Domestic pigs, of which the kampong possessed over a hundred, at last began to come in from the outlying ladangs. One by one they were carried alive on the backs of men. The feet having first been tied together, the animal was enclosed in a coarse network of rattan or fibre. For the smaller specimens tiny, close-fitting bamboo boxes had been made, pointed at one end to accommodate the snout. The live bundles were deposited on the galleries, and on the fifth day they were lying in rows and heaps, sixty-six in number, awaiting their ultimate destiny. The festival was now about to begin in earnest and an air of expectancy was evident in the faces of the natives. After the performance of the melah and the dance of the blians, and these were a daily feature of the great occasion, a dance hitherto in vogue at night was danced in the afternoon. In this the people, in single file, moved very slowly with rhythmic steps, describing a circle around three blians, including the principal one, who sat smoking in the centre, with some bamboo baskets near by. Next morning the circular dance was repeated, with the difference that the participants were holding on to a rope.

About four o'clock in the afternoon the Dayaks began to kill the pigs by cutting the artery of the neck. The animals, which were in surprisingly good condition, made little outcry. The livers were examined, and if found to be of bad omen were thrown away, but the pig itself is eaten in such cases, though a full-grown fowl or a tiny chicken only a few days old must be sacrificed in addition. The carcasses were freed from hair by fire in the usual way and afterward cleaned with the knife. The skin is eaten with the meat, which at night was cooked in bamboo. Outside, in front of the houses, rice cooking had been going on all day. In one row there were perhaps fifty bamboos, each stuffed with envelopes of banana leaves containing rice, the parcels being some thirty centimetres long and three wide.

During the night there was a grand banquet in all the houses. Lidju, my assistant, did not forget, on this day of plenty, to send my party generous gifts of fresh pork. To me he presented a fine small ham. As salt had been left behind we had to boil the meat la Dayak in bamboo with very little water, which compensates for the absence of seasoning. A couple of men brought us two bamboos containing that gelatinous delicacy into which rice is transformed when cooked in this way. And, as if this were not enough, early next morning a procession arrived carrying food on two shields, the inside being turned upward. On these were parcels wrapped in banana leaves containing boiled rice, to which were tied large pieces of cooked pork. The first man to appear stepped up to a banana growing near, broke off a leaf which he put on the ground in front of me, and placed on it two bundles. The men were unable to speak Malay and immediately went away without making even a suggestion that they expected remuneration, as did the two who had given us rice. I had never seen them before.

The sixth day was one of general rejoicing. Food was exchanged between the two groups of houses and people were in a very joyful mood, eating pork, running about, and playing tricks on each other. Both men and women carried charcoal mixed with the fat of pork, with which they tried to smear the face and upper body of all whom they met. All were privileged to engage in this sport but the women were especially active, pursuing the men, who tried to avoid them, some taking refuge behind my tent. The women followed one man through the enclosure surrounding the tent, at my invitation, but they did not succeed in catching him. This practical joking was continued on the following days except the last.

The Oma-Palo had their own festival, which lasted only one day. It began in the afternoon of the sixth day and I went over to see it. The livers of the pigs were not in favourable condition, which caused much delay in the proceedings, and it was nearly five o'clock when they finally began to make a primitive dngei hut, all the material for which had been gathered. A few slim upright poles with human faces carved at the upper ends were placed so as to form the outline of a quadrangle. On the ground between them planks were laid, and on the two long sides of this space were raised bamboo stalks with leaves on, which leaned together and formed an airy cover. It was profusely adorned with wood shavings hung by the ends in long spirals, the whole arrangement forming a much simpler house of worship than the one described above. The kapala having sacrificed a tiny chicken, a man performed a war dance on the planks in superb fashion, and after that two female blians danced. Next morning I returned and asked permission to photograph the dancing. The kapala replied that if a photograph were made while they were working—that is to say, dancing—they would have to do all their work over again, otherwise some misfortune would come upon them, such as the falling of one of the bamboo stalks, which might kill somebody. Later, while they were eating, for example, there would be no objection to the accomplishment of my desire.

With the eighth day an increased degree of ceremonials became noticeable, and in order to keep pace therewith I was driven to continuous activity. On a muggy, warm morning I began work by photographing the Raja Besar, who had given me permission to take himself and his family. When I arrived at the house where he was staying he quickly made his preparations to "look pleasant," removing the large rings he wore in the extended lobes of his ears and substituting a set of smaller ones, eight for each ear. He was also very particular in putting on correct apparel, whether to appear in warrior costume or as a private gentleman of the highest caste. His sword and the rest of his outfit, as might be expected, were of magnificent finish, the best of which Dayak handicraft is capable. He made altogether a splendid subject for the camera, but his family proved less satisfactory. I had to wait an hour and a half before his womenfolk were ready, femininity apparently being alike in this regard in all races. When they finally emerged from the house in great array (which showed Malay influence) they were a distinct disappointment.

The raja, who was extremely obliging, ordered the principal men of the kampong to appear in complete war outfit, and showed us how an imaginary attack of Iban head-hunters would be met. They came streaming one after another down the ladder, made the evolutions of a running attack in close formation, holding their large shields in front of them, then ran to the water and paddled away, standing in their prahus, to meet the supposed enemy in the utan on the other side of the river.

At noon the female blians were preparing for an important ceremony in the dngei hut, with a dance round it on the ground later, and I therefore went up to the gallery. The eight performers held each other by the hands in a circle so large that it filled the hut. Constantly waving their arms backward and forward they moved round and round. Some relics from Apo Kayan were then brought in: a small, shining gong without a knob and a very large bracelet which looked as if it had been made of bamboo and was about eight centimetres in diameter. One of the blians placed the bracelet round her folded hands and then ran round the circle as well as through it; I believe this was repeated sixteen times. When she had finished running they all walked in single file over into the gallery in order to perform the inevitable mlah.

Shortly afterward followed a unique performance of throwing rice, small bundles of which, wrapped in banana leaves, were lying in readiness on the floor. Some of the men caught them with such violence that the rice was spilled all about, and then they flipped the banana leaves at those who stood near. Some of the women had crawled up under the roof in anticipation of what was coming. After a few minutes passed thus, the eight blians seated themselves in the dngei hut and prepared food for antoh in the way described above, but on this occasion one of them pounded paddi with two short bamboo sticks, singing all the while.

A very amusing entertainment then began, consisting of wrestling by the young men, who were encouraged by the blians to take it up and entered the game with much enthusiasm, one or two pairs constantly dancing round and round until one became the victor. The participants of their own accord had divested themselves of their holiday chavats and put on small ones for wrestling. With the left hand the antagonist takes hold of the descending portion of the chavat in the back, while with the right he grasps the encircling chavat in front. They wrestled with much earnestness but no anger. When the game was continued the following morning the young men presented a sorry spectacle. Rain had fallen during the night, and the vanquished generally landed heavily on their backs in the mud-holes, the wrestlers joining in the general laugh at their expense. To encourage them I had promised every victor twenty cents, which added much to the interest.

Having concluded their task of feeding the antohs the blians climbed down the ladder and began a march in single file round the dngei hut, each carrying one of the implements of daily life: a spear, a small parang, an axe, an empty rattan bag in which the bamboos are enclosed when the woman fetches water, or in which vegetables, etc., are conveyed, and another bag of the same material suitable for transporting babi. Four of the women carried the small knife which is woman's special instrument, though also employed by the men. When the eight blians on this, the eighth day, had marched sixteen times around the dngei they ascended the ladder again. Shortly afterward a man standing on the gallery pushed over the flimsy place of worship—a signal that the end of the feast had come. On the previous day a few visitors had departed and others left daily.

The feast had brought together from other parts about 200 Oma-Sulings and Long-Glats. The women of both tribes showed strikingly fine manners, especially those belonging to the higher class, which was well represented. Some were expensively dressed, though in genuine barbaric fashion as indicated by the ornaments sewn upon their skirts, which consisted of hundreds of florins and ringits. It should be conceded, however, that with the innate artistic sense of the Dayaks, the coins, all scrupulously clean, had been employed to best advantage in pretty designs, and the damsels were strong enough to carry the extra burden.

The climax had been passed and little more was going on, the ninth day being given over to the amusement of daubing each other with black paste. On the tenth day they all went away to a small river in the neighbourhood, where they took their meals, cooking paddi in bamboo, also fish in the same manner. This proceeding is called nsam, and the pemli (tabu) is now all over. During the days immediately following the people may go to the ladang, but are obliged to sleep in the kampong, and they must not undertake long journeys. When the feast ended the blians placed four eggs in the clefts of four upright bamboo sticks as sacrifice to antoh. Such eggs are gathered from hens that are sitting, and those which have become stale in unoccupied nests are also used. If there are not enough such eggs, fresh ones are taken.



