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Through Central Borneo; an Account of Two Years' Travel in the Land of Head-Hunters Between the Years 1913 and 1917

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Title: Through Central Borneo; an Account of Two Years' Travel in the Land of Head-Hunters Between the Years 1913 and 1917

Author: Carl Lumholtz


        
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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH CENTRAL BORNEO; AN ACCOUNT OF TWO YEARS' TRAVEL IN THE LAND OF HEAD-HUNTERS BETWEEN THE YEARS 1913 AND 1917 ***




Produced by Jeroen Hellingman, Olaf Voss
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




THROUGH CENTRAL BORNEO

AN ACCOUNT OF TWO YEARS' TRAVEL IN THE LAND OF THE HEAD-HUNTERS BETWEEN
THE YEARS 1913 AND 1917

BY

CARL LUMHOLTZ

MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY OF SCIENCES OF CHRISTIANIA, NORWAY GOLD MEDALLIST OF
THE NORWEGIAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY ASSOCIÉ ÉTRANGER DE LA SOCIÉTÉ DE
L'ANTHROPOLOGIE DE PARIS, ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR AND WITH MAP




We may safely affirm that the better specimens of savages are much
superior to the lower examples of civilized peoples.

_Alfred Russel Wallace._




PREFACE

Ever since my camping life with the aborigines of Queensland, many years
ago, it has been my desire to explore New Guinea, the promised land of all
who are fond of nature and ambitious to discover fresh secrets. In
furtherance of this purpose their Majesties, the King and Queen of Norway,
the Norwegian Geographical Society, the Royal Geographical Society of
London, and Koninklijk Nederlandsch Aardrijkskundig Genootschap,
generously assisted me with grants, thus facilitating my efforts to raise
the necessary funds. Subscriptions were received in Norway, also from
American and English friends, and after purchasing the principal part of
my outfit in London, I departed for New York in the autumn of 1913, en
route for the Dutch Indies. In 1914, having first paid a visit to the
Bulungan, in northeast Borneo, in order to engage the necessary Dayaks, I
was preparing to start for Dutch New Guinea when the war broke out.

Under these changed conditions his Excellency, the Governor-General,
A.W.F. Idenburg, regretted his inability to give me a military escort and
other assistance needed for carrying out my plan, and advised me to await
a more favorable opportunity. During this interval, having meanwhile
visited India, I decided to make an expedition through Central Borneo,
large tracts of which are unexplored and unknown to the outside world. My
project was later extended to include other regions of Dutch Borneo, and
the greater part of two years was spent in making researches among its
very interesting natives. In these undertakings I received the valuable
assistance of their Excellencies, the governor-general and the commanding
general, as well as the higher officials of the Dutch Government, to all
of whom I wish to express my heartfelt thanks.

Through the courtesy of the well-known Topografische Inrichting, in
Batavia, a competent surveyor, whose work will later be published, was
attached to my expeditions. He did not accompany me on my first visit to
the Bulungan, nor on the second occasion, when I went to the lake of
Sembulo, where the country is well known. In the map included in this book
I have indicated the locations of the different tribes in Dutch Borneo,
based on information gathered from official and private sources and on my
own observations.

I usually had a taxidermist, first a trained Sarawak Dayak, later a
Javanese, to collect mammals and birds. Fishes and reptiles were also
preserved in alcohol.

Specimens of ethnological interest were collected from the different
tribes visited; the collection from the Penihings I believe is complete.
Measurements of 227 individuals were taken and as soon as practicable will
be worked out by Doctor K.S. Schreiner, professor at the University of
Christiania. Vocabularies were collected from most of the tribes. In spite
of adverse conditions, due to climate and the limitations under which I
travelled, a satisfactory collection of photographic plates and films was
brought back. With few exceptions, these photographs were taken by myself.
For the pictures facing page 26 I am indebted to Doctor J.C.
Koningsberger, President of the Volksraad, Buitenzorg, Java. Those facing
pages 16 and 17 were taken by Mr. J.F. Labohm. The lower picture facing
page 286 was taken by Mr. A.M. Erskine.

My observations on the tribes are recorded in conformity with my itinerary,
and include the Kayans, Kenyahs, Murungs, Penyahbongs, Saputans, the
nomadic Punans and Bukits, Penihings, Oma-Sulings, Long-Glats, Katingans,
Duhoi (Ot-Danums), and the Tamoans. On one or two occasions when gathering
intelligence from natives I was very fortunate in my informants--an
advantage which will be appreciated by any one who has undertaken a similar
errand and has enjoyed the keen satisfaction experienced when drawing the
veil from primitive thought which lies so near and yet so far away.

Circumstances naturally prevented me from making a thorough study of any
tribe, but I indulge the hope that the material here presented may prove
in some degree acceptable to the specialist as well as to the general
reader. Matter that was thought to be of purely anthropological interest
is presented in a special supplement. Above all, I have abstained from
generalities, to which one might be tempted on account of the many
similarities encountered in the tribes that were visited. Without the
light of experience it is impossible to imagine how much of interest and
delight there is in store for the student of man's primitive condition.
However, as the captain of Long Iram said to me in Long Pahangei, "One
must have plenty of time to travel in Borneo." I have pleasure in
recording here the judicious manner in which the Dutch authorities deal
with the natives.

On a future occasion I shall hope to be able to publish a detailed report
on several of the novel features of my Bornean collections, especially as
regards decorative art, the protective wooden carvings called kapatongs,
the flying boat, etc.

The first collections sent to Norway ran the risks incident to war. Most
of them were rescued from the storehouses at Antwerp after the German
occupation, through the exertions of the Norwegian Foreign Office, though
a smaller part, chiefly zoölogical, appears to have been lost in Genoa.
Count Nils Gyldenstolpe, of the Natural History Museum,
Vetenskapsakademien in Stockholm, who is determining the mammals
collected, informs me that so far a new species of flying maki and two new
subspecies of flying squirrels have been described.

To further my enterprise, liberal gifts of supplies were received from
various firms in Christiania: preserved milk from Nestle & Anglo-Swiss
Condensed Milk Co., tobacco from Tiedemann's Fabrik, alcohol for
preserving specimens from Löitens Braenderi, cacao from Freia Chokolade
Fabrik. A medical outfit was presented by Mr. E. Sissener, Apotheket
"Kronen," Christiania, and Messrs. Burrows, Wellcome & Co., of London,
placed at my disposal three of their excellent medicinal travelling-cases.

I want to express my appreciation of many services rendered by the
Nederlandsche Handel-Maatschappij and its branches, especially the
Factorij in Batavia. I am under similar obligations to the Koninklijke
Paketvaart-Maatschappij, and my thanks are also due to De Scheepsagentuur
for courtesies received. Miss Ethel Newcomb, of New York, has kindly
transcribed the two songs rendered.

Finally I desire to make grateful acknowledgment of valuable assistance
rendered by Doctor J.C. Koningsberger, and by Doctor W. van Bemmelen,
director of Koninklijk Magnetisch en Meteorologisch Observatorium,
Weltevreden, Batavia.

Although force of circumstances altered the scope and to some extent the
character of this expedition, nevertheless my Bornean experiences afforded
great satisfaction. Moreover, my sojourn in the equatorial regions of the
East has imbued me with an even stronger desire to carry out my original
purpose, which I hope to accomplish in the near future.

