, who did good service as interpreter, speaking Malay fairly well. From my tent I had a beautiful view of the river flowing between wooded hills, and the air was often laden with the same delicious fragrance from the bloom of a species of trees which I had observed on the Kasao River. Here, however, the odour lasted hours at a time, especially morning and evening. On the hills of the locality grow many sago palms, to which the natives resort in case rice is scarce.

It was quite agreeable to see a flag again, the symbol of the Dutch nation being hoisted every day on the hill where the military encampment was located, usually called benting (fortress). Even the striking of a bell every half-hour seemed acceptable as a reminder of civilisation. The soldiers were natives, mostly Javanese. The lieutenant, Th. F.J. Metsers, was an amiable and courteous man who loaned me Dutch newspapers, which, though naturally months out of date, nevertheless were much appreciated. We were about 1 north of equator and usually had beautiful, clear nights in the month of May. The Great Bear of the northern hemisphere was visible above the horizon and the planet Venus looked large and impressive. There were no mosquitoes and the air was fine, but at times the heat of the day was considerable, especially before showers. After two days of very warm weather without rain ominous dark clouds gathered in the west, and half an hour later we were in the thick of a downpour and mist which looked as if it might continue for days. But in inland Borneo one knows a rainstorm will soon belong to the past. Two hours later the storm abated and before sunset all was over, and the night came again clear and glorious.

One afternoon seven prahus with thirty-odd Dayaks were seen to arrive from down the river, poling their way. They were Kayans from Long Blu, en route for the Upper Kasao to gather rattan. Some of them called on me and evidently already knew of the expedition. They carried only rice as provisions and told me they intended to be away three months. On the Upper Kasao there is no more rubber to be found, and, according to them, on the upper part of Mahakam there is no more rattan.

The Penihings of Long Kai are good-natured and pleasant, and it was refreshing to be among real, natural people to whom it never occurs that nudity is cause for shame; whom the teaching of the Mohammedan Malays, of covering the upper body, has not yet reached. This unconsciousness of evil made even the old, hard-working women attractive. They were eager to sell me their wares and implements, and hardly left me time to eat. Their houses had good galleries and were more spacious than one would suppose from a casual glance.

One morning I entered the rooms of one of the principal blians, from whom I wanted to buy his shield, used as a musical instrument to accompany his song. The shield looks like the ordinary variety used by all the tribes of the Mahakam and also in Southern Borneo, but has from four to ten rattan strings tied lengthwise on the back. In singing to call good spirits, antohs, especially in case somebody is ill, he constantly beats with a stick on one of the strings in a monotonous way without any change of time. Among the Penihings this shield is specially made for the blian's use, and unless it be new and unused he will not sell it, because the blood of sacrificial animals has been smeared on its surface and the patient would die. The only way I could secure one was by having it made for me, which a blian is quite willing to do.

This man paid little attention to my suggestion of buying, but suddenly, of his own accord, he seized the shield and played on it to show me how it was done. While he sings he keeps his head down behind the shield, which is held in upright position, and he strikes either with right or left hand. He had scarcely performed a minute when a change came over him. He stamped one foot violently upon the floor, ceased playing, and seemed to be in a kind of trance, but recovered himself quickly. A good antoh, one of several who possessed him, had returned to him after an absence and had entered through the top of his head. So strong is the force of auto-suggestion.

It was a matter of considerable interest to me to meet here representatives of two nomadic tribes of Borneo who had formed small settlements in this remote region. I had already made the acquaintance of the Punans in the Bulungan, but as they are very shy I welcomed the opportunity of meeting them on more familiar terms. For more than a generation a small number has been settled at Serrata, six hours walking distance from Long Kai. The other nomads, called Bukats, from the mountains around the headwaters of the Mahakam, have lately established themselves on the river a short distance above its junction with the Kasao; a few also live in the Penihing kampong Nuncilao. These recent converts from nomadic life still raise little paddi, depending mostly upon sago. Through the good offices of the Long Kai kapala people of both tribes were sent for and promptly answered the call. The Punan visitors had a kapala who also was a blian, and they had a female blian too, as had the Bukats.