CHAPTER XXII

DAYAK DOGS—A FUNERAL ON THE MAHAKAM—OUR RETURN JOURNEY—AGAIN AT LONG TJEHAN—IN SEARCH OF A UNIQUE ORCHID—A BURIAL CAVE

Every night while we were camped here, and frequently in the day, as if controlled by magic, the numerous dogs belonging to the Dayaks suddenly began to howl in chorus. It is more ludicrous than disagreeable and is a phenomenon common to all kampongs, though I never before had experienced these manifestations in such regularity and perfection of concerted action. One or two howls are heard and immediately all canines of the kampong and neighbouring ladangs join, perhaps more than a hundred in one chorus. At a distance the noise resembles the acclamations of a vast crowd of people. The Penihings and Oma-Sulings treat man's faithful companion well, the former even with affection; and the dogs, which are of the usual type, yellowish in colour, with pointed muzzle, erect ears, and upstanding tail, are in fine condition. A trait peculiar to the Dayak variety is that he never barks at strangers, permitting them to walk on the galleries or even in the rooms without interference. Groups of these intelligent animals are always to be seen before the house and on the gallery, often in terrific fights among themselves, but never offensive to strangers.

They certainly serve the Dayaks well by holding the pig or other animal at bay until the men can come up and kill it with spear. Some of them are afraid of bear, others attack them. They are very eager to board the prahus when their owners depart to the ladangs, thinking that it means a chase of the wild pig. Equally eager are they to get into the room at night, or at any time when the owner has left them outside. Doors are cleverly opened by them, but when securely locked the dogs sometimes, in their impatience, gnaw holes in the lower part of the door which look like the work of rodents, though none that I saw was large enough to admit a canine of their size. One day a big live pig was brought in from the utan over the shoulder of a strong man, its legs tied together, and as a compliment to me the brute was tethered to a pole by one leg, while the dogs, about fifty, barked at and harassed it. This, I was told, is the way they formerly were trained. As in a bull-fight, so here my sympathy was naturally with the animal, which managed to bite a dog severely in the side and shook another vigorously by the tail. Finally some young boys gave it a merciful death with spears.

A woman blian died after an illness of five days, and the next forenoon a coffin was made from an old prahu. She had not been ill long, so the preparations for the funeral were brief. Early in the afternoon wailing was heard from the gallery, and a few minutes later the cortge emerged on its way to the river bank, taking a short cut over the slope between the trees, walking fast because they feared that if they lingered other people might become ill. There were only seven or eight members of the procession; most of whom acted as pall-bearers, and all were poor people. They deposited their burden on the bank, kneeling around it for a few minutes and crying mournfully. A hen had been killed at the house, but no food was offered to antoh at the place of embarkation, as had been expected by some of their neighbours.

Covered with a large white cloth, the coffin was hurriedly taken down from the embankment and placed in a prahu, which they immediately proceeded to paddle down-stream where the burial was to take place in the utan some distance away. The reddish-brown waters of the Mahakam, nearly always at flood, flowed swiftly between the walls of dark jungle on either side and shone in the early afternoon sun, under a pale-blue sky, with beautiful, small, distant white clouds. Three mourners remained behind, one man standing, gazing after the craft. Then, as the prahu, now very small to the eye, approached the distant bend of the river, in a few seconds to disappear from sight, the man who had been standing in deep reflection went down to the water followed by the two women, each of whom slipped off her only garment in their usual dexterous way, and all proceeded to bathe, thus washing away all odours or other effects of contact with the corpse, which might render them liable to attack from the antoh that had killed the woman blian.

In the first week of June we began our return journey against the current, arriving in the afternoon at Data Lingei, an Oma-Suling kampong said to be inhabited also by Long-Glats and three other tribes. We were very welcome here. Although I told them I did not need a bamboo palisade round my tent for one night, these hospitable people, after putting up my tent, placed round it a fence of planks which chanced to be at hand. At dusk everything was in order and I took a walk through the kampong followed by a large crowd which had been present all the time.

Having told them to bring all the articles they wanted to sell, I quickly bought some good masks and a number of tail feathers from the rhinoceros hornbill, which are regarded as very valuable, being worn by the warriors in their rattan caps. All were "in the market," prices were not at all exorbitant, and business progressed very briskly until nine o'clock, when I had made valuable additions, especially of masks, to my collections. The evening passed pleasantly and profitably to all concerned. I acquired a shield which, besides the conventionalised representation of a dog, exhibited a wild-looking picture of an antoh, a very common feature on Dayak shields. The first idea it suggests to civilised man is that its purpose is to terrify the enemy, but my informant laughed at this suggestion. It represents a good antoh who keeps the owner of the shield in vigorous health.

The kapala's house had at once attracted attention on account of the unusually beautiful carvings that extended from each gable, and which on a later occasion I photographed. These were long boards carved in artistic semblance of the powerful antoh called nagah, a benevolent spirit, but also a vindictive one. The two carvings together portrayed the same monster, the one showing its head and body, the other its tail. Before being placed on the gables a sacrifice had been offered and the carvings had been smeared with blood—in other words, to express the thought of the Dayak, as this antoh is very fierce when aroused to ire, it had first been given blood to eat, in order that it should not be angry with the owner of the house, but disposed to protect him from his enemies. While malevolent spirits do not associate with good ones, some which usually are beneficent at times may do harm, and among these is one, the nagah, that dominates the imagination of many Dayak tribes. It appears to be about the size of a rusa, and in form is a combination of the body of that animal and a serpent, the horned head having a disproportionately large dog's mouth. Being an antoh, and the greatest of all, it is invisible under ordinary conditions, but lives in rivers and underground caves, and it eats human beings.

Lidju, who accompanied me as interpreter and to be generally useful, had aroused the men early in the morning to cook their rice, so that we could start at seven o'clock, arriving in good time at the Kayan kampong, Long Blu. Here, on the north side of the river, was formerly a small military establishment, inhabited at present by a few Malay families, the only ones on the Mahakam River above the great kihams. Accompanied by Lidju I crossed the river to see the great kampong of the Kayans.

Ascending the tall ladder which leads up to the kampong, we passed through long, deserted-looking galleries, and from one a woman hurriedly retired into a room. The inhabitants were at their ladangs, most of them four hours' travel from here. Arriving finally at the house of Kwing Iran, I was met by a handful of people gathered in its cheerless, half-dark gallery. On our return to a newly erected section of the kampong we met the intelligent kapala and a few men. Some large prahus were lying on land outside the house, bound for Long Iram, where the Kayans exchange rattan and rubber for salt and other commodities, but the start had been delayed because the moon, which was in its second quarter, was not favourable. These natives are reputed to have much wang, owing to the fact that formerly they supplied rice to the garrison, receiving one ringit for each tinful.

Though next day was rainy and the river high, making paddling hard work, we arrived in good time at Long Tjehan and found ourselves again among the Penihings. During the month I still remained here I made valuable ethnological collections and also acquired needed information concerning the meaning and use of the different objects, which is equally important. The chief difficulty was to find an interpreter, but an intelligent and efficient Penihing offered his services. He "had been to Soerabaia," which means that he had been at hard labour, convicted of head-hunting, and during his term had acquired a sufficient knowledge of Malay to be able to serve me. My Penihing collections I believe are complete. Of curious interest are the many games for children, among them several varieties of what might be termed toy guns and different kinds of puzzles, some of wood while others are plaited from leaves or made of thread.

The kampong lies at the junction of the Mahakam and a small river called Tjehan, which, like several other affluents from the south, originates in the dividing range. The Tjehan contains two or three kihams but is easy to ascend, and at its head-waters the range presents no difficulties in crossing. This is not the case at the sources of the Blu, where the watershed is high and difficult to pass. Small parties of Malays occasionally cross over to the Mahakam at these points as well as at Pahangei. In the country surrounding the kampong are several limestone hills, the largest of which, Lung Karang, rises in the immediate vicinity.

Doctor Nieuwenhuis on his journey ascended some distance up the Tjehan tributary, and in the neighbourhood of Lung Karang his native collector found an orchid which was named phalaenopsis gigantea, and is known only from the single specimen in the botanical garden at Buitenzorg, Java. On a visit there my attention was drawn to the unusual size of its leaves and its white flowers. I then had an interview with the Javanese who found it, and decided that when I came to the locality I would try to secure some specimens of this unique plant. Having now arrived in the region, I decided to devote a few days to looking for the orchid and at the same time investigate a great Penihing burial cave which was found by my predecessor.

Accompanied by two of our soldiers and with five Dayak paddlers, I ascended the Tjehan as far as the first kiham, in the neighbourhood of which I presumed that the burial cave would be and where, therefore, according; to the description given to me, the orchid should be found. There was no doubt that we were near a locality much dreaded by the natives; even before I gave a signal to land, one of the Penihings, recently a head-hunter, became hysterically uneasy. He was afraid of orang mati (dead men), he said, and if we were going to sleep near them he and his companions would be gone. The others were less perturbed, and when assured that I did not want anybody to help me look for the dead but for a rare plant, the agitated man, who was the leader, also became calm.