CARL LUMHOLTZ

NEW YORK, April, 1920.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I

DEPARTURE FROM NEW YORK--A RACE WITH THE IMPERIAL LIMITED--IMPRESSIONS OF
JAPAN--SINGAPORE--ARRIVAL AT BATAVIA, JAVA--BUITENZORG--BORO BUDUR, THE
WONDROUS BUDDHIST MONUMENT


CHAPTER II

BORNEO--CLIMATIC AND BIOLOGICAL CONDITIONS--NATURAL RESOURCES--POPULATION--
HISTORY--GOVERNMENT OF THE NATIVES--RACIAL PROBLEMS.


CHAPTER III

BANDJERMASIN, THE PRINCIPAL TOWN IN DUTCH BORNEO--NORTHWARD ALONG THE EAST
COAST--BALIK PAPAN, AN OIL PRODUCING CENTRE--SAMARINDA--TANDJONG
SELOR--THE SULTAN--UP THE KAYAN RIVER.


CHAPTER IV

AN EXPEDITION INTO THE JUNGLE--FIRST IMPRESSIONS--RAPID CHANGE IN THE
DENSENESS OF VEGETATION--ANIMAL LIFE--A STUBBORN FIGHT


CHAPTER V

MEETING PUNANS, THE SHY JUNGLE PEOPLE--DOWN THE RIVER AGAIN--MY
ENTHUSIASTIC BOATMEN--MALAYS VERSUS DAYAKS


CHAPTER VI

RESUMPTION OF MY JOURNEY UP THE KAYAN RIVER--LONG PANGIAN--BERI-BERI--
HINTS ON PROPER PROVISIONS--KENYAHS FROM CENTRAL BORNEO--EFFECT OF A
SPIDER'S BITE


CHAPTER VII

ON THE ISAU RIVER--A KENYAH CHILD'S FUNERAL--A GREAT FISHING EXPEDITION--
CATCHING FISH BY POISONING THE RIVER--TAKING OMENS--ENTERTAINING SCENES


CHAPTER VIII

THE JOURNEY CONTINUED UP THE KAYAN RIVER--FIRST EXPERIENCE OF KIHAMS,
OR RAPIDS--WITH KENYAH BOATMEN--ADVANTAGE OF NATIVE COOKING--LONG
PELABAN--THE ATTRACTIVE KENYAHS--SOCIAL STRATA--CUSTOMS AND
HABITS--VALUABLE BEADS


CHAPTER IX

HYDROPHOBIA--FUNERAL CEREMONIES--AT A PADDI HARVEST--ANOTHER TUBA-FISHING
EXPEDITION--THE CHARM OF PRIMITIVE MAN--INTERESTING CEREMONIES--ON
HEADHUNTING GROUND


CHAPTER X

IN FOG AND DARKNESS--A RAID BY ANTS--DEPARTURE FROM LONG PELABAN--AN
EXCITING PASSAGE--RETURN TO TAND-JONG SELOR


CHAPTER XI

DEPARTURE FOR BANDJERMASIN--A PLEASANT STEAMSHIP LINE--TWO HEAD-HUNTERS--
AN EXPEDITION TO LAKE SEMBULO--SAMPIT--THE ORANG-UTAN--STORMY WEATHER--A
DISAGREEABLE RECEPTION


CHAPTER XII

THE WAR CHANGES MY PLANS--CHOLERA--UP THE GREAT BARITO RIVER--PURUK
TJAHU--DECIDE TO STAY AMONG THE MURUNGS--A DANCING FEAST


CHAPTER XIII

DAYAK CURE OF DISEASE-EVIL SPIRITS AND GOOD--ANIMISM--BLIANS, THE
PRIEST-DOCTORS--THE FEAST OF RUBBER-GATHERERS--WEDDINGS--IN PRIMITIVE
SURROUNDINGS


CHAPTER XIV

THE SCALY ANT-EATER--THE PORCUPINE--THE BLOW-PIPE--AN UNUSUAL ADVENTURE
WITH A SNAKE--HABITS AND CUSTOMS OF THE MURUNGS--AN UNPLEASANT AFFAIR


CHAPTER XV

FINAL START FOR CENTRAL BORNEO--CHRISTMAS TIME--EXTENT OF MALAY
INFLUENCE--THE FLOWERS OF EQUATORIAL REGIONS--AT AN OT-DANUM
KAMPONG--THE PICTURESQUE KIHAMS, OR RAPIDS--FORMIDABLE OBSTACLES TO
TRAVEL--MALAYS ON STRIKE


CHAPTER XVI

ARRIVAL AT BAHANDANG--ON THE EQUATOR--A STARTLING ROBBERY--OUR
MOST LABORIOUS JOURNEY--HORNBILLS--THE SNAKE AND THE INTREPID
PENYAHBONG--ARRIVAL AT TAMALOË


CHAPTER XVII

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


CHAPTER XVIII

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


CHAPTER XIX

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


CHAPTER XX

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


CHAPTER XXI

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


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


CHAPTER XXIII

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


CHAPTER XXIV

HEAD-HUNTING, ITS PRACTICE AND PURPOSE


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


CHAPTER XXVI

AMONG THE LONG-GLATS--IS FEAR OF EXPOSURE TO THE SUN JUSTIFIED?--
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE LONG-GLATS--GOODBYE TO THE MAHAKAM


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


CHAPTER XXVIII

AN EARTHQUAKE--ERADICATING THE PLAGUE--THROUGH THE COUNTRY NORTHEAST
OF BANDJERMASIN--MARTAPURA AND ITS DIAMOND-FIELDS--PENGARON--THE GIANT
PIG--THE BUKITS--WELL-PRESERVED DECORATIVE DESIGNS--AN ATTRACTIVE FAMILY


CHAPTER XXIX

THE BALEI OR TEMPLE--A LITTLE KNOWN PART OF THE COUNTRY--A COURTEOUS
MALAY--POWER OVER ANIMALS--NEGARA.


CHAPTER XXX

AN EXPEDITION TO THE KATINGAN RIVER--TATUING OF THE ENTIRE BODY--THE
GATHERING OF HONEY--A PLEASANT INTERMEZZO--AN UNUSUALLY ARTISTIC
PRODUCTION--UP THE SAMBA RIVER--WITH INCOMPETENT BOATMEN


CHAPTER XXXI

AMONG THE DUHOI (OT-DANUMS)--RICH COLLECTIONS--THE KAPATONGS--THE BATHING
OF DAYAK INFANTS--CHRISTMAS EVE--THE FLYING BOAT--MARRIAGE CEREMONIES


CHAPTER XXXII

AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS--FACTS ABOUT ULU-OTS, THE WILD MEN OF
BORNEO--TAKING LEAVE OF THE INTERESTING DUHOI--A VISIT TO THE UPPER
KATINGANS--DANCING--FRIENDLY NATIVES--DOWN THE KATINGAN RIVER


CHAPTER XXXIII

KASUNGAN--THE WEALTH OF THE DAYAKS--ANIMISM--GUARDIANS OF THE DEAD--HUGE
SERPENTS--CROCODILES--GOVERNMENT OF DAYS GONE BY--KATINGAN CUSTOMS AND
BELIEFS


CHAPTER XXXIV

FUNERAL CUSTOMS OF THE KATINGANS--DEPARTURE FROM KASUNGAN--AN ATTEMPTED
VISIT TO SEMBULO--INDIFFERENT MALAYS--A STRANGE DISEASE--THE BELIEF IN
TAILED PEOPLE--THE LEGEND OF THE ANCESTOR OF TAILED MEN


CHAPTER XXXV

A VISIT TO KUALA KAPUAS--A BREED OF STUMP-TAILED DOGS--THE SHORT-TAILED
CATS OF BORNEO--A SECOND EXPEDITION TO LAKE SEMBULO--NATIVES UNDISMAYED BY
BERI-BERI--THE TAMOANS--THE PRACTICE OF INCISION

