Chapter V: Part 5

As the day’s journey closed at Juman’s house, Juman very naturally claimed the privilege of acting as host to this large party. Furthermore, was he not the indirect,—but most happy cause, of this delightful war? Was not its joyous pretext to avenge his wrongs? Surely it was his pleasant duty then to feed the warriors royally. (And let me say in parenthesis that to supply, at a few hours’ notice, food and lodging for four or five hundred men might well task any hospitality save that of a Bornean.) Accordingly, his boats had pushed on ahead at the double quick, and reached his house several hours before us. When the forty or fifty canoes (with an average of at least ten men to a canoe) drew up to Juman’s beach, the slaughtering of pigs and fowls was still going on, and great troughs full of boiled rice were in preparation. In order not to be in the way, the whole army filled in the spare time by bathing in the river, and by washing their chawats, (_waist-cloths_,) which were spread out on the pebbly beach, and, until they were dried, the owners remained in the water. Before dark, all were summoned to the supper, which was spread in the veranda for the common folk, and in Juman’s own room for the select few. In two rows on the floor down the centre of the whole length of Juman’s room, where we dined, were squares of banana leaf, each one piled high with boiled rice, and beside each cover stood a little bowl of wood or of coarse china, filled with cubes of boiled pork and chicken. Between the rows, about every three feet, were large wooden bowls heaped with pulverised salted fish; these bowls were in common, all hands might dive into them for a savory pinch. As soon as all were squatted, some began to fall to at once; whereupon Juman shouted the obligatory welcome, ‘Kuman plahei plahei,’ which, as I have said, means _eat slowly_. He had no shade of fear that his guests would not eat heartily,—the duration of the meal must be long,—‘the linked sweetness long drawn out.’ Mrs. Juman and little Miss Juman (I failed to catch their names when I was presented), and several little Jumans were ubiquitous in their zeal that all should be helped, that every one should have plenty; when this was assured, they sat on one side and helped themselves. It was a remarkably quiet feast, all attention was absorbed in disposing of the food with neatness, and, in spite of the injunction of Kuman plahei plahei, with dispatch. Considering that all the eating was performed without knife, fork, spoon, or even chop-sticks, the cleanliness with which they all ate, brought a blush to our cheeks when we contemplated the quantity of rice scattered about our places when we had finished.

Darkness closed in soon after supper; the men all gathered in groups in the veranda. Again and again the stories about the hiding-place of the enemy were rehearsed, and those who had been among the fortunate discoverers of this hiding-place never lacked an interested party of listeners, who accepted implicitly every embellishment which each repetition brought forth. The plans for the expedition to the clearings on the following day were discussed, and, in a sort of Council of War, it was finally decided that the whole band should preserve as closed ranks as possible, and sedulously use every expedient in the jungle to indicate to the foe their formidable numbers. In case the enemy had scattered only to reassemble, its scouts would become aware of the perfectly equipped and enormous force with which it had to deal. (I mention these details to show that this expedition was not a mere armed mob, but that the leaders had some inkling of the rudiments of genuine tactics.) Every one was keen for the fight; a protracted peace on the Baram had made the people restless; the heads hanging from the rafters in the houses were becoming exceedingly dusty, and their beneficent virtue was, possibly, evaporating.

ON THE OUTSIDE IS PAINTED A SQUATTING FIGURE, WITH THE ARMS HOOKED UNDER THE BEND OF THE KNEES, AND WITH A LARGE, GRINNING FACE, AND WIDE, STARING EYES AND LONG TUSKS. COVERING THE PAINTING ARE ROWS AND TUFTS OF HUMAN HAIR, CUT FROM THE HEADS OF SLAIN ENEMIES. ON THE INSIDE OF THE SHIELDS ARE USUALLY FIGURES OF MEN OR WOMEN; IT IS SAID THAT THE FIGURES OF WOMEN ARE PAINTED THERE SO THAT THE WARRIOR MAY BE CONSTANTLY REMINDED OF HIS WIFE AND FAMILY AT HOME, FOR WHOSE BENEFIT AND HONOUR HE IS STRIVING TO BRING BACK A FRESH HEAD. IN THE SHIELD HERE PHOTOGRAPHED, THE PATTERNS ABOVE AND BELOW THE FIGURES ARE EVIDENTLY DESIGNED FROM THE PECULIAR CURVES OF THE BEAK AND HORNY CREST OF THE HORN-BILL, THE WAR-BIRD OF ALL THE TRIBES. THESE DESIGNS ARE ALMOST INVARIABLE IN THE DECORATION OF KAYAN SHIELDS.]

By the time, however, that all the excited rumors of the number of the foe, and of its movements, had been thoroughly sifted, I think I could detect indications that several of the older and cooler headed Chiefs began to waver in their belief that there would be after all any desperate conflict; possibly even, that this fierce show, with all the paraphernalia of war, would in itself prove all-sufficient, and that the enemy would be so intimidated that it would make no stand.

As the evening wore on and the damar lamps burned low with fitful sputters, I deserted the Council of War, and joined a group where care had been cast to the winds, and, by tacit consent, the evening before the battle was to be as gay and festive as possible. A youth was playing on the kaluri, and a sharp-featured man of middle age was the bard; he had a deep bass voice and seemed to be widely recognized as the possessor of an endless repertoire of songs,—every song that was called for, be it war-like, be it pastoral, be it of love, or be it of the nursery, he was familiar with, and at once launched into the solo, while the rest joined in the refrain.