We landed, but the soldier who usually waited upon me could not be persuaded to accompany me. All the Javanese, Malays, and Chinamen are afraid of the dead, he said, and declined to go. Alone I climbed the steep mountain-side; the ascent was not much over a hundred metres, but I had to make my way between big blocks of hard limestone, vegetation being less dense than usual. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when, from the top of a crest which I had reached, I suddenly discovered at no great distance, perhaps eighty metres in front of me, a large cave at the foot of a limestone hill. With the naked eye it was easy to distinguish a multitude of rough boxes piled in three tiers, and on top of all a great variety of implements and clothing which had been deposited there for the benefit of the dead. It made a strange impression in this apparently abandoned country where the dead are left in solitude, feared and shunned by their former associates.

No Penihing will go to the cave of the dead except to help carry a corpse, because many antohs are there who make people ill. The extreme silence was interrupted only once, by the defiant cry of an argus pheasant. As the weather was cloudy I decided to return here soon, by myself, in order to photograph and make closer inspection of the burial-place. I then descended to the prahu, and desiring to make camp at a sufficient distance to keep my men in a tranquil state of mind, we went about two kilometres down the river and found a convenient camping-place in the jungle.

On two later occasions I visited the cave and its surroundings, becoming thoroughly acquainted with the whole mountain. The Penihings have an easy access to this primeval tomb, a little further below, by means of a path leading from the river through a comparatively open forest. The corpse in its box is kept two to seven days in the house at the kampong; the body of a chief, which is honoured with a double box, remains ten days. According to an otherwise trustworthy Penihing informant, funeral customs vary in the different kampongs of the tribe, and generally the box is placed on a crude platform a metre above the ground.

As for the orchid, I, as well as the Dayaks, who were shown an illustration of it, searched in vain for three days. There is no doubt that I was at the place which had been described to me, but the plant must be extremely rare and probably was discovered accidentally "near the water," as the native collector said, perhaps when he was resting.



CHAPTER XXIII

A PROFITABLE STAY—MAGNIFICENT FRUITS OF BORNEO—OMEN BIRDS—THE PENIHINGS IN DAILY LIFE—TOP PLAYING—RELIGIOUS IDEAS—CURING DISEASE

On my return to camp a pleasant surprise awaited me in the arrival of mail, the first in six months. The days that followed were laborious: buying, arranging, and cataloguing collections. From early morning Penihings came to my tent, desiring to sell something, and did not quit until late at night. Some were content to stand quietly looking at the stranger for ten or fifteen minutes, and then to go away, their places being taken by others. But after all it was a happy time, much being accomplished every day by adding to my collections and gaining much interesting information.

Over my tent grew a couple of rambutan trees, and close by were two trees bearing a still more delicate fruit called lansat (lansium domesticum). It is mildly acid, like the best kind of orange, but with more flavour, and In appearance resembles a small plum without a stone, and when ripe is almost white in colour. Every morning, at my request, the chief climbed one of these trees, on Which the fruit hung by the bushel, and sold me a basketful for a trifle. The lansat is so easily digested that one can eat it freely in the evening without inconvenience; in fact it is a decided aid to digestion. According to the natives these trees are plentiful in the utan, but in the kampong they, as well as the famous durian and the rambutan, have been raised from seed. Borneo certainly possesses fine wild fruits, but as the jungle is laborious to pass through it would be most difficult to find the trees. I have hitherto directed attention to the superior quality attained by the fruits of the island which are grown from imported stock, as the pineapple, pomelo, etc.

The usual nuisance of crowing cocks is not to be avoided in a Dayak kampong, though here they were few. I saw a hen running with a small chicken in her beak, which she had killed in order to eat it—a common occurrence according to the Penihings. The ludicrous self-sufficiency of the Bornean male fowls, at times very amusing, compensates to some extent for the noise they make, but they are as reckless as the knights-errant of old. Outside my tent at dawn one morning I noticed one of them paying devoted attention to a hen which was hovering her chickens. He stood several seconds with his head bent down toward hers, then walked round her, making demonstrations of interest, and again assumed his former position, she meanwhile clucking protectingly to her brood. Finally, he resolutely attacked her, whereupon she emitted a discordant shriek while seven or eight tiny yellow chicks streamed forth from underneath her; in response to her cry of distress another cock immediately appeared upon the scene and valiantly chased the disturber away.

No less than nine prahus started out one day, bound for Long Iram to buy salt and other goods, taking a small quantity of rattan. The following day, late in the afternoon, the party returned, having passed the night a short distance away. As they had approached Long Blu an omen bird, evidently a small woodpecker, had flown across their path in front of the first prahu, whereupon the whole flotilla at once retraced their course—a tedious day's trip against the current. It makes no difference whether this bird flies from left to right, or from right to left, or whether it crosses in front or behind the boat. If the bird is heard from the direction on the left of the party the augury is bad, whether he is seen or not. If heard from the right side everything is well. After waiting three days the party proceeded on their way.

There are seven omen birds, according to the Penihings, and they are regarded as messengers sent by a good antoh to warn of danger. For the same purpose he make a serpent pass in front of the prahu, or a rusa cry in the middle of the day. At night this cry is immaterial. The most inauspicious of all omens is the appearance of a centipede. If a man in a ladang is confronted with such an animal he at once stops work there and takes up a new field.

The tribal name of the Penihings is A-o-haeng. Until recently each kampong had from two to five spi, chiefs or rajas, one being superior to the others. The office was hereditary. There are still several rajas in one kampong, for instance, three in Long Tjehan. The Penihings have a practical turn of mind and though they usually tell the truth at times they may steal. They are the best workers among the tribes on the Mahakam River (above the great rapids) and on a journey they travel in their prahus day and night, resting only a couple of hours in the early morning. However, the custom of travelling at night may be due to fear of meeting omen birds.

The hair of the Penihings and the Oma-Sulings, though it looks black, in reality is brown with a slight reddish tint plainly visible when sunlight falls through it. I believe the same is the case with other Dayak tribes. In Long Tjehan I observed two natives who, though passing as Penihings, were of decidedly different type, being much darker in colour and of powerful build, one having curly hair while that of the other was straight. Penihing women have unpleasantly shrill voices, a characteristic less pronounced with the men. Members of this tribe are not so fine-looking as those of other tribes on the Mahakam, with the exception of the Saputans.

When leaving the kampong on his daily trips to the ladang, or when he travels, the Penihing carries his shield. Even when pig-hunting, if intending to stay out overnight, he takes this armour, leaving it however at his camping-place. A spear is also carried, especially on trips to the ladang. The sumpitan, called sawput, is no longer made and the tribe is not very apt at its use; therefore, being unable to kill the great hornbill themselves, these natives have to buy its highly valued tail feathers from the Punans. The latter and the Bukats, who are the greater experts in the use of the sumpitan, notwithstanding their limited facilities, are also the better makers, which is by no means a small accomplishment. These nomads, and to some extent the Saputans as well, furnish this weapon to all the Bahau tribes, the Kayans excepted.

When meeting, no salutations are made. The mother uses for her babe the same cradle in which she herself was carried on her mother's back. It is of the usual Dayak pattern, and when it becomes worn or broken a new one is provided, but the old one remains hanging in the house. A cradle is never parted with, because of the belief that the child's life would thereby be imperilled. Should the little one die, the cradle is thrown into the river. An unmarried man must not eat rusa nor fowls, and a married man is prohibited from doing so until his wife has had three children. Men should not touch with their hands the loom, nor the ribbon which is passed round the back of the woman when she weaves, nor should a woman's skirt be touched by a man. These precautions are taken to avoid bad luck in fishing and hunting, because the eyesight is believed to be adversely affected by such contact. Their sacred number is four.

An unusual game played with large tops is much practised for the purpose of taking omens in the season when the jungle is cleared in order to make new ladangs. The top (bae-ang) is very heavy and is thrown by a thin rope. One man sets his spinning by drawing the rope backward in the usual way; to do this is called niong. Another wishing to try his luck, by the aid of the heavy cord hurls his top at the one that is spinning, as we would throw a stone. To do this is called maw-pak, and hence the game gets its name, maw-pak bae-ang. If the second player hits the spinning top it is a good omen for cutting down the trees. If he fails, another tries his luck, and so on. The long-continued spinning of a top is also a favourable sign for the man who spins it. With the Katingans a hit means that it is advisable to cut the trees at once, while a miss necessitates a delay of three days. Every day, weather permitting, as soon as the men return from the ladangs in the evening, about an hour before sunset, this game is played on the space before the houses of the kampong. Sometimes only two men consult fate, spinning alternately. The same kind of top is found among the Kayans, Kenyahs, and other Dayak tribes.