The Punans are simple-minded, shy, and retiring people, and the other nomads even more so. The first-named are more attractive on account of their superior physique, their candid manners, and somewhat higher intellect. The natural food of both peoples is serpents, lizards, and all kinds of animals and birds, the crocodile and omen birds excepted. With the Bukats, rusa must not be eaten unless one has a child, but with the Punans it is permissible in any case. The meat of pig is often eaten when ten days old, and is preferred to that which is fresh. In this they share the taste of the Dayak tribes I have met, with the exception of the Long-Glats. I have known the odour from putrefying pork to be quite overpowering in a kampong, and still this meat is eaten without any ill effect. Salt is not used unless introduced by Malay traders. And evidently it was formerly not known to the Dayaks.

None of these jungle people steal and they do not lie, although children may do either. They were much afraid of being photographed and most of the Bukats declined. A Bukat woman had tears in her eyes as she stepped forward to be measured, but smiled happily when receiving her rewards of salt, tobacco, and a red handkerchief. It had been worth while to submit to the strange ways of the foreigner.

Both tribes are strictly monogamous and distinguished by the severe view they take of adultery, which, however, seldom occurs. While it is regarded as absolutely no detriment to a young girl to sleep with a young man, matrimonial unfaithfulness is relentlessly punished. Payment of damages is impossible. The injured Punan husband cuts the head from both wife and corespondent and retires to solitude, remaining away for a long time, up to two years. If the husband fails to punish, then the woman's brother must perform the duty of executioner. The Bukats are even more severe. The husband of an erring wife must kill her by cutting off her head, and it is incumbent on her brother to take the head of the husband. At present the Punans and Bukats are relinquishing these customs through fear of the Company.

The Bukats told me that they originally came from the river Blatei in Sarawak, and that Iban raids had had much to do with their movements. According to their reports the tribe had recently, at the invitation of the government, left the mountains and formed several kampongs in the western division. One of them, with short stubby fingers, had a broad Mongolian face and prominent cheek-bones, but not Mongolian eyes, reminding me somewhat of a Laplander.

The Punans and the Bukats have not yet learned to make prahus, but they are experts in the manufacture of sumpitans. They are also clever at mat-making, the men bringing the rattan and the women making the mats. Cutting of the teeth is optional. The gall of the bear is used as medicine internally and externally. In case of fractured bones a crude bandage is made from bamboo sticks with leaves from a certain tree. For curing disease the Punans use strokes of the hand. Neither of these nomadic tribes allow a man present when a woman bears a child. After child-birth women abstain from work four days. When anybody dies the people flee, leaving the corpse to its fate.

Having accomplished as much as circumstances permitted, in the latter part of May we changed our encampment to Long Tjehan, the principal kampong of the Penihings, a little further down the river. On a favourable current the transfer was quickly accomplished. We were received by friendly natives, who came voluntarily to assist in putting up my tent, laying poles on the moist ground, on which the boxes were placed inside. They also made a palisade around it as they had seen it done in Long Kai, for the Dayaks are very adaptable people. Several men here had been to New Guinea and they expressed no desire to return, because there had been much work, and much beri-beri from which some of their comrades had died. One of them had assisted in bringing Doctor Lorenz back after his unfortunate fall down the ravine on Wilhelmina Top.



CHAPTER XXI

AN EXCURSION DOWN THE RIVER—LONG PAHANGEI—THE OMA-SULINGS—THE GREAT TRIENNIAL FESTIVAL—HOSPITABLE NATIVES—INCIDENTS IN PHOTOGRAPHY

It is significant as to the relations of the tribes that not only Bukats and Punans, but also the Saputans, are invited to take part in a great triennial Bahau festival when given at Long Tjehan. Shortly after our arrival we were advised that this great feast, which here is called tasa and which lasts ten days, was to come off immediately at an Oma-Suling kampong, Long Pahangei, further down the river.