FOLKLORE OF SOME OF THE TRIBES IN DUTCH BORNEO VISITED BY THE AUTHOR

CONCLUSION

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES TO THE TRIBES IN DUTCH BORNEO VISITED BY THE AUTHOR

A SHORT GLOSSARY

INDEX




ILLUSTRATIONS


Carl Lumholtz in the Bulungan, Dutch Borneo, May, 1914

In the jungle of Southern Borneo, near the Sampit River

The Giant Taro (_Alocasia Macrorhiza_)

The Orang-Utan. A more than half-grown specimen

The Long-Nosed Monkey (_Nasalis Larvatus_), peculiar to Borneo

The Sultan of Bulungan

Chonggat, the author's Dayak collector of animals and birds

Approaching Kaburau, on the Kayan River

Banglan, a Kayan, and his family. Kaburau

Ladders, below Long Pangian, on the Kayan River

Young Kayan, from Kaburau

Kayan, from Kaburau. Shows a Chinese manner of hair-dressing

Kayan from Kaburau. Showing the distended ear lobes

Kayan child, Kaburau

Kayan mother and infant. Near Long Pangian

Punans, the shy nomads of the jungle

Punans near my camp

Punan using the sumpitan or blowpipe

Kayan climbing a tree

Kayan at the author's camp, blowing a native wind instrument

The King Cobra (_Naia Bungarus_)

Young Orang-Utans

Kayan, from Kaburau. Front, side, and back views

Kayan, in mourning dress, Kaburau

Kenyah, from Long Pelaban. Front, side, and back views

Tuba fishing on the Isau River

Tuba fishing. Taking the augury by fire-making. Isau River

Tuba fishing. Effects of the poison. Pipa River

Kenyahs starting in the morning for distant Apo Kayan. Long Pangian, Kayan
River

A funeral house. Near Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Long Pelaban, a Kenyah kampong, on the Kayan River

The gallery of a communal house, Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Kenyah father and child. Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Kenyah woman, with large basket used for carrying rice. Long Pelaban,
Kayan River

A Kenyah's sweetheart removing his eyebrows and eyelashes. Long Pelaban,
Kayan River

Wrestling. Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Kenyah girl, in a woman's usual attire. Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Kenyah mother and child, on their daily trips to the Long Pelaban, Kayan
River

Tuba fishing, at the Pipa River

Kenyah ready for a trip to the ladang (fields). Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Kenyah in full war attire. Long Pelaban, Kayan River

Sacrificing the pig at the festival. Tumbang Marowei

Murung women squatting in order to observe the author. Tumbang Marowei

Murung man and wife. Tumbang Marowei

The beating of gongs furnishes the music at festivals. Tumbang Marowei

The Feast of the Rubber Gatherers. Tumbang Marowei

Blians, or priest-doctors, at Tumbang Marowei

Murung women smoking cigarettes and preparing them from native tobacco and
leaves of trees. Tumbang Marowei

The Scaly Ant-Eater (_Manis_). Tumbang Marowei

Telok Djulo, an Ot-Danum kampong, on the Barito River

Ot-Danum, wearing gold breastplates. Telok Djulo

Passing the Kiham Mudang, on the Upper Barito River

Rough travel by boat on the Upper Barito River

Passing the boats up the rapids of the Upper Barito River

Part of my provisions, at Bahandang, Busang River

Djobing, our efficient Malay

Part of the expedition ascending the Busang River

Tamaloë, a lately formed Penyahbong kampong

Pisha, the good Penyahbong chief. Tamaloë

Penyahbong rhino hunters. Tamaloë

Penyahbong women. Tamaloë

Back view of the Penyahbong women, showing their head-dress

Penyahbong, front, side, and back view. Tamaloë

The Penyahbong war dance. Tamaloë

Saputan, on his way to the ladang (fields) and for the hunt of Babi. Data
Láong

Saputans, front and side views. Data Láong

Saputan, the kapala of Data Láong

Saputans showing their war prowess

Saputans poling. Data Láong

Piercing the ears of the Saputan chief in order to insert a tiger cat's
corner teeth. Data Láong

Mahakam River, westward view, from the author's tent, at Long Kai

Penihings, the kapala of Long Kai and his children

Bukat, at Long Kai, front, side, and back views

Bukatwomen, at Long Kai, front and side views

The Mélah ceremony for imparting health and strength. Long Pahangei

Oma-Sulings. Long Pahangei

The Dángei hut, a temporary place of worship

The Rajá Besar, or great chief, and his wife. Long Pahangei

Large wooden drum. Long Pahangei

Lidju, a Long-Glat noble, and his wife, the sister of the Rajá Besar. Long
Pahangei

Cooking rice in bamboo receptacles. Long Pahangei

Lung Karang, a limestone hill, near Long Tjehan, on the Mahakam River

Penihing burial cave, near the Tjehan River

Penihing women carrying water. Long Kai

Penihings, from Long Kai

Two young Penihings, caught unawares by my camera. Sungei Lobang

The durian tree, with fruit. Lulo Pakko, on the Merasi River

One of our Javanese soldiers, in undress, carrying two durians. Lulo
Pakko, Merasi River

A ripe durian opened

Three Long-Glat women of the nobility. Long Tujo

Back view of the Long-Glat women

Long-Glat women. Long Tujo. Front view

Long-Glat women. Side and back views

Long-Glats, with a native dog. Long Tujo

A narrow-snouted crocodile shot by our sergeant below the great rapids of
the Mahakam

Entrance to the cave of Kong Beng

Malays searching for diamonds at Martapura

Malay house, near Martapura

Malay house at Mandin

Bukit women. Mandin

Bukit at Lok Besar, front and back views

Bukit woman and her two sons. Lok Besar

Bukit women with their children. Lok Besar

The "Order" of Beraui, and his wife, both Duhoi. Beraui, on the Samba
River

A Duhoi and his family. Beraui, Samba River

A bearded Dayak, front and side views

Upper Katingans passing the rapids of Buntut Mangkikit

Upper Katingan women dancing. Buntut Mangkikit

Upper Katingan family, at Buntut Mangkikit

An upper Katingan, of Buntut Mangkikit. Front, side, and back views

Upper Katingan women at Buntut Mangkikit, front and side views

Samples of Dayak tatuing

Women beating small drums and singing. Buntut Mangkikit

Protecting against evil spirits. Kasungan

Staffs, called pantars, erected in memoriam of the dead, at a kampong
below Kuala Samba

A wealthy Katingan, at Kasungan

A loving pair guarding the dead. Kasungan

Sacrifice of eggs to the good spirits. Long Pahangei, Mahakam River

Panyanggaran, at Bali, Katingan River

Panyanggaran, at Kasungan, Katingan River

Tamoans, from Bangkal, Lake Sembulo, front and side views

Katingan taking an astronomical observation. Kasungan

Kenyah women husking rice. Long Pelaban, Kayan River

A tailless dog, sister of the mother of the stump-tailed ones.
Bandjermasin

The short-tailed domestic cat of Borneo

A breed of stump-tailed dogs. Bandjermasin




CHAPTER I


DEPARTURE FROM NEW YORK--A RACE WITH THE IMPERIAL LIMITED--IMPRESSIONS OF
JAPAN--SINGAPORE--ARRIVAL AT BATAVIA, JAVA--BUITENZORG--BORO BUDUR, THE
WONDROUS BUDDHIST MONUMENT

Having concluded important business matters during a brief stay in New
York, I decided to go to Canada to take the express train for Vancouver.
It was the last train which made connection with the Canadian Pacific
steamer for Hong-Kong, and if I could make it I should save three weeks.
With the assurance that I should have a couple of hours latitude, I
started in the morning for Montreal. There was no doubt that I should make
it unless something unusual delayed the north-bound train, and that is
exactly what occurred. The steam power of the brake got out of order,
necessitating a stop for repairs, and considerable time was lost. Darkness
came on and I began to feel anxious about the prospect of gaining my
object.