I could not follow word for word these Kayan songs, which are often, no doubt, quite ancient. The unwritten languages of all the Polynesian races are subject to remarkably rapid modifications; wherefore the songs and legends which preserve their original form are very difficult for modern and foreign ears to understand. Juman sat cross-legged next to me, and interpreted to me in Malay, from time to time, fragments of the songs; one, I remember, had a very _catchy_ rhythm with a constant refrain ‘_Tama Poyong kapei paha, Ara wi wi ará_.’ According to Juman, it was a woful ballad rehearsing the lament of a young girl to her mother because she had been commanded to marry ‘Tama Poyong, with the twisted leg;’ her plaintive objections to Tama Poyong as a husband, on various grounds, sent Juman and all the rest of the group into such fits of laughter that they could hardly join in the chorus, and, of course, I laughed in sympathy. Another song was of the workers in the fields, and then followed a minute account of the harvest-festival, when women dress like men in nothing but a chawat, and parade about the house in a long procession carrying shield, parang, and spear. The solo singer sat in the centre of the group, and with a smile glanced here and there about him in a half-embarrassed way, keeping time to his song by twirling the free end of his chawat round and round in front of him, and at times, for emphasis, whacking it down on his knee. Whenever women were represented as speaking, he broke into a high falsetto.

So the evening wore on till one by one the singers crept away, and soon, wrapped in their long, white cotton coverings, were stretched along the veranda like a row of corpses in shrouds.

The next morning the excitement in getting off in the boats that there had been at Long Lama was repeated. Eight or ten more canoes from up-river joined us just as we set out, making the total number of the fleet at least sixty, carrying about six hundred,—truly a very formidable army of keen, savage warriors. After ascending the river a short distance, the canoes fell into single file and turned into a narrow tributary stream, leading up to the rice-clearings.

On both sides, trees arched over the stream in a dense canopy; thick with orchids, ferns, and vines, which sent their blossoms, roots, and tendrils down, in heavy masses, almost sweeping our heads; gorgeous butterflies flickered and fluttered in their uncertain flight just above the surface of the water or gathered, like flaming jewels, on patches of mud on the banks; hordes of monkeys, aroused by the unusual bustle and turmoil on the river, peered, and chattered, and jeered at us from a safe distance above; while the harsh and deep-toned calls of the horn-bills boomed and echoed from the depths of the jungle.

For several hours we zigzagged up the stream, following the deeper courses where the current ran less swift, under shady, far-reaching boughs, whose tips dabbled in the rippling water; gradually the stream narrowed and ran between rocks and pebbled islands. Paddles were ineffectual against the swift current, and the men halted to cut poles. One by one, the long line of canoes again moved off, the men grunting in chorus at each shove of the poles, whose successive movements travelled along the line like the rippling legs of a centipede; the man in the bow raises his pole and sweeps it ahead for a fresh hold, then the next man behind, on the opposite side of the boat, does likewise with the same motion, and so down the whole line, each waiting till the man in front has his pole firmly fixed. Then all the twenty together, with a profound and mighty grunt, give a shove that sends the boat ahead for fifteen or twenty feet.

By this time, we had approached so near to the lurking-place of the enemy that it was deemed advisable to have scouts sent ahead, especially to see that there were no trees on the banks which had been partially chopped through and were kept in position only by the vines binding them to adjoining trees; a fatal trap for enemies often used by the Borneans. When the trees are half cut through, it needs but a single blow with a parang to sever the vines that hold it and then down it goes crashing on the boats of an enemy, and while the occupants flounder in the water and are entangled among broken branches, nothing is easier than to reap an abundant and soothing harvest of human heads.

Thus we slowly toiled up the shallow water in the crawling canoes, while scouts kept abreast in the jungle, cutting a path for themselves in the dense tangle of thorny palms and rattans. Foremost among them were Abun, the Chief, and his youthful and ardent brother, Batu. They were as alert as hawks, peering everywhere for indications of the earnestly desired foe. Every now and then my eyes were dazzled by flashes from a diamond-shaped decoration on Abun’s war-cap. When we disembarked at noon I found that this glittering jewel was a tin trade-mark stamped in familiar letters: ‘Devoe’s Brilliant Kerosene Oil.’

For some inexplicable reason, the Borneans never breakfast before starting on any expedition; but, once started, they always seem to choose the most inopportune time for their first meal; just when they have fallen fairly into the swing of paddling or poling, they must needs land and build fires for cooking rice. Even war permits no exception to this exasperating custom; so at noon the whole fleet pulled up on a ‘karangan,’ or pebbly island, where, in fulfillment of the strategy planned the night before, fully a hundred fires were kindled under as many earthen pots, and over a widely extended area. While the rice was boiling, some energetic workers constructed a shelter with boughs and large palm leaves to protect the Chiefs and the ‘Kalunan putih,’ (_white men_,) from the vertical rays of the sun, which beat down pitilessly in this wide expanse of the stream, where a tributary, almost equal in size, joined its broad waters. The smoke drifted hazily and lazily into the thick, ever-dripping jungle, and the water swirled over the smooth hidden rocks and broke into ‘unnumbered smiles’ in the flecks of sunshine. War-caps and coats were laid aside, and for an hour there was rest for warriors, filled with peace and rice. It is to be feared that under this soothing influence the pristine enthusiasm which marked the start was slightly ebbing; ‘weary seemed the oar, and weary the wandering fields of barren foam;’ there is no knowing how much longer that hour would have lasted. Juman was keeping himself a little in the background, now that his alarming reports were so soon to be tested. Of a sudden the note of instant war was struck by Ma Obat, (_Father of Medicine_,) of most fierce aspect, but a braggart and at heart a coward; one of his eye-sockets was empty and in the other rolled a bloodshot orb, whose red lids, from which the lashes had been plucked, were everted. He started up, and, with a shout to his men to be quick, or they would never reach the enemy, bustled down to his boat, slipping his head through his war-coat and girding on his parang, as he went.