According to the information I obtained from the Dayaks they believe that the soul has eternal existence, and although many tribes have the idea that during life several souls reside in one individual, after death only one is recognised, which is generally called liao. One or more souls may temporarily leave the body, thereby causing illness.

Neither in this life nor the next are there virtuous or sinful souls, the only distinction being in regard to social standing and earthly possessions, and those who were well-to-do here are equally so there. With the Katingans whatever is essential to life in this world is also found in the next, as houses, men, women, children, dogs, pigs, fowls, water-buffaloes, and birds. People are stronger there than here and cannot die. The principal clothing of the liao is the tatu marks, which it will always keep. The garments worn besides are new and of good quality. When my informant, a native official of Kasungan, who sports semi-civilised dress, expressed his disapproval of the poor wearing quality of his trousers to an old Katingan, the latter exclaimed: "That matters not. Above, all new ones!" In the belief of the Duhoi (Ot-Danums) the liao remains with the body until the funeral-house falls into decay, perhaps for twenty years, when it enters the soil and "is then poor." The idea of the Penihings about life after death is vague, and they do not pretend to know where the soul goes.

The Penihings acknowledge five souls, or batu, in each individual: one above each eye, one at either side of the chest below the arm, and one at the solar plexus. The souls above the eyes are able to leave their abiding-place, but the others can go only short distances. If the first-named depart the person becomes ill next day, the immediate cause being that a malevolent antoh, desiring to eat the victim, has entered the head through the top. On perceiving this the two souls located above the eyes escape and the blian is called upon to bring them back, for unless they return the afflicted one will die.

A fowl or a pig, or both, may then be killed and the blood collected. Some of it is smeared on the patient's forehead, head, and chest, the remainder being offered to antoh, both in plain form and mixed with uncooked rice, as has been described in Chapter XIX. When a fowl is sacrificed the empty skin, suspended from a bamboo stalk, is likewise reserved for antoh, the meat having been consumed, as usual, by those concerned.

As another effective means of inducing the return of the soul the blian sings for several hours during one night or more. In the Penihing tribe he accompanies himself by beating an especially made stringed shield. It is believed that the singer is able to see how the antoh caused the sickness: whether he did it by throwing a spear, by striking with a stick, or by using a sumpitan. In his efforts to restore the patient the blian is told what to sing by a good antoh that enters his head. Without such help no person can sing properly, and the object of the song is to prevail upon a beneficent spirit to eject or kill the evil one so that the souls may return.

The blian usually resorts also to feats of juggling, proceeding in the following way: Clasping his open hands forcibly together over the painful part, at the same time turning himself round and stamping on the floor, he wrings his hands for a few seconds and then, in sight of all, produces an object which in the Penihing conception represents a bad antoh—in fact, by them is called antoh. In this manner he may produce several bits of substance which are thrown away to disappear. According to belief, when the blian performs his trick it is in reality a good antoh that does it for him.

While we were in camp at Long Tjehan there was considerable singing at night for the cure of sick people, and four voices could be heard in different parts of the house at the same time. One night I was prevented from sleeping by a remedial performance just above my tent, which was only a few metres from the house. The clear, strong voice of the blian had resounded for an hour or more, when five loud thumps upon the floor were heard, as if something heavy had fallen. The fact was that the man had stamped hard with his right foot as by sleight-of-hand he caught various objects from the patient, producing in quick succession a piece of wood, a small stone, a fragment of bone, a bit of iron, and a scrap of tin. Five antohs, according to the Penihing interpretation, had been eradicated and had fled. Afterward he extracted some smaller ones in a similar manner but without stamping his foot. The singing was then continued by another man and a woman, in order to call the friendly antoh, that the exercises might be happily concluded.

The blian also tries to placate the malevolent antoh by the gift of food. A Penihing informant said that the evil one also eats the sacrificial blood, including that which is smeared on the patient, and ultimately may leave satisfied. As soon as the souls see that the antoh has gone they return and the victim recovers. The blian's remuneration is usually one parang and a handful of rice. If the person is very ill, a gong and a handful of rice is the fee, but should the patient die the gong is returned. The Duhoi (Ot-Danum) women occasionally put on men's costume, and vice versa, to frighten the antoh that causes illness and keep it at a distance. With the Katingans a good antoh is believed to reside in the saliva applied by the blian for healing purposes to that part of a body which is in pain. The saliva drives out the malevolent antoh, or, in other words, cures the pain.



CHAPTER XXIV

HEAD-HUNTING, ITS PRACTICE AND PURPOSE

The Penihings still live in dread of the head-hunting raids of the Ibans of Sarawak, and the probability of such attacks no doubt caused the recent establishment of a garrison at Long Kai. The Long-Glats on the Merasi, a northern tributary to the Mahakam, are also constantly on guard against the Ibans. Until lately these inveterate head-hunters would cross the mountains, make prahus, then travel down the Upper Mahakam, and commit serious depredations among the kampongs, killing whomsoever they could, the others fleeing to the mountains. As one Penihing chief expressed it to me: "The river was full of their prahus from the Kasao River to Long Blu." Their last visit was in 1912, when the Bukats reported that a number of Ibans had arrived at the headwaters of the river, but the raid did not materialise, and they retired without making prahus. These raids have naturally brought about much intermingling of the tribes on the Mahakam River, and sometimes three or more may be found living in one kampong.

About twenty years ago there was much fighting in these remote parts of Borneo among Penihings, Saputans, Penjabongs, and Bukats, each tribe making head-hunting raids into the dominions of another, and all being constantly exposed to the fury of the Ibans from the north. Head-hunting raids may include assaults on kampongs, but very often they are cowardly attacks on small groups of unsuspecting people, men, women, and children. The heads thus secured appear to be as highly valued as those acquired under more heroic conditions. The fact is also noteworthy that the heads of Malays are appreciated, but, with few exceptions, not those of white people. Several times I heard of Malay rattan or rubber gatherers who had been disposed of in that way. The head is severed by one stroke.

As a typical case of head-hunting I give the following description of a raid which, twelve years previous to my visit, was made by ten Bukats upon a small party of Saputans who were on a babi hunt. Among the Penyahbongs, Saputans, Punans, and Penihings a woman may accompany her husband or another man on the chase, carry a spear, and assist in killing pig or deer. Bear she does not tackle, but, as my informant said, "even all men do not like to do that." She also carries her own parang, with which she may kill small pigs and cut down obstacles in her path. The hunting-party, one man and three women, had been successful. The babi had been killed with spears and, in accordance with custom, the head had been cut off with a parang. The carcass had been cut up and the three women carried the meat in the coarse-meshed rattan bags on their backs, while the man bore the head on his shoulder, all homeward bound, when the Bukats attacked them. Only one woman escaped.

The slayers hurried off with the three heads, being afraid of the people of the kampong which was not far away. As usual the heads were tied by the hair to the handle of the shield, and were thus carried to the place where the rattan bags had been left, inside of which they were then placed.

After taking heads the men are on the run for two or three days, travelling at night with torches, and in the evening they make a big fire to dry the heads. The brains, because of the weight, may have been taken out the first evening; this is done through the foramen, and a hole is made with a spear point in the top of the skull. The hair has first been cut off and taken care of, to be tied as ornaments to shields or plaited round the handle of the sword. The Katingans, however, throw away the hair with the flesh. Apprehensive of pursuit, they may dry the head but a little while each night, grass being tied round it when carried. Sometimes damar is used to dry the flesh and the eyes.

The last night out the head-hunters always sleep near their kampong, and early next morning, while it is still dark, they come singing. The people of the kampong waken, array themselves in their best finery, and go to meet them, the women wearing their newest skirts and bringing pieces of nice cloth to present to the conquerors. The man who cut the head carries it suspended from his neck until it is taken from him by a woman who gives him the cloth to wear instead, possibly as a badge of heroism. It makes no difference whether this service is performed by his wife, an unmarried woman, or another man's wife. The singing ceases and all proceed to the kampong, to the house of the kapala, where the heads are hung from the beam at the head of the ladder, and the cloths which were bestowed upon the victors are returned to the women. The heads are left hanging, while for the festivities connected with their arrival a hut, called mangosang, is constructed, consisting of an airy shelter made of two rows of bamboo stalks supported against each other, and profusely adorned with the inevitable wood shavings.

The head-hunters, who must take their food apart from their associates and in the presence of the heads, now bring water from the river to boil rice, in bamboo, outside on the gallery. When the cooking is finished the heads are brought to take part in the meal, being hung near the place where the men are to eat and about half a metre above the floor, to be out of reach of dogs. A pinch of rice is put into the hole at the top of the skull and the head is addressed in the following words: "Eat this rice first. Don't be angry. Take care of me. Make this body of mine well." During the period of restrictions imposed on the hunters the heads remain at the same place, sharing the meals as described.