The conductor and his assistant, in the knowledge that I had a through
ticket to Hong-Kong, did everything in their power to aid me. Wire
messages were sent to have the Imperial Limited Express wait for "a man
travelling first-class"; to the custom-house, and also for a cab and four
"red caps" to meet me on arrival. The assistant conductor told everybody
of the plight of the passenger with the long journey before him, the
engineer was prevailed upon to increase his speed; and the passengers
began to exhibit interest. A tall Canadian came to me and expressed his
belief that I would catch that train, and even if it should be gone there
was another a little later by which it might be overtaken. "I shall assist
you," he added.

As we approached Montreal there were still twelve minutes left. The lights
of the city were visible near by, and one of my fellow passengers was in
the act of assuring me that my chances were good, when our train suddenly
stopped--on account of the bridge being open to permit a ship to pass. Ten
minutes lost! I had decided, if necessary, to sacrifice two boxes of honey
which I had bought at the last moment, honey and water being my usual
drink when on expeditions. The total weight was ninety kilograms, but they
were neatly packed in paper and had been allowed to stand at one side of
the entrance to the Pullman car. They were an important adjunct of my
outfit, but perhaps after all it would be necessary for us to part.

Immediately upon the opening of the doors the four porters presented
themselves with the encouraging information that they understood the
Imperial Limited was waiting. My luggage, including the honey, was hurried
on to a large truck, my Canadian friend throwing his on too, and speeding
the boys to a trot, we ran as fast as we could to the baggage-room of the
custom-house, where the official in charge caused us only a short delay.
As the packages were being loaded into three cabs a man stepped forward
and accosted me: "We have got you now! I am a reporter for _The Star_, and
would like to know who the man is that keeps the Imperial Limited
waiting!" The moment did not seem favourable for an interview, but I
invited him to enter my cab and the two or three minutes required to drive
to the station afforded opportunity for an explanation:

I was on my way to New Guinea. This was a Norwegian undertaking which had
the support of three geographical societies. It was hoped that a geologist
and a botanist from Norway would meet me next year in Batavia to take part
in this expedition to one of the least-known regions on the globe. "What
do you expect to find?" he asked just as we halted.

The porters outside said the train was gone, having waited fifteen
minutes. The newspaper man immediately joined forces with my Canadian
friend, and they were equally determined that by some means I should
overtake that train. First we went to look for the station-master, hoping
through him to obtain permission to have the train stopped en route. When
found after a few minutes' search, he tried in vain to get one of the
officials of the Canadian Pacific Company on the telephone. My two friends
stood near to keep his interest active, but he did not seem to succeed.
The station was quiet and looked abandoned. It was after ten o'clock and
at that time of the evening the hope of reaching an official at his
residence seemed forlorn.

Meantime I had my luggage ready to throw aboard the 10.30 express, which
was my one chance in case the Imperial Limited could be halted. The three
men were persistent but finally, two or three minutes before the departure
of the express, they came to me hurriedly and said: "You had better go by
this train to North Bay, where you will arrive at 9.30 to-morrow morning.
There you will catch the train, or if not you can return here." There
appeared to me small prospect that the three men would succeed in
obtaining the desired permission, but I had no time for reflection. The
train was ready to start and my luggage was hastily thrown to the platform
of the car. I bade the gentlemen a hurried good-bye, thanking them for all
the trouble they had taken. "You are going to catch that train!" the
reporter exclaimed in a firm and encouraging tone. "But what do you expect
to find in New Guinea?" he suddenly inquired as I jumped on to the slowly
moving train.

Reflecting that in the worst case I would be back in Montreal in one and a
half days, I fell asleep. At 6.30 in the morning I was awakened by the
voice of the porter saying, "the train is waiting for you, sir," as he
rolled up the curtain. It really was the Imperial Express! The big red
cars stood there quietly in the sunshine of the early morning. In a few
minutes I was dressed, and never with greater satisfaction have I paid a
porter his fee.

The station was Chalk River, and the train had waited forty minutes. What
a comfortable feeling to know that all my belongings were safely on board!
I had not only saved time and money but an interesting trip across the
continent lay before me. Having washed and put on clean garments, I had my
breakfast while passing through an enchanting hilly country, amid smiling
white birches, and the maples in the autumn glory of their foliage, with
more intensely red colouring than can be seen outside North America. The
oatmeal porridge seemed unusually well prepared: the waiter intimated that
the cook was a Parisian. However that might have been, he was probably of
French descent.

Four days later we arrived at Vancouver, where I wrote to the three
gentlemen of Montreal, my appreciation of services rendered, addressing
them care of _The Star_. Their names I did not know, but it was not the
first time that I had been reminded of Darwin's assurance, in the account
of his travels round the world, as to "how many truly kind-hearted people
there are, with whom he (the traveller) never before had, nor ever again
will have any further communication, who yet are ready to offer him the
most disinterested assistance."

Early in the morning on October 19 we saw the first Japanese fishing-boats.
The sea was green and in the atmosphere a kind of haze, which almost seems
peculiar to Japan, imparted an artistic tone to everything. In splendid
weather, almost calm, we sailed along the coast of Nippon. As we entered
the bay of Yokohama the sun was setting over a landscape that realised
one's preconceived ideas of the beauty of the country. On one side, low
ridges with rows of picturesque pine-trees just as you know them from
Japanese prints, while in the background to the west, above the clouds rose
the top of Fuji, nearly 4,000 metres above sea-level. We steamed up in
absolute calm, while the long twilight was still further prolonged by a
brilliant afterglow.

Taking advantage of the permit to leave the steamer and rejoin it in Kobe,
and having received useful advice from Cook's representative who came on
board, I immediately went ashore. On calling a rickshaw I was much
surprised to find that the man spoke English quite well. He trotted
continuously twenty minutes, to the railway station, where in good time I
caught the train for the West, and at daybreak I was ready to observe the
beautiful country through which we passed. I had made no provision for
breakfast, but one of my fellow travellers, who came from Tokio, had the
courtesy to offer me two snipe with bacon, which tasted uncommonly well.

In the morning I arrived at Kioto, the city of many temples, and found the
Kioto hotel satisfactory. I shall not attempt to describe in detail the
fascination of the two days I spent here, where one still may see
something of old Japan. In Kobe, Nagasaki, and other cities exposed to the
stream of travellers, Western influence is evident everywhere, and the
inhabitants are less attractive on that account. After all one has heard
and read about the charm of the country, one is inclined to think that the
reports are exaggerated, but as far as my brief experience in Nippon goes,
it is the most beautiful and interesting country that I have visited, and
I hope in the future to know it better.

The deepest impression made upon me by the Japanese was that they are all
so active, healthy, and strong; always good-tempered, their manners are
exquisite, even the plain people bowing to each other, and many young
people saluted me on the street. The infinite variety in their shops is
noticeable. To see the coaling of the steamers in Japanese harbours, which
is done by baskets handed from one to another, makes an impression on the
traveller. Hundreds of women and men take part in the occupation, and they
come neatly dressed to this dirty work, women with clean white kerchiefs
on their heads. The low ditches in their rice-fields are like engineering
work, and their bundles of wood are nicely tied.