This sudden call broke the spell, and in a moment all were scurrying to the boats, but not before every peg whereon the pots had rested was with scrupulous care pulled up, and the embers scattered;—nothing brings worse luck to a war-party than the omission of this last duty in breaking camp. One by one the canoes started off again up-stream; sometimes making their way with difficulty between boulders, then again gliding swiftly over placid pools, the poles rattling and splashing on the pebbly bottom. Before long, we reached the head of navigation, and here at last were the rice-clearings,—the very ground whereon the foe had lately trod. For half a mile or more on the left bank of the river, the jungle had been cleared and the surface burnt, leaving only tall charred stumps of trees. Here and there were scattered thatched huts on high poles, where the guardians of the fields sleep at night; and all the undulating ground about the scraggy charred tree stems, was clothed thick with the lush, translucent green of sprouting rice.

The path now led up the bed of the stream, here dwindled to a mere brook; the foliage was dense all about us, and all were obliged to advance as stealthily as possible. Every face was set, with keen eyes darting in every direction, and every muscle tense. Not an instant but was fraught to all with possible death; at any moment might come the sudden sharp sting of a poisoned arrow from an invisible, noiseless blow-pipe. No one picked his steps,—eyes could not be spared for that. The trembling of a leaf might mean a fatal wound. It was a thrilling, impressive hour. I suppose my heart would have beat quicker, had I not had a firm conviction that the victims of the unerring blow-pipe would be natives, not white men. Once I looked over my shoulder, and smiled at Abun just behind me, with the repoussé legend ‘Devoe’s oil’ glittering on his cap. He did not return the smile, but gravely shook his head, in deprecation of all lightmindedness in such a fateful time. Suddenly there was a commotion in the advance guard, loud cries and vehement talking. Then a quick movement forward. I thought we had actually encountered the enemy, but just as suddenly every man came to a halt and spears were grounded. Our foremost scouts had come upon the camping-ground of the wily Lerons; a capacious shelter of interlacing shrubs and overspread with large leaves had been discovered; the earth was blackened and deep with the ashes from their fires; round about, we found the jungle beaten down, and while we were closely examining these recent traces, one of our scouts came back in great excitement to lead us to the edge of the clearing, where a treacherous ambush had been made, whence a watch could be kept on the labourers in the rice-fields and a sudden onslaught made upon any unwary women or unarmed men.

The last doubt was now dispelled. Intruders with evil intent had been skulking in the neighborhood, in considerable numbers, and very recently,—but whither had they fled? Possibly, they were in hiding, awaiting a favorable chance to attack, or else, after we had given up the pursuit, to return to their deserted ambush.

The little army, gathered on the banks and in the dry bed of the stream, waited patiently until the scouts had returned from fruitlessly searching the jungle far and wide. Then a council of war was convened upon the karangan. It was of no use to advance further unless to attack some household on the Tinjar;—this was not advisable; no one knew with certainty from whose house these hostile intruders had come, and indiscriminate vengeance was out of the question where the Prenta was in the lead.

It was futile to attempt pursuit. The enemy was equipped for land travel, which we were not, and, as they had at least a day’s start, we could not hope to catch up with them. Bitter was the disappointment to all. Many vehemently declared that they were willing to go on, without rest or food, by night and day, only let them taste the glorious excitement of a fight for heads. Ma Obat turned his one seeing but unsightly eye on Dr. Hose, and boldly said, (unblushingly of course, and in a vainglorious tone,) ‘If the Tuan will let me go with only a few of my men, I promise I’ll bring back heads; if I don’t find these Lerons I know where to find some Ivans [thus pronounced by Kayans] collecting gutta and rattans.’ After this display of courage in killing unarmed victims, and of obedience to the Government, he assumed an expression of great ferocity, and rolled his cyclopean eye round the circle to note the effect of his words. To any one who knew how untutored, how undisciplined, how childlike are the minds of these savages, it could hardly have been discouraging, certainly not surprising, to see how many were the nods of approval which followed this treasonable speech; the zealous old ‘fencing-master’ was, as might be expected, decidedly on Ma Obat’s side, and a grizzled old warrior, who, during the discussion, had seized the opportunity of cooling himself off in a pool directly in view of the assembly, cried out, waving his arms and lying flat on his back in the water, ‘That’s the talk! that’s right! I’ll go with Ma Obat! and we’ll kill any one we meet, Ivan, Leron, Punan! any one is better than no one.’