For twelve days the hunters do no work and refrain from eating meat, vegetables, fish, salt, and red pepper, rice being the only permissible food. They are obliged to take their food on the gallery, and those who have never been on such expeditions before must also sleep there during that time. A man who has taken part three or more times may join his wife, but he must take his meals on the gallery. When twelve days have passed no more food is given to the heads, which are hung on the beam again, three to five being placed together in a rattan basket, with leaves around them. At the triennial festival, tasa, blood of pig or fowl mixed with uncooked rice, is offered to the heads.

Usually the head-hunting raids were, and are still to a limited extent, carried far away into distant regions and may occupy several months. The Saputans, who were devotees to the custom, would go as far as the river Melawi in the southwest to Sarawak in the north, as well as to the Murung or Upper Barito River in the east. Sometimes only two to five men would go, but usually there were about ten—an equal number remaining behind in the kampong. Controleur W.J. Michielsen, quoted before, relates an instance of a Dayak from Serayan, whose daughter had been killed by a Katingan head-hunter, who pursued the marauders to their homes, and, on the occasion of the festivities incident to the return of the members of the raid, he cut the head from the murderer of his child while the celebration was in progress. His action was so sudden that they were totally unprepared, and no attempt was made to prevent his escape with the head.

In times gone by when a Saputan man, woman, or child died it was the custom for a member of the family to go forth to look for a head. In the case of an ordinary person one was deemed sufficient, but for a chief five to ten were necessary. When taking a head a cut was made in the slain man's chest with a parang; into the wound the raiders then put their forefingers and sucked the blood from them.

Each head-hunter carried rice in a rattan basket, but he depended for food mainly on sago-palms and wild animals that were killed. After such an expedition has been determined upon, the preparations may occupy a year or even longer, but usually about three months. When all is ready for a start, a delay of from one to four days may be caused by unfavourable interference of an omen bird. Should a bird chance to repeat the omen when another start is made, the party must return to the kampong and wait a long time. The Dayaks are very much guided in their actions by omens taken not only from birds but also from incidents, and merely to hear a certain bird is sufficient reason to change all plans.

When leaving their kampong to take part in an expedition to New Guinea the Penihings heard the cry of a bird called tarratjan, and requested the lieutenant in charge to wait four days. He replied, naturally, that the Company (government) does not employ birds in making decisions, and while the Dayaks offered no further objection they declared to him that one of them would surely die. According to my informant it so happened that before arriving at the island one man died. If at such a time a large tree should be seen falling, he said, then they would like to give up the trip to New Guinea entirely, but being afraid of the Company they go, notwithstanding the warning.

If a head-hunting party sees a large tree fall, the expedition is abandoned, and no young men who took part can ever join another venture of the same kind. Old and experienced men, after the lapse of a year, may resume operations. In case of meeting a centipede a head-hunting expedition must return immediately to the kampong, and for four years no such enterprise may be undertaken.

The purposes of head-hunting are manifold. The slain man is believed to change into a servant and assistant in the next life. When a chief dies it becomes an essential duty to provide him with heads, which are deposited on his grave as sacrifices, and the souls of which serve him in the next life. Heads taken for the benefit of kampong people are hung in the house of the kapala to counteract misfortune and to confer all manner of benefits. An important point is that the presence of the heads from other tribes, or rather of the souls residing in them, compels evil antohs to depart. A kampong thus becomes purified, free from disease. The killing of a fowl is not sufficient to accomplish this; that of a pig helps a little, a water-buffalo more, but to kill a man and bring the head makes the kampong completely clean.

With the Katingans a head hanging in the house is considered a far better guardian than the wooden figures called kapatongs, which play an important part in the life of that tribe. Any fear of resentment on the part of the liao (departed soul) residing in the head is precluded by their belief that the Katingan antoh gave him the order to watch.

"If no heads are brought in there will be much illness, poor harvest, little fruit, fish will not come up the river as far as our kampong, and the dogs will not care to pursue pigs," I was told by a Penihing who had taken part in a head-hunt and served his sentence in Soerabaia. "But are not people angry at losing their heads?" I asked him. "No," he answered, "we give the heads food on their arrival and every month afterward, and make fire every evening to keep them warm. If they feel cold, then they get angry." The man who has taken a head is considered a hero by the women, and if unmarried is certain to secure a desirable wife, but it is erroneous to assert that the taking of a head was or is a necessary condition to marriage.

The government of the Dutch Indies, with energy and success, is eradicating the evil head-hunting custom. Military expeditions involving great expense from time to time are sent into remote regions to capture a handful of culprits. By exercising tact it is not difficult finally to locate the malefactors, and indeed the tribe may deliver them. It must be remembered that the Dayaks themselves have no idea that there is anything wrong in taking heads, and the government very wisely does not impose the death penalty, but the transgressor is taken to Soerabaia, on Java, to undergo some years of hard labour—from four to six, I understand. To "go to Soerabaia" is extremely distasteful to the natives, and has proved a most effective deterrent. On account of their forced stay at this remote island city such Dayaks learn to speak Malay and several times I have employed them. They are usually among the best men of the kampong, resourceful, reliable, and intelligent, and may serve also as interpreters.

In his report on a journey to the Katingans in 1909 Captain J.J.M. Hageman says:

"By nature the Dayak is a good-tempered man. The head-hunting should not be charged against him as a dastardly deed; for him it is an adat. In the second place, he possesses very good traits of character, as evidenced by his hospitality and generosity. Our soldiers, some sixty in number, obtained a meal immediately in every kampong. When a Dayak goes on a journey in a friendly region he may be sure of receiving shelter and food in every house.

"They are distrustful of foreigners, but if he has gained their confidence they give assistance freely in every respect. Loving their liberty in a high degree they prefer not to be ordered. The cowardly manner in which they cut heads is no criterion of their courage."

It would not be in accordance with facts to suppose that head-hunting has altogether been eliminated in Borneo. It is too closely identified with the religious life of the natives, but in time a substitute probably will be found, just as the sacrifice of the water-buffalo supplanted that of slaves. The most recent case that came to my notice on the Mahakam was a Penihing raid from Long Tjehan to the Upper Barito five years previously, in which four Murung heads were taken.

It is extraordinary that such a revolting habit is practised in a race the ethics of which otherwise might serve as a model for many so-called civilised communities, these natives being free to an unusual degree from the fault of appropriating what belongs to others and from untruthfulness. The fact that the Dayaks are amiable in disposition and inclined to timidity renders this phase of their character still more inexplicable. The inevitable conclusion is that they are driven to this outrage by religious influences and lose their self-control. As of related interest I here note what Doctor J.M. Elshout, who had recently returned from Apo Kayan, communicated to me. He had spent three years at the garrison of Long Nawang among the fine Kenyahs and spoke the language. "As soon as one enters upon the subject of taking heads one no longer knows the Kenyah. Of his mild and pacific disposition little or nothing remains. Unbounded ferocity and wantonness, treachery and faithlessness, play a very great part; of courage, as we understand the meaning of the word, there is seldom a trace. It is a victory over the brua (soul) of the man who lost his head, and the slayer's own brua becomes stronger thereby. If opportunity is given they will take heads even if they are on a commercial trip. Outsiders, even if they have been staying a long time in the kampong, run a risk of losing their heads."



CHAPTER XXV

DEPARTURE FROM THE PENIHINGS—FRUIT-EATING FISH—ANOTHER CALL AT LONG PAHANGEI—A TRIP UP THE MERASI RIVER—GENIAL NATIVES—AN INOPPORTUNE VISIT—THE DURIAN, QUEEN OF ALL FRUITS

It became expedient to prepare for our farther journey down the river, but first I wanted to take some photographs and measurements of the kampong people; this, however, proved an impossible task because of the adverse influence of the reticent and conservative Raja Paron, who spoke not one word of Malay. Recently he had been shocked by the sale to me of two live specimens of the curious spectacled lemur (tarsius borneanus), which had been added to my collections. The raja was incensed with the man who sold them, because the makiki, as these animals are called, are regarded as antohs, and in their anger at being sold were making people ill. Therefore these new proceedings for which his sanction was asked were regarded by him with disapproval, and as a result of his opposition the people began to disappear in the direction of their ladangs. Fortunately, I had secured good material in both respects from Long Kai, and I began preparations for departure.

Prahus and a sufficient number of men were secured, and in the middle of July we started. On the Mahakam there never was any difficulty about getting men who were eager to gain their one rupia a day. The difficulty was rather the other way, and this morning the prahus were found to contain more paddlers than had been agreed upon, and seven surplus men had to be put ashore. On the river-banks at this time were noticeable trees bearing small fruit of a yellowish-red colour, and which were so numerous as to impart their hue to the whole tree. Violent movements in the branches as we passed drew our attention to monkeys, which had been gorging themselves with fruit and scampered away on our approach. Birds, naturally, like the fruit, and, strange to say, it is a great favourite with fish, many kinds of which, chiefly large ones such as the djelavat and salap, gather underneath the trees in the season. On the Mahakam and the Katingan this is an occasion for the Dayaks to catch much fish with casting-net, spears, or hooks. The tree, which in Malay is called crevaia, is not cut, and there is no other known to the natives the fruit of which the fish like to eat. Though not sweet, it is also appreciated by the Dayaks.