Of the many temples I visited in Kioto the first was Chion-in, which lies
impressively on an elevation at the foot of a charming wooded hill. The
tiny lake at the back of the quaint structure, the peaceful atmosphere,
the sunshine, and singing birds--the _tout ensemble_ was inexpressibly
beautiful. On my way back to the hotel I passed a Christian church and
felt ashamed of the wretched architecture, in the usual conventional
style, made of stone with white-plastered walls, hard and unattractive.
Never have I been among a people so close to nature, strikingly
intelligent, friendly, and the most aesthetic of all nations on the globe.

In continuing the journey opportunity is afforded to see Shanghai,
Hong-Kong, and at last Singapore, the important port of the Malay
Peninsula. Singapore, with its green lawns and trees, has a pleasant,
though humid climate, cooler than that of Batavia, and quite comfortable
although so near the equator. It is satisfying to know one place where the
native races have a good time in competition with the whites, not only the
Chinese, who have reached power and influence here, but also the Malays,
natives of India, Arabs, etc. The Chinese rickshaw men here are of superb
physique, and the excellence of the service renders this the most
agreeable method of getting about. Moreover, it is a pleasure to watch
their athletic movements and long easy stride, as if they were half
flying. Some of them pass the carriages. They are jolly, like big
children, and are natural teetotalers, but they sometimes fight about
money among themselves.

After securing a Chinese photographer and a trained native collector of
zoological specimens, I embarked in the excellent Dutch steamer _Rumphius_
for Batavia where I arrived on the 10th of November. The first thing to be
done was to ask an audience of the Governor-General of Netherlands India,
who usually stays at Buitenzorg, the site of the world-famous botanical
gardens. It is an hour's trip by express from Batavia, and although only
265 metres higher, has a much pleasanter climate. The palace, which is
within the botanical gardens, has an unusually attractive situation, and
the interior is light, cool, and stately. His excellency, A.W.F. Idenburg,
most courteously gave the necessary orders for the furtherance of my
proposed expedition to New Guinea, and as it was necessary for me to go
first to Dutch Borneo, to secure a Dayak crew, he provided me with an
introduction to the Resident of the South and Eastern Division.

During the few days I stayed in Buitenzorg, the botanical gardens were a
source of ever new delight. It was in the latter half of November and thus
well into the rainy season. Usually showers came every afternoon, but the
mornings, even up to eleven o'clock, always appeared like spring-time,
only in a more magnificent edition than that of temperate zones. In the
effulgence of light and the fresh coolness of the first hours of the day,
plant and animal life seemed jubilant. After the calm and heat of midday,
violent thunder-storms of short duration may occur, but the evenings are
generally beautiful, although the prevailing inclination is to retire
early. In the tropics one realises more readily than elsewhere how a
single day contains all the verities and realities of one's whole life:
spring, summer, and autumn every day, as in a year or in a lifetime.
Australians and Americans who visit Java every year make a great mistake
in selecting the dry season, April to July, for their travels. To be sure,
one is not then troubled by rain, but on the other hand the heat is
greater, the country becomes dry, and including the botanical gardens,
loses much of its attraction.

I decided to go by rail to Soerabaia, the point of steamboat connection
with Borneo; this would give me opportunity to see Java besides saving
some time. After twelve hours' travel by express the train stops for the
night at Djokjakarta where there is a good hotel. We now find ourselves in
a region which formerly was the main seat of Buddhism in Java. The
world-famous monument, Boro Budur, is in the neighbourhood to the north in
the district of Kedu, and by motor-car a visit may easily be made in one
day, but for those who can spend more time on this interesting excursion
there is satisfactory accommodation in a small hotel near by. The
government has of late years successfully restored this magnificent ancient
structure which at its base forms a square, with the length of the side 150
metres, and rises to a height of more than 30 metres. At first sight it
does not seem as large as expected, but on entering the first gallery one
is struck by the monumental magnitude and unique beauty of the edifice.

Built upon a small hill from blocks of trachyte, it consists of twelve
terraces rising one above another, and connected by staircases. The
uppermost terrace, fifteen metres in diameter, has a dome. Each gallery is
surrounded by a wall adorned with niches in handsome settings, each
containing a life-sized Buddha, with legs crossed, soles turned downward.
There are 432 such niches, and from this great number of statues of the
famous religious founder the place probably derived its name, Boro Budur
equals Bara Buddha (Buddhas without number).

There are no less than 1,600 has reliefs, handsome carvings in hard stone
mostly representing scenes from the life of Buddha and "which must," says
Wallace, "occupy an extent of nearly three miles in length. The amount of
human labour and skill expended on the Great Pyramids of Egypt sink into
insignificance when compared with that required to complete this
sculptured hill-temple in the interior of Java." It dates from the eighth
or ninth century after Christ, and in reality is not a temple, but a
so-called dagoba, dedicated to the keeping of some Buddhist sacred relic
which was deposited in the dome, its principal part. In the beautiful
light of afternoon the walk through the galleries was especially
impressive. From that vantage point there is presented a fine, extensive
view of a peaceful landscape, and at the time of my visit an actively
smoking volcano in the far distance added a picturesque feature. In the
vicinity is another noble Hindu structure, the so-called temple of Mendut,
inside of which is found a large and singular Buddha sitting on a chair,
legs hanging down. The figure is nude and the expression on its features
is very mild.

The journey from Djokjakarta to Soerabaia consumes about half a day and
the trip is pleasanter than that of the previous day, when the rolling of
the fast express on a narrow-gauge track was rather trying, while at
dinner-time the soup and water were thrown about in an annoying manner. I
have no doubt that this defect will soon be remedied, for Java is still
what a very distinguished English visitor said sixty years ago: "the very
garden of the East and perhaps upon the whole the richest, best
cultivated, and best governed tropical island in the world." Soerabaia is
the great shipping port for sugar, tobacco, etc., and a more important
commercial centre than Batavia. The day after my arrival I started for
Borneo where I intended to proceed to the Kayan or Bulungan River in the
Northeast. It was my purpose to take advantage of the occasion to acquaint
myself with that district and its natives which would extend my travels by
a few months.




CHAPTER II


BORNEO--CLIMATIC AND BIOLOGICAL CONDITIONS--NATURAL RESOURCES--POPULATION--
HISTORY--GOVERNMENT OF THE NATIVES--RACIAL PROBLEMS

Leaving Greenland out of consideration, Borneo is the second largest
island on the globe, the greater part of it, southern and eastern,
belonging to Holland. In a recent geological period this island as well as
Java and Sumatra formed part of Asia. A glance at the map shows that
Borneo is drained by rivers which originate in the central region near
each other, the greater by far being in Dutch territory, some of them
navigable to large steam launches for 500 or 600 kilometres. The principal
chain of mountains runs, roughly speaking, from northeast to southwest,
the average height being perhaps 1,000-1,500 metres, with higher peaks now
and then. There are also ranges from east and west. The remainder is
irregular hilly country, with low swampy coasts. The highest mountain is
Kinabalu, in the north, about 4,500 metres above the sea and composed of
"porphyritic granite and igneous rocks." There are no active volcanoes.
The whole island is covered with forest vegetation from the coasts to the
tops of the hills and ranges.