Ma Obat clearly knew his audience. I think he had really voiced the universal sentiment. Fortunately, the Resident was present, and the supreme head; never for a moment would he allow the possibility of such an unbridled expedition to have a lodgement in their minds. He turned to Abun, who had more men under his command than any other Chief, and to him put the question whether he would be willing to lead an expedition into the country of the Lerons, and solemnly promise that none but Leron men should be killed. The young fellow had a hard struggle; ardently as he longed to approve his lately inherited Chiefship by leading a head-hunt, and piously as he desired to honour his father’s grave with a fresh head, he knew the heavy fines the Government would impose on his House if innocent people were killed, and he distrusted the precipitate temper of his followers. All eyes were fixed on him as, for several seconds, he sat silent, gazing intently at a little pile of pebbles he was pushing up with his widespread toes. Then without lifting his eyes he almost whispered to the Resident, ‘Tuan, I cannot promise so much for my men. Every one of them has known me as a mere boy. Although they follow me for my father’s sake, I cannot promise they will do as I command when we get in sight of any dweller on the Tinjar, armed or unarmed. No, I cannot lead the expedition and keep this promise.’

At this reply, a grunt of unmistakable disapproval was emitted by the whole circle, and, to prevent at once any more insubordinate offers like Ma Obat’s, Dr. Hose immediately ended all discussion by a diplomatic speech, delivered after their fashion with great emphasis, and brought them all round (mere children as they are) to believe that the expedition had been a brilliant, absolute success. Was it not manifest that the enemy had scattered, and fled in wild disorder before them? Had not the real object of the war been gained? Were they not glorious conquerors, every one of them, since all danger to women and children had been removed? What hostile Leron would now dare to lurk about the rice-clearings, after he had noted the traces of this resolute army of invincible warriors? The only thing to do now was to start an enormous peace expedition into the Tinjar country, and put an end, once for all, to the present feuds by the payment and collection of ‘Usut’ [indemnity] and by the performance of ‘Jawa’ [a sham battle].

The speech was greeted with a shout as triumphant as if they saw the backs of their enemy disappearing before them; they sprang to their feet, and spears, shields, and parangs clattered, and plumes waved, and so clearly were they victors, that, in imagination, each warrior had a foeman’s head dangling at his belt.

One and all turned to retrace their steps. Where but an hour before, in strained silence, we had crept stealthily, now, that all danger of a lurking foe was dispelled, we scrambled along, laughing, shouting, clattering iron-shod spears on the stones, and hurrying to be first at the boats. Abun, Madong, and Batu did not share in this exultant mood; they alone seemed down-hearted; they and their household must continue to endure the burdensome restrictions of mourning.

It was during this straggling march that the ‘fencing-master,’ who was, it appears, a Past-Master in knowledge of all rites and usages of war, and his word law, announced that in a case like the present, where a war-party had failed to bring home a head because the enemy had scattered, it was quite in accordance with time-honoured, head-hunting custom to borrow a head; the benign influence, from a relic thus rejuvenated by posing as a head freshly taken, would then be diffused in its adopted home. This announcement amazingly heartened the young brothers.

We now shot in a few hours through rapids and over rocks, where, on our way up, we had toiled almost all day long. As the sun slowly declined, the faster we raced, helter-skelter; spray was flying, paddles thumping, the canoes, creaking and grinding over the rocks, dashed together in a mad race to be the first to reach Juman’s house and proclaim the glorious news that we had put the enemy to flight. The canoe wherein I sat, was one of the earliest to reach Bowang Takun, and I could, therefore, count the canoes as they came darting through the dense leafy arch where the smaller stream entered the Baram. There were in all sixty by the count. No sooner were they drawn up on the sloping bank, than their occupants, numbering at least six hundred, were one and all, dashing and splashing in the water. [Indeed, it might be almost asserted that the Kayans and Kenyahs live as much in the water as out of it. Although they may have been wading alongside of their canoes all day, yet there is never a halt of even a few minutes that they do not divest themselves of their one garment and at least extend themselves in the water, if it is not deep enough for swimming. It would be as monstrous for a Kayan boy not to know how to swim as for a white boy not to know how to run.]

After the restful bath and the cooking of the evening meal, on the bank,—this time we were not Juman’s guests,—the expedition began to disband. Those who lived only a short distance up or down the river heaped their cumbersome accoutrements in their canoes and glided off into the darkness.

Abun’s party had a pious duty to perform; accordingly, we spent the night at Bowang Takun, where Abun was going to borrow the head. The loan was transacted with minutest care; the head was reverently lifted from its resting-place by a very old man, whose remnant of days on earth was nearly spent, and who, therefore, shrank less, than a younger man would shrink, from a touch which is sure to be followed by speedy death. From the moment that the skull was touched a deep solemnity fell on all. No laugh, no jest, no light word broke the reverence of what all felt to be a holy act. The skull was carefully swathed in palm leaves and tied under the bow of Abun’s boat, so that it just grazed the water.

Early on the following morning we all set out for Long Lama, Abun’s boat in the lead, and without stopping all that day we drifted silently down with the slow current under a scorching sun. Abun’s canoe and one or two others pushed on a little faster than the rest, and when at about five o’clock in the afternoon we were distant from Long Lama only one turn of the river, we found that they had there disembarked, and had already prepared a wonderfully decorated and elaborate camp; there the whole party must remain for the night, and not be even seen by any member of Abun’s household till dawn of the next day. All around the tent-like shelter of palm leaves were horizontal poles resting on forked sticks, whereon were hung the war-coats and caps, and the almost solid wall, thereby made, was completed by the shields, which were leaned against it to fill in any gaps. Spear-points glittered everywhere, and in front of this hut, or shelter, there was reared an archway of sticks, whereof the bark had been cut up in curled frills along the whole length.[9] Down near the edge of the water was a pile of green bamboo joints decorated with bands of plaited palm leaf; in these the rice must be cooked, and not in earthen pots,—possibly an instance of the tendency in all ceremonial rites to return to the most primitive methods.[10]

[In the accompanying photograph, Madong, the second son, is the well-built young fellow in the foreground; next to him is a young warrior whose name, I think, is Jok; then comes Abun, the Chief, with one hand resting on his shield; immediately on his left is Batu, the youngest son; and in front of him the elderly man, with close-cropped hair and upturned face, is the ‘fencing-master.’ At his feet is the pile of bamboo joints, and near them several hampers containing rolls of palm-leaf matting, whereon the natives sleep. In the background are the rows of war-coats and shields. I was at a disadvantage in taking this photograph; the light from the last rays of the setting sun was poor, and the support for my camera was an unstable sand-bank.]