Another singular observation made on the Mahakam was the effect of dry weather on the jungle. At one place, where it covered hills rising from the river, the jungle, including many big trees, looked dead. From what I later learned about the burning of the peat in Sarawak, where unusually dry weather may start fires which burn for months, this was undoubtedly also the case here, but it seems strange that in a country so humid as Borneo the weather, although admittedly of little stability, may become dry enough to destroy the woods in this manner.

I had decided to pay another short visit to Long Pahangei, where we arrived in the afternoon, and again we were among Oma-Sulings. Some good specimens were added to my ethnographic collections, among them wearing apparel for both sexes said to be over a hundred years old and which I bought from the Raja Besar, who was visiting here. He possessed a number of old implements and weapons of considerable interest. The raja of a near-by kampong arrived on his way to Long Iram, and the largest of his seven prahus was of unusual dimensions, measuring, at its greatest width, 1.34 metres over all. Although the board, four centimetres thick, stands out a little more than the extreme width of the dugout, which is the main part of a prahu, still the tree which furnished the material must have been of very respectable size.

The Raja Besar showed great desire to accompany me on an excursion up the Merasi River, a northern affluent within the domain of the same tribe. My preference was for Lidju, my constant assistant, but on the morning of our start the great man actually forced himself into service, while the former, who had been told to come, was not to be seen. The raja began giving orders about the prahus and behaved as if he were at home. As I remained passive he finally said that he wanted to know whether he could go; if I preferred Lidju he would remain behind. Not wanting a scene, and as he was so intent on going, I gave the desired permission. Though, like the others, he was nude except for a loin-cloth, Raja Besar was a gentleman at heart, but he did not know how to work, especially in a prahu. On account of his exalted position he had never been accustomed to manual labour, but always to command. He naturally selected a place in my prahu and seated himself at one side, which kept the boat tilted; however, it was out of the question for any of the men to correct him. When the prahu moved away the first thing he did was to wash his feet, next his hands and arms, finally to rinse his mouth, and several times during the trip the performance was repeated. He was of little assistance except through the authority that he exerted as a great raja.

Early in the afternoon we arrived at Lulo Pakko (lulo = river; pakko = edible fern), situated in a beautiful hilly country. The natives very obligingly helped to make camp in the usual way. Raja Besar, who made himself at home in the gallery of the long communal house, told me that he wanted his "children," as he called the men, to remain until the following day, his plan being to obtain double wages for them. With the swift current, however, they could easily return the same day, so I said I had no objection to their staying, but that they would receive no extra pay for the additional time; whereupon they left without argument.

Comfortably established on the cool, spacious gallery of the large house, I received articles they were willing to sell, had decorative designs interpreted for me, and interviewed the more intelligent of these pleasant Oma-Sulings. On the floor lay an admirably finished plank, which was used as a seat; it was about four centimetres thick and nearly two metres broad, the bark remaining on the edges. In Long Pahangei I noticed a similar one of slightly narrower width.

The women, who were genial in their manners, came to my tent constantly to ask for tobacco, which evidently was a great luxury with them, and sometimes they were even troublesome. One afternoon when all was ready for my bath, which I always take at one side of the tent opening, three young women came and seated themselves just outside. While the natives are always welcome and I like them, yet I was not prepared, after a hard day's work, to relinquish my bath in order to receive a visit from even attractive ones of the fair sex. There was simply nothing to do but to disregard their presence. Calmly I began to take off my clothes, as if the ladies were not there. At first my preparations seemed to make no impression whatever, but finally, when I was about to divest myself of the last of my few garments, they smiled and went away.

This was the season for the durian fruit and we much enjoyed this delicacy, of which Mr. A.R. Wallace, fifty years ago, wrote: "To eat durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience." There were some superb trees seventy metres high growing not far from my tent, and many others farther away. The people of the Mahakam do not climb these tall trees to get the fruit, but gather them from the ground after it has fallen. One night I heard one fall with a considerable crash. Roughly speaking, it is of the size of a cocoanut; a large one might kill a man and has been known to cause serious injury. It is most dangerous for children to walk under the trees in the fruit season.

The durian is intensely appreciated by the natives, and tatu marks representing the fruit are strikingly prominent in Central Borneo. It also has its European devotees, though most of them take a dislike to it on account of its strong odour, resembling that of decayed onions. On my arrival in Batavia one of my first trips had been to the market to buy a durian, which I brought to the hotel with anticipation of great enjoyment. My disappointment was great, its taste being to me as offensive as its odour. Nobody knows what a durian is like until he eats one that has been permitted to ripen and fall to the ground. Even in Java this would be difficult, unless one made special arrangements with the natives who bring them to the market-places. It is popularly supposed that the durian is an aphrodisiac, but that is not the case. Any food or fruit that one greatly enjoys acts favourably on the digestive organs, and therefore makes one feel in vigorous condition.

Those that were brought to me on this occasion, and which had just fallen from the tree, were of a fresh green colour with a streak of yellow here and there and had a pleasant, rich odour. The most satisfactory way to eat it is with a spoon; the pulp, though rich, is not heavy, and, moreover, is stimulating. It serves the purpose of a dessert, with a flavour and delicacy that is indescribable and that makes one feel happy. Among the great enjoyments of life are the various delicious fruits when really ripe and of the best grade, but comparatively few people have that experience. The vast majority are perfectly satisfied to eat fruit that was picked green and matured afterward. Many years ago I tasted a real orange from New-South-Wales, and ever since I have disdained the more acid kind.

My firmness in refusing to pay the men for more time than was necessary produced a salutary effect upon Raja Besar. He fixed fair prices on things I wanted to buy, which before he had not done, and I made him tie labels on the specimens I bought. As he was truthful, he finally served as well as Lidju. On the last day of our stay he helped me to repress the eagerness of the Dayaks to "turn an honest penny." The prahus, besides being defective, were not large enough for many men, and I was determined not to have more than three in each, a quite sufficient number when going downstream. I have a suspicion that he objected to four for reasons of personal safety.

Owing to the rapid current, we made the return voyage in two hours, and when we got to the Mahakam River we found it very much swollen, with logs floating downstream beside us. Our low-lying prahus were leaking and the situation was not agreeable, though I should have felt more anxious had I not been with Dayaks, who are extremely able boatmen. At Long Pahangei the captain from Long Iram, who is also the controleur of that district, had arrived and was waiting on account of the overflow of the river. I had an hour's talk with this pleasant man, who thinks that the Dayaks on the Upper Mahakam ultimately must die out because they do not have enough children to perpetuate the tribe. He said that in 1909, when he was stationed at Puruk Tjahu, nothing was known about the country where we then were.

The Oma-Sulings, according to their traditions, came from Apo Kayan nearly two hundred years ago. Oma means place of abode; Suling is the name of a small river in Apo Kayan. They had at the time of my visit six kampongs on the Upper Mahakam, the largest of which is Long Pahangei, with about 500 inhabitants. Material for clothing is no longer woven, but is bought in Long Iram. This is probably also the case with the Long-Glats, but the Penihings still do some weaving.



CHAPTER XXVI

AMONG THE LONG-GLATS—IS FEAR OF EXPOSURE TO THE SUN JUSTIFIED?— CHARACTERISTICS OF THE LONG-GLATS—GOOD-BYE TO THE MAHAKAM

In the latter part of July we went to the near-by kampong, Long Tujo ("a small animal with many legs"), situated at the mouth of another small tributary to the Mahakam. Here live Long-Glats who are located below the other Bahau peoples of the river and are found as far as Batokelau, between the upper and lower rapids. Though Long Iram is rather distant—five days' travel down-stream, and, if the river is high, perhaps two months may be consumed in returning—still its influence was evidenced by the several umbrellas I saw, all black, an adaptation from the high-class Malays and an unusual sight in these parts. The kapala of this large kampong resembled a Malay raja, in that he always carried an umbrella when he walked and looked pale because the sun was not allowed to shine upon him. Two days later, when I photographed the ladies performing dances, they had at least five of these fashionable contrivances.

It may be stated that natives of the Dutch Indies are generally afraid of the sun. Well-to-do Malays carry umbrellas as a protection against it. In Batavia I read in the newspapers that the Sultan of Priok, when visiting an aviation camp, was so overcome by the heat that he had to be carried away, regaining consciousness on arriving at his quarters. However, the attack may have been induced to some extent by general lack of exercise and the indolent life that characterises his compatriots who occupy high positions.