The climate is humid and warm and remarkably even, the thermometer in the
inland rarely reaching above 85° F. in the shade. Rain is copious most of
the year; at night it sometimes rains continuously; but a day of
uninterrupted downpour did not occur during my two years of travel. It
comes in showers, usually lasting an hour or two, when it clears as
suddenly as it began, and within half an hour all is dry again. In the
interior, on account of the vast jungles, except in case of thunderstorms,
which are rare, there is no wind, but on the coasts one may encounter
storms in the time of both the northeast and the southwest monsoons.
Though Borneo and the central mountains of New Guinea have the greatest
rainfall in the Malay Archipelago, there is a distinct dry season, which
is mostly felt during April, May, and June, but is less noticeable in the
central parts. As regards the distribution of rain and dry weather, some
difference was experienced as between the two years, and a planter of
several years' experience in the south told me that one year is not like
another. In spite of the general supposition to the contrary the climate
of Borneo is quite pleasant, and probably less unhealthful than most
equatorial regions, particularly in the central part where malaria is rare
and prickly heat does not occur.

Borneo has very many useful trees, notably hard woods. Rubber is still a
source of income to the Malays and Dayaks, and the rattan and bamboo, on
which the very existence of the natives depends, grow everywhere. The
sago-palm and a great number of valuable wild fruits are found, such as
the famous durian, mangosteen, lansat, rambutan, and others. The climate
seems to be specially suited to fruit, the pineapple and pomelo reaching
their highest perfection here. The coconut-palm thrives on the island.
Borneo is famous for its orchids and most of the species of pitcher-plants
(_nepenthes_) are found here, the largest of which will hold two "quarts"
of water.

The elephant, rhinoceros, tapir, wild cattle, and many other kinds of
smaller animals of Asia are found in Borneo. No Indian tigers are in the
country, though many varieties of the cat family are there, among them the
beautiful large _felis nebulosa_. Wild pigs of many species roam the jungle
in abundance. Several kinds of mammals are peculiar to the island, among
which may be mentioned the long-nosed monkey (_nasalis larvatus_). There
are over 550 species of birds, but the individuals of the species are not
numerous; the pheasant family is especially gorgeous in form and colour.
The rivers and the surrounding sea swarm with fish of many kinds,
furnishing an abundance of food, although generally not very palatable.
The djelavat, in flavour not unlike salmon, and the salap, both of which I
met in the upper courses of the rivers Samba, Barito, and Mahakam, are
notable exceptions.

The mineral resources of Borneo are very considerable; coal, gold, iron,
diamonds, tin, and antimony are among the most valuable. Anthracite coal
is not found in the country, that which is in evidence being from the
tertiary period. Gold is everywhere, but thus far is not found in
sufficient quantity to pay. Formerly the natives of the upper Kotawaringin
district had to pay the Sultan gold as a tax. A mining engineer told me
that in Martapura, the principal diamond-field, one may find gold,
platinum, and diamonds while washing one pan.

The total population of the island is probably 3,000,000. As regards the
South and Eastern Division of Dutch Borneo--roughly half of the island--to
which my travels were confined, the census returns of 1914 give in round
figures a total of 906,000 people, of whom 800 are Europeans (470 men and
330 women), 86,000 Chinese, 817,000 Dayaks and Malays, and 2,650 Arabs and
other aliens. Of these peoples no less than 600,000 live in a
comparatively small area of the southeast, the districts of Oeloe Soengei
and Bandjermasin. These are nearly all Malays, only 4,000 or 5,000 being
Dayaks, who probably do not form the majority of the 217,000 that make up
the remainder of the native population of the Division.

On account of the small white population and insufficient means of
communication, which is nearly all by river, the natural resources of
Dutch Borneo are still in the infancy of development. The petroleum
industry has reached important proportions, but development of the mineral
wealth has hardly begun. In 1917 a government commission, having the
location of iron and gold especially in view, was sent to explore the
mineral possibilities of the Schwaner Mountains. In the alluvial country
along the rivers are vast future possibilities for rational agriculture,
by clearing the jungle where at present the Malays and Dayaks pursue their
primitive operations of planting rice in holes made with a pointed stick.

The early history of Borneo is obscure. Nothing in that regard can be
learned from its present barbarous natives who have no written records,
and few of whom have any conception of the island as a geographical unit.
Although the Chinese had early knowledge of, and dealings with, Borneo,
there seems little doubt that the country was first colonised by Hindu
Javanese from Modjopahit, the most important of the several kingdoms which
Hindus began to found in the early centuries after Christ. Modjopahit
enclosed the region round the present Soerabaia in East Java, and it was
easy to reach Borneo from there, to-day distant only twenty-seven hours by
steamer. These first settlers in Borneo professed Hinduism and to some
extent Buddhism. They founded several small kingdoms, among them
Bandjermasin, Pasir, and Kutei, also Brunei on the north coast. But
another race came, the Malays, who with their roving disposition extended
their influence in the coast countries and began to form states. Then
Islamism appeared in the Orient and changed conditions. Arabs, sword in
hand, converted Java, and as far as they could, destroyed temples,
monuments, and statues. The Malays, too, became Mohammedans and the sway
of Islam spread more or less over the whole Malay Archipelago. With the
fall of Modjopahit in 1478 the last vestige of Hindu Javanese influence in
Borneo disappeared.

The Malays established sultanates with the same kind of government that is
habitual with Mohammedans, based on oppression of the natives by the
levying of tribute with the complement of strife, intrigue, and
non-progress. In the course of time the Malays have not only absorbed the
Hindu Javanese, but also largely the Bugis, who had founded a state on the
west coast, and in our time they are gradually pushing back the Dayaks and
slowly but surely absorbing them. The Chinese have also played a prominent
part in the colonisation of Borneo, having early developed gold and
diamond mines and established trade, and though at times they have been
unruly, they are today an element much appreciated by the Dutch in the
development of the country.

As regards the time when European influence appeared in Borneo, the small
sultanate of Brunei in the north was the first to come in contact with
Europeans. Pigafetta, with the survivors of Magellan's expedition, arrived
here from the Moluccas in 1521, and was the first to give an account of it
to the Western world. He calls it "Bornei," which later, with a slight
change, became the name of the whole island. The ever-present Portuguese
early established trade relations with the sultanate. Since the Napoleonic
wars, when the East Indian colonies were returned to Holland, the Dutch
have gradually extended their rule in Borneo to include two-thirds of the
island. In the remainder the British have consolidated their interests,
and in 1906, the European occupation of Borneo was completed. The
distribution of territory has roughly been placed thus: Dutch Borneo,
seventy per cent; Sarawak and Brunei, twenty per cent; British North
Borneo, ten per cent.

To the world at large Borneo is probably best known through the romance
surrounding the name of James Brooke, who became Raja of Sarawak, in 1841.
His story has often been told, but a brief account may not be out of
place. He had been to the Far East and its fascination, together with an
impulse to benefit the natives, drew him back again. After resigning his
commission in the army of the British East India Company, he built his own
yacht of 140 tons, practised his crew in the Mediterranean and then set
sail for the Malay Archipelago. In his _Proposed Exploring Expedition to
the Asiatic Archipelago_, 1838, are found these stirring words which strike
a responsive chord in the heart of every true explorer:

"Imagination whispers to ambition that there are yet lands unknown which
might be discovered. Tell me, would not a man's life be well spent--tell
me, would it not be well sacrificed in an endeavour to explore these
regions? When I think of dangers and death I think of them only because
they would remove me from such a field for ambition, for energy, and for
knowledge." [*]

[Footnote *: _The Expedition to Borneo of H.M.S. "Dido" for the Suppression
of Piracy_, by Captain H. Keppel, p. 374. Harper's, New York, 1846.]