Though a journey there might be accomplished in one day, down with the current, three or four times as long would be required for the return. However, as another chance to see such a festival probably would not occur, I decided to go, leaving the sergeant, the soldier collector, and another soldier behind, and two days later we were preparing for departure in three prahus.

What with making light shelters against sun and rain, in Malay called atap, usually erected for long journeys, the placing of split bamboo sticks in the bottom of my prahu, and with the Penihings evidently unaccustomed to such work, it was eight o'clock before the start was made. Pani, a small tributary forming the boundary between the Penihings and the Kayans, was soon left behind and two hours later we passed Long Blu, the great Kayan kampong. The weather was superb and the current carried us swiftly along. The great Mahakam River presented several fine, extensive views, with hills on either side, thick white clouds moving slowly over the blue sky. As soon as we entered the country of the Oma-Suling it was pleasant to observe that the humble cottages of the ladangs had finely carved wooden ornaments standing out from each gable.

We arrived at Long Pahangei (h pronounced as Spanish jota) early in the afternoon. Gongs were sounding, but very few people were there, and no visitors at all, although this was the first day of the feast. This is a large kampong lying at the mouth of a tributary of the same name, and is the residence of a native district kapala. After I had searched everywhere for a quiet spot he showed me a location in a clump of jungle along the river bank which, when cleared, made a suitable place for my tent. Our Penihings were all eager to help, some clearing the jungle, others bringing up the goods as well as cutting poles and bamboo sticks. Evidently they enjoyed the work, pitching into it with much gusto and interest. The result was a nice though limited camping place on a narrow ridge, and I gave each man one stick of tobacco as extra payment.

During our stay here much rain fell in steady downpours lasting a night or half a day. As the same condition existed higher up the river, at times the water rose menacingly near my tent, and for one night I had to move away. But rain in these tropics is never merciless, it seems to me. Back from the coast there is seldom any wind, and in the knowledge that at any time the clouds may give place to brilliant sunshine, it is not at all depressing. Of course it is better to avoid getting wet through, but when this occurs little concern is felt, because one's clothing dries so quickly.

The Oma-Sulings are pleasant to deal with, being bashful and unspoiled. The usual repulsive skin diseases are seldom seen, and the women are attractive. There appears to have been, and still is, much intercourse between the Oma-Sulings and their equally pleasant neighbours to the east, the Long-Glats. Many of the latter came to the feast and there is much intermarrying among the nobles of the two tribes. Lidju, my assistant and friend here, was a noble of the Long-Glats with the title of raja and married a sister of the great chief of the Oma-Sulings. She was the principal of the numerous female blians of the kampong, slender of figure, active both in her profession and in domestic affairs, and always very courteous. They had no children. Although he did not speak Malay very well, still, owing to his earnestness of purpose, Lidju was of considerable assistance to me.

The kampong consists of several long houses of the usual Dayak style, lying in a row and following the river course, but here they were separated into two groups with a brook winding its way to the river between them. Very large drums, nearly four metres long, hung on the wall of the galleries, six in one house, with the head somewhat higher than the other end. This instrument, slightly conical in shape, is formed from a log of fine-grained wood, light in colour, with a cover made from wild ox hide. An especially constructed iron tool driven by blows from a small club is used to hollow out the log, and the drum is usually completed in a single night, many men taking turns. In one part of the house lying furthest west lived Dayaks called Oma-Palo, who were reported to have been in this tribe a hundred years. They occupied "eight doors," while further on, in quarters comprising "five doors," dwelt Oma-Tepe, more recent arrivals; and both clans have married Oma-Suling women.