The taboo against visiting the house did not extend to Dr. Hose and myself, nor to Dr. Hose’s Iban crew; none of us belonged to the household; so we left the Kayans at their sacred encampment, and were soon settled for the night amid all the comforts the house of Abun could afford.

THE CAMP OF ABUN’S FOLLOWERS ON THE EVENING BEFORE THE RETURN TO THEIR HOUSE WITH THE BORROWED HEAD, WHICH WAS TO REMOVE THE RESTRICTIONS IMPOSED BY THE MOURNING FOR A DEAD CHIEF.]

At the very first faint glimmer of dawn I was awakened by an unusual stir throughout the house. The women and children and the few men who were so unfortunate as to have been obliged to remain behind, were all collecting along the edge of the veranda below the eaves, whence they could get a view of the river. Just at the very instant that the sun sent its first shaft of level light down the long expanse of river we heard coming from up-stream, a solemn, low, deep-toned chant, or rather humming, in harmony. There were no articulate words, only a continuous sound, in different keys, from treble to bass, of the double vowel _oo_, as in _boom_. A minute later the long line of canoes, lashed three abreast, slowly rounded the turn, and drifted toward the house. The men were all standing erect on the thwarts arrayed in all their many coloured war-clothes, with bands of plaited palm leaves around their knees and elbows and also on every spear and paddle. Only a few were at the paddles, merely enough to steer the procession, while all the others stood as motionless as statues, holding their spears upright and the point of their shields resting at their feet. On and on they slowly glided, propelled, it almost seemed, by this inexpressibly solemn dirge, which was wafting this sacred skull to a home it must for ever bless. The brilliant colours of the war-coats flashed brighter every minute as the sun rose higher, and lit up the framework of the wondrous pageant;—the cloudless blue sky over-head, the myriad spangled ripples of the glistening river beneath the dark masses of heavy foliage, suggesting, yet hiding, the ever-mysterious jungle, the hushed, awe-stricken group of women and children, awaiting the warriors’ return, and over all, the silence of earth and sky, broken only by the modulated cadences of that impressive harmony. On, on, they glided until the three foremost canoes touched the bank; then Abun alighted and unloosed the skull, still in its coverings of palm leaves, from the bow of his boat. In order to watch the ceremony more narrowly, I left the veranda as the boats neared the beach, and I shall not soon forget Abun’s solemn, absorbed demeanour. I could not catch his eye, and, unlike his usual self, he took not the smallest notice of my presence, nor did any of the others. Every face wore the wrapt expression of a profoundly religious rite. Without intermitting the chant, Abun, bearing the skull, led the procession in single file to the up-river end of the house. [The skull was now representing a freshly taken head, and there was no longer any danger to those who touched it.] When they were all gathered, still chanting, in a close group, the old ‘fencing-master’ stepped out to the front with a blow-pipe, and, looking in the direction of the Tinjar River (still chanting), addressed a vehement warning to the enemy, and then (still chanting) raised the blow-pipe to his lips, and blew a dart high in the air to carry the message to them. The chanting instantly ceased, and all gave a wild, exultant shout! The skull was placed upon the ground and its wrappings broken, and on four stakes near by were placed the bleeding fragments of a chicken which the ‘fencing-master’ had torn apart as if it were a piece of paper. Each warrior, in turn, then advanced and gravely brandished his parang over the skull, and, walking past the four stakes, smeared the blood of the chicken on his knees, and addressed the spirit of the fowl in a prayer to ‘protect him from all dangers, to impart strength and courage, and drive out all pains and stiffness from his bones.’ After they had passed the last stake they gave a loud, shrill shout, leaped high in the air, and ran quickly up the notched log into the house.

By this ceremony each one cast off the taboo of mourning. When all those who had actually been on the expedition had performed it, then followed those who had been obliged to remain at home; and after them, the small boys, even those who were scarcely able to walk. Everyone, without exception, must be adorned with bands of palm-leaf strips bound round their knees and elbows, and must be dressed in war-clothes. The small boys, however, wore only war-caps, not decorated with horn-bill feathers, but with the skull of a horn-bill, or the long feathers of the Argus pheasant. Those who were too tiny to hold a parang were carried by their fathers, and their little hands were guided while a feeble stroke was made at the head. Between their little lips several grains of rice, boiled in a bamboo joint, were then put, to symbolize that they too had been in a warriors’ camp and partaken of warriors’ fare. Then they were carried past the stakes, and smeared with the blood, while the father uttered the prayer for them, and, in place of the leap and manly shout, gave a bound in the air, and an explosive exclamation, before carrying them hurriedly up to the veranda.