Mr. Brooke arrived at Sarawak where he remained some time, surveying the
coast and studying the people. In those days Malay pirates rendered the
country dangerous to approach and several ships had been lost and their
crews murdered. One of the chronic rebellions against the Sultan of Brunei
was raging at the time, and Mr. Brooke was asked to suppress it, was made
Raja, and defeated the rebels, cleared the river of pirates and
established order.

Though Mohammedan laws were maintained in Sarawak, the worst abuses were
purged out, as for instance, the death penalty for conjugal infidelity,
and the sufficiency of a fine in extenuation of a murder. As for the
Dayaks who formerly were cheated by Malay traders and robbed by Malay
chiefs, they were permitted to enjoy absolute safety. Both Raja Brooke and
his nephew, who succeeded him in the same spirit, followed the policy of
making use of the natives themselves in governing, and Sarawak to-day
enjoys the distinction of being a country where the interests of the
natives are guarded with greater care than those of "the minority of
superior race." Resting on the good-will of the natives and their uplift,
the government of the two white Rajas has been remarkably successful.

The Dutch, with their much larger possessions, in a similar way have
invoked the co-operation of the native chiefs. Their government is also
largely paternal, which is the form best suited to the circumstances. The
Malay Sultans maintain power under Dutch control and receive their income
from the government, which has abolished many abuses. As for the pagan
tribes, they are treated with admirable justice.

Well administered by Europeans as Borneo undoubtedly is, the question may
well arise as to whether the natives are not becoming sufficiently
civilised to render purposeless expeditions to study them. To this may be
answered that in a country so vast, where white men are comparatively few
in number, the aborigines in the more remote part are still very little
affected by outside influence. The geographical features are an important
factor here. In the immense extent of forest vegetation which covers the
land from the sea to the tops of the mountains, the rivers are the only
highways, and in their upper courses, on account of rapids and waterfalls,
travel is difficult and often dangerous. Although in the last quarter of a
century much has been accomplished by ethnology, still for years to come
Borneo, especially the Dutch part of it, will remain a prolific field for
research. The tribes are difficult to classify, and in Dutch Borneo
undoubtedly additional groups are to be found. The Muruts in the north,
who use irrigation in their rice culture and show physical differences
from the others, are still little known. Many tribes in Dutch Borneo have
never been studied. So recently as 1913 Mr. Harry C. Raven, an American
zoological collector, in crossing the peninsula that springs forth on the
east coast about 1° N.L., came across natives, of the Basap tribe, who had
not before been in contact with whites. The problem of the Indonesians is
far from solved, nor is it known who the original inhabitants of Borneo
were, Negritos or others, and what role, if any, the ancestors of the
Polynesians played remains to be discovered.

The generally accepted idea has been that the Malays inhabit the coasts
and the Dayaks the interior. This is not strictly correct because the
racial problems of the island are much more complicated. Doctor A.C.
Haddon recognises five principal groups of people in Sarawak, Punan,
Kenyah-Kayan, Iban or Sea Dayak, Malay, and the remaining tribes he
comprehends under the noncommittal name Klemantan. He distinguishes two
main races, a dolichocephalic and a brachycephalic, terming the former
Indonesian, the latter Proto-Malay.

Doctor A.W. Nieuwenhuis, who about the end of the last century made
important researches in the upper parts of the Kapuas and Mahakam Rivers
and at Apo Kayan, found the Ot-Danum, Bahau-Kenyah, and Punan to be three
distinct groups of that region. Doctor Kohlbrugge and Doctor Haddon
consider the Ot-Danums as Indonesians, to whom the former also consigns
the Kayans and the Punans. [*] Doctors Hose and McDougall, who in their
_Pagan Tribes of Borneo_ have contributed much to the ethnology of the
island, have convincingly shown that the Ibans (Sea Dayaks) are recent
immigrants, probably of only two hundred years ago, from Sumatra, and are
Proto-Malays. They hold the view that the Kayans have imparted to the
Kenyahs and other tribes the "principal elements of the peculiar culture
which they now have in common."

[Footnote *: Quoted from _Pagan Tribes in Borneo,_ II, p. 316]

The Malays undoubtedly were the first to employ the word Dayak as a
designation for the native tribes except the nomadic, and in this they
have been followed by both the Dutch and the British. The word, which
makes its appearance in the latter part of the eighteenth century, is
derived from a Sarawak word, dayah, man, and is therefore, as Ling Roth
says, a generic term for man. The tribes do not call themselves Dayaks,
and to use the designation as an anthropological descriptive is an
inadmissible generalisation. Nevertheless, in the general conception the
word has come to mean all the natives of Borneo except the Malays and the
nomadic peoples, in the same way as American Indian stands for the
multitude of tribes distributed over a continent. In this sense, for the
sake of convenience, I shall myself use the word, but to apply it
indiscriminately to anthropological matters is as unsatisfactory as if one
should describe a certain tribe in the new world merely as American
Indian.




CHAPTER III


BANDJERMASIN, THE PRINCIPAL TOWN IN DUTCH BORNEO--NORTHWARD ALONG THE
EAST COAST--BALIK PAPAN, AN OIL PRODUCING CENTRE--SAMARINDA--TANDJONG
SELOR--THE SULTAN-UP THE KAYAN RIVER

Fifty miles from land the sea assumes a different aspect through the fresh
water of the great Barito flowing on the surface. Its red hue is produced
by particles of soil brought from the inland of Borneo. In the beginning
of December I arrived at Bandjermasin, the principal town in Dutch Borneo,
inhabited for the most part by Malays and Chinese. It is the seat of the
Resident of the vast South and Eastern Division and has a garrison. The
sea loudly announces its presence here, the tide overflowing much of the
low ground, hence the Malay name, _bandjir_ = overflow, _másin_ = salt
water. Large clumps of a peculiar water-plant float on the river in
Bandjermasin in great numbers, passing downward with the current, upward
with the tide, producing a singular, but pleasing sight. It is originally
a native of America and has attractive light-blue flowers, but multiplies
to such an extent that the growth finally may interfere with traffic. In
India I saw a lagoon completely choked with it.

There is one hotel where the table is fair and the beds are clean, but
blankets are considered unnecessary, and only sheets are provided. The
climate was not as hot as I expected, nights and mornings being
surprisingly cool. Early in July of the following year the morning
temperature was about 73° F. (23° C). Malaria is rare here, but there are
frequent indications of beri-beri.

Friends invited me to go on an excursion to a small island, Kambang, where
there are a number of monkeys to whom Malays who desire children sacrifice
food. On our arrival the animals came to meet us in a way that was almost
uncanny, running like big rats in the tall grass on the muddy beach. Many
remnants of sacrificial offerings were strewn about.

Two years later I was again in Bandjermasin, when an elderly American and
his wife appeared upon the scene-tourists, by the way, being very unusual
here. At the breakfast table they asked a young Dutchman the whereabouts
of the church and museum, and he replied that he did not think there was
either in the town. As a matter of fact there is a small wooden Dutch
church hidden away in a back street. Moreover, in 1914 the Resident, who
at that time was Mr. L.F.J. Rijckmans, had a house built, in Malay style
of architecture, for the safekeeping of Bornean industrial and
ethnological objects which had been on view at the exhibition at Samarang
in Java, thus forming the nucleus of a museum which at some future time
may be successfully developed. The Kahayan Dayaks, not far away to the
north, make exquisite cigar-cases from rattan, while the Bugis weave
attractive cotton goods, resembling silk, with an original and pleasing
colour combination.