Even some of the pagan tribes protect their heads, as the Katingans, the Duhoi, and others, who make beautiful sunshades, which also serve in case of rain, and this was not learned from the Malays. In the Bornean tribes that I visited, until the child is old enough to walk, the sun is not allowed to shine upon it even for a moment. The blacks of Australia, on the other hand, who are in a state of absolute nudeness, pay no attention to the sun, though in common with most natives of hot countries they usually prefer to follow the example of the animals and remain quiet in the middle of the day.

An umbrella of the usual type, Chinese or Japanese, is very useful for travel in Borneo. At times it proves of excellent service in the prahu in case of sudden showers, and it is invaluable for protecting the camera when photographing. But as a matter of comfort and convenience it is my custom to have my head uncovered except in rainy or cold weather. The sun is a great friend and health-giver, and notwithstanding well-meant warnings and an inborn fear first to be overcome, during my journeys in Borneo I carried my hat in my pocket. When travelling in a prahu, I do not care for a prolonged exposure to the sun, but often I photographed for three or four hours continuously—really hard work—in the blazing light of the equatorial sun, without experiencing any disagreeable effect. In the spring of 1910 I travelled in this way for three months, mostly on horseback, through the Sonora Desert, and felt stronger for it. It is my opinion that overfatigue, excess in eating, or alcohol are the causes of sunstroke. I have met only one man who, like myself, discards cover for the head—Doctor N. Annandale, of the Indian Museum in Calcutta. Although in our present state of knowledge I agree with him that it is unwise to advise others to do likewise in the tropics, I emphatically recommend less fear of the sun in temperate regions, always on the supposition that one leads a healthy and sane life.

The Long-Glats came from Apo Kayan, and established themselves first on the River Glit, a tributary from the south to the River Ugga, which again is an affluent to the River Boh, the outlet from Apo Kayan to the Mahakam. Since that time the people have called themselves Long-Glit, which is their correct name, but as they have already become known as Long-Glat, through the Dutch, I shall use that designation.

In the kapala's house I saw a superb plank, four metres long, raised lengthwise against the wall; one side of it was taken up with fine carvings on a large scale, representing three pairs of dogs. This I fortunately obtained. The kapala's father was an Oma-Suling, but his grandmother, a Long-Glat, had taught him some kremi or kesa, the Malay words for folklore (in Long-Glat, lawong), and I collected from him two rather interesting tales, which are included with other folklore stories at the end of this book. In one of them (No. 18) the airplane is foreshadowed, and by one that could fly for a month, at that. Needless to state, an airplane had never been heard of in those parts.

The people were inquisitive but more distant than the other tribes I had visited, a quality which is often a saving grace. They were very willing to be photographed, and among my subjects were three women of the nobility, called rajas, who had many coins sewn on their skirts in a way that looked quite well. One wore a head ornament such as I had not seen before, an elaborate affair lying over the hair, which was worn loose and hanging down the back. One man trembled noticeably when before the camera, without spoiling the photograph, however, though it was a side-view.

Of the women who helped me with the interpretations of designs, one had a marked Mongolian fold of the eye, though her eyes could scarcely be said to be placed obliquely. As far as my observations go, the Mongolian fold is very slight with the natives of Borneo, or not present at all, and the obliquity of the eyes is seldom striking. The Long-Glats do not tatu much, many not at all, but generally they have on the left upper arm a picture of the nagah in its usual representation with the disproportionately large dog's mouth. Wild cattle are not eaten here. The great hornbill, as well as the red and white hawk, may be killed, but are not eaten.

Three times a day the women bring water and take baths, while the men bathe when fancy dictates. Penihing and Kayan women begin to husk rice about five o'clock in the morning, while it is still dark. That is pemli (forbidden) among the Long-Glats, but the women cook rice at that hour, and, after eating, most of the people depart to the ladangs, returning about four o'clock in the afternoon. The women who remain in the kampong place paddi on mats in the sun to dry, and at noon they husk rice. Early in the afternoon, and again about two hours after sunset, meals are served, consisting always of boiled rice and a simple stew of boiled vegetables of one or more kinds (called sayur, a Malay word), and sometimes pork.

In the evening the women may cut rattan into fine strips, or weave these into mats, while the men employ themselves in making a sheath for a parang, or an axe-handle, or carving a hilt for a sword, etc. They talk till late at night and sometimes sing. None of the Bahau people are able to make rattan mats of such exquisite finish as the Long-Glats. The beautiful dull-red colour employed is procured from a certain grass which is crushed and boiled, the rattan being kept in the infusion one day. The black colour is obtained by the same method from the leaves of a tree, and both colours are lasting.

In the belief of the Long-Glats, people should not laugh at animals, lest some misfortune result. For instance, when dogs fight among themselves or with cats, one should not indulge in mirth, else the thunder, which is an antoh, becomes angry and makes somebody ill. In this kampong was a young hornbill which was quite domesticated and frequently came to rest on the top of my tent. It often fought the hens and even the dogs, which was an amusing sight, but would carry disquieting significance to the Dayak who allowed himself to laugh. The lieutenant from Long Kai possessed a very tame wah-wah which had accompanied him on a visit here. The natives told me that a child had become ill because she could not help laughing at the ape when it ran after the lieutenant and climbed one of his legs. According to the blian, the little girl was very warm and feverish, but he sang in the night, and next day she was well.

Considerable similarity is evident in customs, manners, and beliefs of the Long-Glats and the Oma-Sulings, though the limited time at my disposal did not permit me fully to investigate this subject. Bear-meat is not eaten by either, and rusa (deer) and kidyang are not killed, the latter especially being avoided. Sumpitans are bought, and blians' shields such as the Penihings have are not made. Both these tribes pray for many children, which to them means larger ladangs and much food. The wish of these peoples is to have ten children each. In view of the fact that in Long Pahangei the number of women was disproportionately small, the desire for large families seemed unlikely to be gratified. Many men, some of them old, were unmarried, but no women were single. Twins sometimes occur, but not triplets. The mother nourishes her offspring for about five years, the two youngest suckling at the same time. A raja may marry ten women, or more, and has a great marriage-feast of more than a week's duration. Lidju, my Long-Glat assistant, said that his father had fifteen wives, his grandfather thirty, but it was no longer the fashion to have so many. The common man (orang kampong) is allowed only one wife. Divorces are easily obtained, and neither suicide nor abortion is known.

July is supposed to be the dry season, but rarely a day passed without showers. One evening occurred the heaviest thunder-storm I experienced in Borneo. It came from the west and was accompanied by a great downpour, straining my tent to the utmost. The sergeant one day brought in a large lizard (varanus) which he shot from the prahu just as it was about to enter the river. Its length was 2.30 metres; the circumference back of the fore legs 44 centimetres.

It was with regret that I said good-bye to the Bahau peoples. Had it been in my power, I should like to have spent years instead of months in this Mahakam region. The Dayaks here are friendly to strangers, and as the great rapids farther down the river form a natural barrier, they seldom receive visitors, therefore are little changed by outside influence. The Malays have never been able to extend their influence above the rapids, and whatever modification may be noticeable in the natives is chiefly due to their journeys to Long Iram in order to exchange the products of the utan for commodities of the outside world. The government has exerted itself to keep the Malays from coming, but no doubt in the end this will prove as unavailing as it did on the Upper Barito. A few of them now and then find their way across the range that forms a natural boundary toward the south, and although thus far Malay settlement up here is negligible, its ultimate ascendancy is probable, however long the time that may pass before it is accomplished.



CHAPTER XXVII

CONTINUING THE JOURNEY DOWN THE RIVER—GREAT KIHAMS—BATOKELAU—AT LONG IRAM—LAST STAGES OF OUR JOURNEY—ARRIVAL AT SAMARINDA—HINDU ANTIQUITIES—NATIVE'S SUPERIORITY TO CIVILISED MAN

Early in August, as soon as the river had receded sufficiently to be considered favourable for travel, we started in seven prahus with thirty-two men. After less than two hours' swift journey we encountered the advance-guard of the kihams, which, though of little account, obliged us to take ashore almost all our goods, and we walked about fifteen minutes. It seemed a very familiar proceeding. Early in the afternoon we arrived at the kubo, a desirable shelter that had been erected at the head of the first great kiham, but its limited accommodations were taxed to overflowing by our arrival. Already camped here were a few Buginese traders and a raja from the Merasi River, accompanied by two good-looking wives, who were all going to Long Iram and had been waiting two days for the river to fall. The raja, who presented me with some bananas, moved with his family a little farther down the river, and I put up my tent as usual.

Next morning the transportation of our goods on human backs was begun, and shortly after six o'clock I started with the men to walk to the foot of the rapids, which takes about three hours. On the way, I observed a large accumulation of vines and branches heaped round the base of a tall trunk which at first sight looked dead. The tree to all appearances had died, all the branches had fallen, and with them the vines, orchids, ferns, etc., that had lived on it, but after being rid of all this burden it came to life again, for at the top appeared small branches with large leaves. A singular impression was created by the big heap of vegetable matter, not unlike a burial-mound, from the midst of which emerged the tall, straight trunk with the fresh leaves at the top, telling the tale of a drama enacted in the plant world through which the tree had passed triumphantly.