As soon as every male inmate of the house, from feeble age to toddling infancy, had performed this rite, in a flash the charm of the taboo was snapt! In a twinkling, every corner in the house seemed turned into a barber’s chair. Ever since the death of Oyang Luhat, the late Chief, no hair had been trimmed, and long locks, so unsightly to Kayan eyes, had grown on the temples of the exquisite youths and fastidious loungers, who, before the taboo, figured as the ‘glass of fashion,’ as they certainly are always the ‘mould of form.’ Turn and turn about they scraped each other, and when the operation was finished, (which, judging from the character of the knives, must have been a fine lesson in the endurance of agony,) each one carefully gathered up the hair, and, rolling it in a ball, spit vigorously on it, and threw it as far as he could out of the veranda. I imagine this was done with the idea of preventing any one from collecting the hair, and thereby working a charm against the owner; or it may be that spitting upon the hair exorcises any evil Spirit lurking in it. I asked many a one why it was done, but the only reply was, ‘Adat seja’—_merely custom_.

[In connection with this instance of a possible survival of primitive religion, let me mention that in this remote region I found an example of another well-known ancient custom:—wooden images are fashioned in the likeness of an enemy, and placed in the jungle; as the wooden representative decays the original sickens and dies.[11] In ‘The Free Museum of Science and Art,’ in Philadelphia, two of these images are preserved. They represent Dr. Hose and Tama Bulan. They were made by the Lerons after the killing of Tinggi, to be revenged on these two arch-foes. They were discovered by a friendly native and brought to Dr. Hose, whose image happily shows as yet no sign of decay; from the last reports the original also was in excellent health. See next page.]

Of course, it is quite unbefitting for women to go through the rite of slashing at the head; they never go on war expeditions. Therefore, they are freed from their mourning by being sprinkled with water dipped from the river in the palm leaves wherewith the head has been wrapped. Thereafter they resume their ornaments of bead-work, their ponderous brass ear-rings, and don fillets of gaily coloured cloth.

When every member of the household has been freed from the taboo by these rites, a fragment of the skull, wrapped in palm leaves, is attached to a long rope of bamboo twigs, and solemnly carried to the grave of the Chief, which, in the present case, was about half a mile down-stream. In the path which the sons and near relatives have to take to reach the grave, a living chicken, with its legs tied, is placed, and on it each one, in passing, must tread, (the poor fowl does not survive more than two or three footfalls.) The fragment of skull, lifted on the tip of a long bamboo pole, is hung to the edge of the ornamentation on top of the grave. When this is finished, all that can be possibly done to honour a dead Bornean Chief has been performed.

I think the one on the left is Dr. Hose.]

At night, the men who were away in the rice-fields, when the war-party returned, attain their freedom by smearing with the blood of fowls a little piece of wood cut into a brush of fine strips at one end; this brush they fasten on the side of one of their large basket-work fish-traps, placed on the floor of the veranda, and against this ensanguined brush they rub their knees, before uttering their prayer and giving the shout and the leap which the warriors gave outside the house. The fish-trap, on this occasion, they call their _Father_; ‘it catches everything it sees, and is afraid of nothing.’

A PIECE OF THE SKULL BORROWED TO TAKE THE PLACE OF A FRESHLY TAKEN HEAD HAS BEEN PLACED ON THE FLAT ROOF ABOVE THE COFFIN, AND THE LONG STREAMER OF SHREDDED PALM LEAVES ATTACHED TO THIS HALLOWED FRAGMENT OF SKULL STILL HANGS FROM THE TOP OF THE GRAVE. THE BODY OF THE CHIEF RESTS IN A COFFIN HEWN OUT OF A LOG AND PLACED HORIZONTALLY ACROSS THE TOP OF THE HIGH COLUMN. OVER THE COFFIN IS FASTENED A LARGE, SQUARE SLAB OF WOOD, CUT FROM A FLAT BUTTRESS ROOT OF A TAPANG TREE. THE STICKS PROJECTING FROM THE SQUARE TOP OF THE GRAVE ARE STRUNG WITH CIGARETTES, WHICH CARRY MESSAGES FROM THOSE WHO MADE THEM TO FRIENDS AND RELATIVES IN THE NEXT WORLD.]

All hours of the next day are devoted to a promiscuous slaughter of pigs and chickens, and to the preparation of a great feast; every one contributes a pig or a fowl, according to his means; and on every pig’s liver the fateful omens must be deciphered. At intervals, along the whole length of the interminable veranda, are little enclosures wherein sit the shrewd old Dayongs, whose exhortations, before the slaughter, are potent with the pigs to have nice, lucky livers. As each pig, with its legs tied, is brought and laid before the Dayong to be exhorted and then killed, the owner pays the Dayong a small fee of a few beads, a strip of cloth, or the blade of a parang; after this preliminary fee-giving (a custom, not unknown elsewhere), the owner enters the little enclosure, and, seating himself beside a large gong, proceeds to bang it with a stick, and make as much din as possible; all the while the Dayong lectures and exhorts the wretched pig. The owner while beating the gong pays absolutely no attention to the Dayong’s words, which may be possibly etiquette, but is certainly not surprising,—not a syllable could be audible above the deafening squealing, clattering, banging resounding on all sides. Very likely the Dayong desires to have his platitudes overheard by no one except by the pig, whose attention to duty is every now and then enforced by a vigorous thump in the side from the fist, or a dig in the ribs from the thumb of his ghostly exhorter. When the Dayong thinks the auspicious moment has arrived, and that the swine has caught the drift of the exhortation, and has obligingly modified the streakings of his liver, he plunges a knife in the animal’s throat, catches the spouting blood in a bowl, and, before life is extinct, rips open the paunch, and extracts the dripping liver, whereon, in characters legible only to the Dayong, the pig had inscribed an assured knowledge of the future. Now and then, an avaricious Dayong will persist in reading dreadful portents on the liver; of course, a second pig must be brought, and a second fee paid; and so on until the Dayong is satisfied, then at once the signs become good. On the present occasion eighty-five pigs and sixty fowls were sacrificed. The young boys who have been on the expedition are made to feel that they are to be numbered among the warriors, by being compelled, on that first evening after their return from the head-hunt, to cook their own supper of pork and rice, and to sleep in the veranda among the grown-up men.