The purpose of the great feast that filled everybody's thoughts is to obtain many children, a plentiful harvest, good health, many pigs, and much fruit. A prominent Dayak said to me: "If we did not have this feast there would not be many children; the paddi would not ripen well, or would fail; wild beasts would eat the fowls, and there would be no bananas or other fruits." The first four days are chiefly taken up with preparations, the festival occurring on the fifth and sixth days. A place of worship adjoining the front of the easternmost house was being constructed, with a floor high above ground on a level with the gallery, with which it was connected by a couple of planks for a bridge. Although flimsily built, the structure was abundantly strong to support the combined weight of the eight female blians who at times performed therein. The hut, which was profusely decorated with long, hanging wood shavings, is called dangei and is an important adjunct of the feast, to which the same name is sometimes given. Ordinary people are not allowed to enter, though they may ascend the ladder, giving access to the gallery, in close proximity to the sanctuary.

Prior to the fifth day a progressive scale is observed in regard to food regulations, and after the sixth, when the festive high mark is reached, there is a corresponding decrease to normal. Only a little boiled rice is eaten the first day, but on the second, third, and fourth, rations are gradually increased by limited additions of toasted rice. The fifth and sixth days give occasion for indulgence in much rice and pork, the quantity being reduced on the seventh, when the remaining pork is finished. On the eighth and ninth days the regulations permit only boiled and toasted rice. Not much food remains on the tenth, when the menu reverts to boiled rice exclusively. Some kinds of fish may be eaten during the ten-day period, while others are prohibited.

It was interesting to observe what an important part the female blians or priest-doctors played at the festival. They were much in evidence and managed the ceremonies. The men of the profession kept in the background and hardly one was seen. During the feast they abstain from bathing for eight days, do not eat the meat of wild babi, nor salt; and continence is the rule. Every day of the festival, morning, afternoon, and evening, a service is performed for imparting health and strength, called melah, of which the children appear to be the chief beneficiaries. Mothers bring babes in cradles on their backs, as well as their larger children. The blian, who must be female, seizing the mother's right hand with her left, repeatedly passes the blade of a big knife up her arm. The child in the cradle also stretches out its right arm to receive treatment, while other children and women place their right hands on the hand and arm of the first woman, five to ten individuals thus simultaneously receiving the passes which the blian dispenses from left to right. She accompanies the ceremony with murmured expressions suggesting removal from the body of all that is evil, with exhortations to improvement, etc.

This service concluded, a man standing in the background holding a shield with the inside uppermost, advances to the side of the mother and places it horizontally under the cradle, where it is rapidly moved forward and backward. Some of the men also presented themselves for treatment after the manner above described, and although the melah performance is usually reserved for this great feast, it may be employed by the blian for nightly service in curing disease.

This was followed by a dance of the blians present, nine or ten in number, to the accompaniment of four gongs and one drum. They moved in single file, most of them making two steps and a slight turn to left, two steps and a slight turn to right, while others moved straight on. In this way they described a drawn-out circle, approaching an ellipse, sixteen times. After the dancing those who took part in the ceremonies ate toasted rice. Each day of the feast in the afternoon food was given to antoh by blians and girl pupils. Boiled rice, a small quantity of salt, some dried fish, and boiled fowl were wrapped in pieces of banana leaves, and two such small parcels were offered on each occasion.

Meantime the festive preparations continued. Many loads of bamboo were brought in, because much rice and much pork was to be cooked in these handy utensils provided by nature. Visitors were slowly but steadily arriving. On the fourth day came the principal man, the Raja Besar (great chief), who resides a little further up the river, accompanied by his family. The son of a Long-Glat father and an Oma-Suling mother, Ledjuli claimed to be raja not only of these tribes, but also of the Kayans. Next morning Raja Besar and his stately wife, of Oma-Suling nobility, accompanied by the kapala of the kampong and others, paid me a visit, presenting me with a long sugarcane, a somewhat rare product in these parts and considered a great delicacy, one large papaya, white onions, and bananas. In return I gave one cake of chocolate, two French tins of meat, one tin of boiled ham, and tobacco.