My camping-place was a small clearing on the high river-bank, where I remained two days while the goods were being transported. There had been little rain for a few days; indeed, it is possible the dry season had begun, and the weather was intensely hot, especially in the middle of the day. I catalogued a number of photographic plates, but the heat in my tent, notwithstanding the fly, made perspiration flow so freely that it was difficult to avoid damage. Moreover, I was greatly annoyed by the small yellow bees, which were very numerous. They clung to my face and hair in a maddening manner, refusing to be driven away. If caught with the fingers, they sting painfully.

The river fell more than one metre during the first night, and the Merasi raja's party passed in their prahus at seven o'clock next morning. At twelve our seven prahus showed up, bringing some large packages that could easiest be spared in case anything happened. The following day the remainder of the baggage arrived, carried on the backs of the men, and I was glad to have all here safe and dry.

In a couple of hours we arrived in the kampong Batokelau (turtle), and below are other rapids which, though long, are less of an obstacle. A beautiful mountain ridge, about 1,200 metres high, through which the river takes its course, appears toward the southeast. The population includes fifty "doors" of Busangs, forty "doors" of Malays, and twenty of Long-Glats. Crocodiles are known to exist here, but do not pass the rapids above. The kapala owned a herd of forty water-buffaloes, which forage for themselves but are given salt when they come to the kampong. When driven to Long Iram, they fetch eighty florins each. The gables of the kapala's house were provided with the usual ornaments representing nagah, but without the dog's mouth. He would willingly have told me tales of folklore, but assured me he did not know any, and pronounced Malay indistinctly, his mouth being constantly full of sirin (betel), so I found it useless to take down a vocabulary from him.

Continuing our journey, we successfully engineered a rapid where a Buginese trader two weeks previously had lost his life while trying to pass in a prahu which was upset. Afterward we had a swift and beautiful passage in a canyon through the mountain ridge between almost perpendicular sides, where long rows of sago-palms were the main feature, small cascades on either side adding to the picturesqueness. At the foot of the rapids we made camp in order to enable me to visit a small salt-water accumulation in the jungle a couple of kilometres farther down the river. As we landed near the place, we saw over a hundred pigeons leaving. There were two kinds of these birds at the pool, most of them of a very common large variety, with white head and green wings, and all were shy; according to the opinion of the Dayaks, owing to the prevalence of rain.

Next morning we started shortly after six o'clock, and early in the afternoon reached the kampong Omamahak, which is inhabited by Busangs, with a sprinkling of Malays. Two hours later twenty-one prahus arrived from Apo Kayan with one hundred and seventy-nine Kenyahs on their way to Long Iram to carry provisions to the garrison. Soon afterward the captain of Long Iram overtook us here, returning from his tour of inspection above, so the place became very populous. The next night we stopped at Hoang Tshirao, inhabited by a tribe of the same name, also called Busang, apparently quite primitive people. The kampong was neat and clean; there were many new wooden kapatongs, as well as small wooden cages on poles, evidently serving for sacrificial offerings. The following day we arrived at Long Iram.

Of comparatively recent origin, the town lies on level land, and its inhabitants outside the garrison are Malays, Chinese, and Dayaks. The street is long, extremely well kept, and everything looks orderly and clean, while before the captain's house were many beautiful flowers. The pasang-grahan, which is in a very quiet locality, is attractive and has two rooms. One was occupied by an Austrian doctor in the Dutch military service, who was on his way to Long Nawang, while I appropriated the other. He was enthusiastic over the superb muscles of the Kenyahs who had just arrived and were camping in a house built for such occasions on top of a small hill a short distance away. Cows, brown in colour, were grazing in a large field near by, and I enjoyed the unusual luxury of fresh milk—five small bottles a day. After I had bathed and put on clean garments, even though my linen-mesh underclothing was full of holes, I felt content in the peaceful atmosphere.

The doctor of Long Iram, who had been here one year, told me that no case of primary malaria had come to his notice. What the Malays call demum is not the genuine malaria, but probably due to the merotu, a troublesome little black fly. One of his predecessors had collected 1,000 mosquitoes, out of which number only 60 were anopheles. There was framboisia here, for which the natives use their own remedies. The temperature at the warmest time of the day is from 90 to 95 Fahrenheit; at night, 75 to 80. There is much humidity, but we agreed that the climate of Borneo, especially in the interior, is agreeable.

It was extraordinary how everything I had brought on this expedition was just finished. The day before I had had my last tin of provisions; the milk was gone except ten tins, which would carry me through to Samarinda, a four days' journey; the candles were all used; the supply of jam exhausted; tooth-brushes no longer serviceable; my clothes in rags. Fortunately I had more stores in Bandjermasin. The rot-proof tents which I bought in England were to some extent a disappointment because they deteriorated even though not in actual use, or possibly because of that fact. On account of the delay caused by the war the bulk of my considerable tent outfit was not unpacked until two years after purchase. It had been carefully kept, but was found to be more or less like paper, and only a small portion could be used. One tent served me throughout Bornean travels, but finally the quality of the fabric became impaired to a degree which necessitated constant patching; it was made to last only by the exercise of great care and with the aid of a fly, three of these having been used on this expedition. If a journey to a country climatically like Borneo is planned to last only a year, rot-proof tents may be recommended on account of their light weight and great convenience.

The enterprising Kenyahs offered to sell me the model of a raja's funeral-house which seven of them made while there. Most of the material evidently had been brought with them. It was an interesting sample of their handicraft. At the house of the first lieutenant I was shown several similar models, some with unusual painted designs, which were eloquent testimonials to the great artistic gifts of this tribe. I also bought a small earthen jar. One of the natives who was able to speak some Malay said that such ware is common in Apo Kayan and is used for cooking rice. The poison for the dart of the blow-pipe is also boiled in earthenware vessels. The jars, which are sometimes twenty-five centimetres in diameter, are protected on journeys by being encased in rattan netting. The Kenyahs are perhaps the most capable of all the natives of Borneo. Of the one hundred and seventy-nine visiting members of the tribe, only one was afflicted with the skin diseases so prevalent among many of the other Dayaks, and, according to Doctor J. M. Elshout, syphilis is not found among those of Apo Kayan.

The steamship connection with Samarinda is irregular, and as a small transport steamer was making ready to take away its usual cargo of rattan and rubber, I decided to avail myself of the opportunity. The commercial products are loaded in a fair-sized boat, which is made fast to the side of the steamer, and a similar one may be attached to the other side. Such boats, which are called tonkang, also take passengers, mostly Malay and Chinese, but there are no cabins, and the travellers spread their mats on the limited deck according to mutual agreement.

A swarm of Kenyahs began at seven o'clock to convey our baggage, and the soldiers later reported that there was not even standing-room left. I climbed on board and found rattan piled high everywhere, covering even the steps that led up to the "passenger-deck," where I emerged crawling on all fours. A shelter of duck had been raised for me in one corner, the lieutenant and Mr. Loing placed their beds in the adjoining space, while the soldiers camped next to them. All the natives, packed closely together, formed another row.

The most necessary of my belongings were stored inside the shelter, and there I passed the four days quite comfortably. On account of many noises, including that made by the engine, reading was impossible, so I employed the time in mending two suits of my precious linen-mesh underwear which was rapidly going to shreds, without prospect of opportunity to replace them in the Far East. Morning and afternoon the Malays on deck held their Mohammedan services, apparently singing in Arabic, and during the night the sailors sang much. There were two rough bath-rooms, but I bathed only once, as I was afraid of losing my slippers or other articles that were liable to drop into the river through the intervals between the narrow boards of the floor.

We travelled steadily day and night, but stopped at many kampongs to take on more cargo, and an additional tonkang was attached, which relieved some of the congestion on ours. One afternoon the monotony was relieved by a fight in the kitchen of the little steamer, when a sudden thumping sound of nude feet against the floor was heard and boiled rice flew about. But it was very soon over, evidently only an outburst of dissatisfaction with the cook; somebody called for the Malay captain and we heard no more about it.

There was a Bombay Mohammedan merchant on board who had small stores of groceries and dry-goods on the Kutei River, as the Mahakam is called in its lower course. He also spoke of the hundreds of thousands of Hindus who live in South Africa. On the last day of our journey a remarkably tame young snake bird was brought on board, which one of the sailors bought. According to reports, there are many of these birds on the river. He tied it to the stern railing until night, when he put it on top of the cargo, apprehending that it might try to dive if tempted by the constant sight of the water. When asleep it curled itself up in an extraordinary manner, the long neck at first glance giving it a serpent-like appearance. It cried for fish and showed absolutely no fear.