The pork is cut into small cubes and boiled in bamboo joints; a very pleasant flavor is thereby imparted to the meat, if you can shut your eyes very tight to the fingers that prepare it.

After the feast was cooked and served in wooden trays and bowls, we all squatted here and there about the veranda, and helped ourselves to the toothsome delicacies of parboiled pork and chicken, excellent boiled rice, pulverized salted fish, and bananas. Then dusty and musty cords were cut on many a jar of ‘Borak,’ or sweetened rice beer, and the festive cup, either half a cocoanut or blue pressed-glass tumbler, was passed from lip to lip. Speeches were made, in which the invincible bravery of every warrior was proclaimed, and frightful threats were hinted as to the fate of the Lerons, had they not fled like the cowards that they are. Festival songs and war-dances, with kaluri accompaniment, followed. When the jars of Borak were drained to the dregs, one by one the exhausted warriors crept to bed, saturated with the serene joy of duty done, glory gained, and honour paid to their departed Chief.

Even after all these ceremonies and the feast, the house is not utterly free from taboo: for ten days no work may be done in the clearings, nor may the men go for rattans or any jungle product. There is always a foundation of wisdom for these taboos. Thus, to keep the men collected in or near the house for a number of days, after a head-hunting raid, is a wise provision: the house cannot be surprised unawares by a retaliating force.

Thus ended this memorable War Expedition of the Kayans and Kenyahs of the Baram against the Lerons of the Tinjar, to vindicate Juman for the legal killing of Tinggi and drive the Lerons back to their own district,—a typical expedition, save alone that the Omen Birds were not consulted, and that it did not end in a wild and wanton raid on innocent people.

_‘JAWA’ OR PEACE-MAKING_

During the rainy months, when all work in the fields is suspended, and Nature herself attends to the rice, every path in the jungle leads idle feet to mischief, and, if war be forbidden by the Prenta, pent-up energy may find a wild outlet in boisterous protestations of peace, provided only that these protestations have at least a suggestion of war.

After our war expedition up the Baram just narrated, barely a fortnight elapsed before we were organizing a great Peace-making with those very people of the Tinjar who had been our foes. Tama Bulan, Tama Usong, Aban Deng, and Juman, the chiefest Chiefs of the Kayans and Kenyahs, with all their numerous warriors, were eager to join in the Peace-making, and pledge themselves to the Tinjar people for the friendliness of all the dwellers on the Baram and its tributaries.

Accordingly, the Baram Chiefs were summoned to the Fort, and the day before this great army of peace-makers set out, Dr. Hose invited these Chiefs and their adherents to a lavish feast at his house. The viands were prepared according to the taste of the guests, and, to make all feel perfectly at home, served on the floor of the veranda; the arrack, however, was of extra Chinese brew, and, of course, superior and very much stronger than the diluted, home-brewed liquor to which they were accustomed. Consequently, the hilarity and fluency of song and speech, upon a liberal and well-laid foundation of boiled pork, chicken, rice, and salted fish, was exuberant, but never boisterous. Perhaps the presence of so many powerful Chiefs, above all, that of the all-powerful Resident, had a restraining influence. We all sat down (should I not say, squatted?) at about four in the afternoon, and the last of the guests departed to their quarters in the Bazaar at about eleven o’clock at night. About fifteen pounds of tobacco were consumed, three good-sized pigs were stowed away, and the Chinese shop-keepers alone know how many jars of arrack were unsealed. Tama Bulan and Tama Usong were the last to leave the scene of revelry, and we watched (I must admit with great relief) their dusky figures disappear down the path, as, linked arm in arm, they meandered off in the broad moonlight toward the Bazaar.

Juman, for the second time the important member of an expedition, failed to appear, and since it was partly on his account that the trouble between the people of the two rivers had arisen, the Peace-making would be incomplete without him. In Borneo, after past wrongs, peace and good-fellowship cannot be gained by simple asseverations; there must be always a palpable exchange of beads, highly prized jars, brass gongs, etc., as an indemnity. The perpetrator of the wrong, or one of his descendants, must be present with his adherents to join in the sham fight, known as the ‘Jawa.’ The canoes of the peace-party were laden accordingly with articles for exchange, and with the paraphernalia of the men who were to engage in the sham fight.

At an early hour on the morning after the feast, we started up-river in the Government’s steam launch, for which the river is navigable for at least sixty miles above the Fort; behind us trailed the long line of canoes with the peace-makers,—a pretty woe-begone, head-achey looking lot, after the Chinese arrack of the night before. As the day wore on and we steamed slowly up against the strong current, dodging the ponderous logs that swept past, one by one the Chiefs climbed up from their canoes and sat limp and taciturn around us on the small deck of the steamer. Still no sign of Juman and his party. We had expected to meet him before we turned off into the Tinjar River. So necessary a personage could not be left behind; therefore, a letter was left for him at the mouth of the Tinjar. On a large sheet of paper, we painted a picture of a steam boat heading up-stream with inky volumes of smoke issuing from the funnel and a long line of canoes in tow; underneath was a gigantic hand pointing up-stream. This letter was fastened in a cleft pole stuck up on the bank; then we steamed at full speed up the large tributary.

THE BARRIER AND CHARMS DEVISED BY THE DAYONG TO WARD OFF EVIL SPIRITS FROM THE HOUSE OF THE LELAK CLAN, AND TO DRIVE AWAY THE DEMONS WHO WERE ALREADY AFFLICTING THE HEAD-MAN OF THE HOUSE WITH FEVER AND TRYING TO LURE THE SOUL OUT OF HIS BODY.]

A lovely feature peculiar to the Tinjar River is the hills cultivated with rice. On the lower reaches of the Baram, the flat, swampy ground extends for a mile or more from the river on both sides. Here, clearings extend over low undulating hills, and at this season of the year the rice was already six inches tall, and its tender emerald green was unspeakably refreshing after the dark foliage of the jungle. Twice we passed groups of men and women busily weeding the fields; but, poor wretches, as if their toil were not enough, they must all needs be clad in heavy war-cloaks; they had heard, so they said, that there was an enormous head-hunting army on the way from the Baram, and they were in hourly terror of being attacked and killed. We allayed their fears, and were delighted to learn that the fame of our War Expedition had travelled so bravely and had lost nothing in transmission.

Early in the afternoon we reached the household of the Lelaks, and halted for the night, to allow Juman to catch up with us. The old man of the house, whose adherents were not numerous enough to entitle him to the rank of a ‘Penghulu,’ and whose wealth was insufficient for the title of ‘Orang Kaya’ (_Rich Man_), merely presided over his household by reason of his age, and was known simply as the ‘Orang Tuah’ (_Old Man_). On our arrival, we were told that he was almost at death’s door from an attack of fever, and that every resource known to Dayong art had been tried in vain; evidently, the evil Spirits had resolved to entice his soul away, in spite of the elaborate barrier which the Dayongs had professionally erected in front of his house.

This barrier consisted of a circle of stakes cut, at intervals down their sides, into curled shavings; in the centre of the circle stood a high, squared pole painted with stripes of red and black; at about four feet from the ground, and again near its top, were cross-bars piercing it from front to back and from side to side. At its base stood an earthen jar filled with water, and round about outside the circle was a bristling thicket or sort of _chevaux de frise_ of posts and stakes cut into manifold fringes of shavings, and several cleft sticks about three feet high, holding in the cleft an egg. To the Dayongs, these curled shavings and cleft sticks have a profound meaning which they either did not know or did not wish to divulge. All these prophylactics were, however, in vain; the evil Spirits obstinately and perversely refused to depart from the old man. Not being an angel, I pressed fearlessly within this charmed ground, and even took photographs there in spite of Tama Bulan’s solemn warning. He would not go near the barrier, and in awed tones warned me that just as sure as I touched any of those stakes I would have horrid dreams and most assuredly be clutched by a ghost and hideously scarred for life; should the ghost chance to clutch me by the throat, I would choke to death and never wake.[12]

After I had taken the photograph, we paid a visit to the old man as he lay feverishly tossing and turning on his hard board bed. I administered to him a placebo in the form of an assurance that I had skilfully caught and imprisoned the evil Spirits in my ‘box-with-an-eye’ (_my camera_), and they would trouble him no more; then, abandoning the ‘faith cure,’ I administered a generous dose of quinine.

The Lelaks are an unusually industrious household; they cultivate an abundance of rice and keep it stored for rainy days, in granaries which, although they are far away from their dwellings and hidden in the jungle, they decorate with graceful designs in black paint upon a white ground. In their houses, also, almost every beam-end is carved into barbaric figures of men or of monkeys in twisted positions with arms and legs interlacing; also many of the upright posts supporting the roof have carved in them deep niches to serve as seats.

In the evening, under the benign effects of a hearty meal of rice and fish and of numerous cigarettes, Tama Bulan became jovial, and his broad, genial smile beamed to right and left on all as he sat with his back against one of the carved house-posts, and proposed that we the guests should be entertained with some of the dances for which the Lelak women are famous. Of course, the women were coquettishly shy at first and scurried off to their rooms. Tama Bulan was not, however, to be thus put off or put down, but appealed to the Orang Tuah to send searching parties for the best dancers. Then he turned to Dr. Hose, and, in a metaphor of which he was fond, said, chuckling, ‘Tuan, this fishing doesn’t seem to be very successful; all the good, plump fish have gone up-stream, and left us nothing but these bony ones;’ here he nodded toward some old and thin beldames, calling them by the names of the poorer kinds of fish which generally are thrown away; but when, a few moments later, three young girls, dressed in their best skirts and with bright-coloured fillets round their heads, shuffled coyly out from their rooms ready for the dance, he lit a fresh cigarette and settled back comfortably in his seat, saying, ‘Aha! Here are plump fish worth looking at.’

THE PLANT GROWING DENSELY AROUND IT, IS WILD TAPIOCA.]

The dance was like that of almost all of the Malay and allied races, more waving of the arms and swaying of the body than movements of the feet. It was exceedingly like the dances of the Javanese, wherein movements of hands and wrists are the chief features. It appeared to be a solemn performance; instead of the fixed, mechanical smile of our ballet dancers, there was a stare of constrained solemnity verging on a scowl.