The Europeans have a lawn-tennis court where they usually play every
afternoon. In Bandjermasin is the headquarters of a German missionary
society whose activities are confined mainly to the Kahayan River. They
are Protestants and worked for a great number of years without making any
noteworthy impression on the natives, but of late years they have been
more successful. Catholics, who came later, have a station on the Mahakam
River. The government wisely has separated Protestant and Catholic
missionary activities, restricting the former to the southern part of the
country, the latter to the northern.

There is no difficulty about getting up along the east coast northward as
far as the Bulungan, which was my immediate aim. The Royal Dutch Packet
Boat Company adheres to a schedule of regular fortnightly steamship
connection. On the way a stop is made at Balik Papan, the great
oil-producing centre, with its numerous and well-appointed tanks and modern
equipment, reminding one of a thriving town in America. One of the doctors
in this prosperous place told me that his two children of four and six
years enjoyed excellent health. Dysentery was prevalent among the coolies,
and occasionally cases of malaria occurred, but malaria is found even in
Holland, he added.

As we sailed up the Kutei River in the early morning, approaching
Samarinda, an attractive scene presented itself. Absolute calm and peace
reigned, a slight morning mist rising here and there before us and giving
a touch of charm to the vista of modest white houses that stretched along
the beach in their tropical surroundings. Samarinda lies almost on the
equator, but nights and mornings are always cool, even to a greater degree
than in Bandjermasin. Northeast Borneo and North Celebes have a
comparatively cool climate, but from Samarinda southward it is warmer. I
called on the assistant Resident, in whose office a beautiful blue
water-rail, with a red head, walked unconcernedly about. He advised me that
this was the worst time for travelling, when the northwest monsoons, which
are accompanied by much rain, are blowing.

The peace and contentment among the natives here, mostly Malays, impresses
one favourably. They are all very fond of their children and take good
care of them. The crying of children is a sound that is rarely heard. It
was my fortune to travel over two years in the Dutch Indies; it is
gratifying to state that during that time I never saw a native drunk, cit
her in Java or Borneo. My visits did not extend to the Muruts in the north
of Borneo, who are known to indulge excessively in native rice brandy. Nor
was I present at any harvest feast, but according to reliable report,
"strong drink is seldom or never abused" by the tribes of Borneo. The
Muruts and the Ibans are the exceptions.

Two days later, among mighty forests of nipa-palms, we sailed up the Kayan
or Bulungan River and arrived at Tandjong Selor, a small town populated by
Malays and Chinese, the number of Europeans being usually limited to two,
the controleur and the custom-house manager. It lies in a flat swampy
country and on the opposite side of the river, which here is 600 metres
wide, lives the Sultan of Bulungan. I secured a large room in a house
which had just been rented by two Japanese who were representatives of a
lumber company, and had come to arrange for the export of hardwood from
this part of Borneo.

Accompanied by the controleur, Mr. R. Schreuder, I went to call on the
Sultan. He was a man of about thirty-five years, rather prepossessing in
appearance, and proud of his ancestry, although time has so effaced his
Dayak characteristics that he looks like a Malay. Dato Mansur, his
executive, met us at the landing and escorted us into the presence of the
Sultan and his wife, where we were offered soda-water and whiskey, and we
remained an hour. They are both likeable, but the Sultan appears rather
nervous and frail, and it is rumoured that his health has suffered as a
result of overindulgence in spiritualistic seances. He gave an
entertaining account of natives living in the trees on the Malinau River.
As it had been impossible for me to obtain cartridges for my Winchester
rifle, the Sultan was kind enough to lend me one of his before we parted,
as well as two hundred cartridges. He also obligingly sent Dato Mansur up
the river to Kaburau, the principal Kayan kampong (village) to secure men
and boats for an intended expedition inland from there.

The main business of Tandjong Selor, as everywhere in Borneo, is buying
rattan, rubber, and damar (a kind of resin) from the Malays and the
Dayaks, and shipping it by steamer to Singapore. As usual, trade is almost
entirely in the hands of the Chinese. The great event of the place is the
arrival of the steamer twice a month. When the whistle is heard from down
the river a great yell arises from all over the town. The steamer is
coming! People by the hundreds run down to the wharf amid great excitement
and joy. Many Malays do not work except on these occasions, when they are
engaged in loading and unloading. The principal Chinese merchant there,
Hong Seng, began his career as a coolie on the wharf. He has a fairly
well-stocked store with some European and American preserved articles, and
was reliable in his dealings, as the Chinese always are. He was rich
enough to have of late taken to himself a young wife, besides keeping his
first one. His two young sons who assisted him had been at school in
Singapore, and were proud to air their knowledge of English.

The house where I lived was on the main street, on the river bank, and in
the evening the little shops on either side started playing nasty, cheap
European phonographs the noise of which was most disagreeable. Most of the
records were of Chinese music, the harsh quality of which was magnified
tenfold by the imperfections of the instruments. When the nerve-wracking
concert became intolerable, they were always good enough to stop it at my
request.

However, there was one feature about this remote place which was
repugnant--the prevalent flogging of children with rattan, mostly among
the Mohammedan Malays. Not a day passed without wails and violent cries
arising in some part of the town, especially during the forenoon, although
I did not perceive that the children here were more incorrigible than
elsewhere. The Dayaks never beat their children, and later I did not
observe similar cruelty among Malays. Wise though King Solomon was, his
precept not to spare the rod should be regarded in the light of his large
family, "700 wives, princesses, and 300 concubines." Even in the training
of animals, better results are obtained by omitting the lash.

In the beginning of January, 1914, I was able to start for Kaburau. The
controleur courteously provided for my use the government's steamship
_Sophia_, which in six hours approached within easy distance of the
kampong. My party consisted of Ah Sewey, a young Chinese photographer from
Singapore whom I had engaged for developing plates and films, also
Chonggat, a Sarawak Dayak who had had his training at the museum of Kuala
Lampur in the Malay Peninsula. Finally, Go Hong Cheng, a Chinese trader,
acted as interpreter and mandur (overseer). He spoke several Dayak
dialects, but not Dutch, still less English, for Malay is the lingua
franca of the Dutch Indies as well as of the Malay Peninsula. As we
anchored for the night I heard for the first time, from the hills that
rose near by, the loud defiant cry of the argus pheasant. How wildly weird
it sounds on a quiet evening!

The next morning the Kayans met us with boats to take us up to their
kampong, Kaburau. Some women were pounding paddi (rice) under the large
communal house which, in accordance with the custom of the country, was
raised from the ground on posts. Dogs were much in evidence, both on the
ground below and on the gallery of the house above. The canine species
kept by the Dayaks have erect ears, are rather small and their colour is
usually dull yellow. Here they were variously coloured, some entirely
black, and fights among them were of frequent occurrence. Ascending the
ladder I found a large tame bird of the stork family chained to the
gallery, for the Dayaks often keep birds and animals in their houses.

The chief very hospitably had prepared one room for all four of us to
lodge in, which did not exactly suit me, as I like to have a place where
at times I may be _chez moi_, for the night at least. There was no suitable
place outside for my tent, so I decided to paddle a few hundred kilometres
up the river to a dilapidated camping-house for travellers, put up by the
Dayaks under government order. Such a house is called pasang-grahan and may
be found in many out-of-the-way places in Borneo.

Though generally crude and unpretentious huts where travelling soldiers or
Malays put up, these shelters are very useful, especially for the night.
There is another kind of pasang-grahan, comfortable structures provided
with beds, similar to the rest-houses in India. In the more civilised
parts these are built for the use of officials and other travellers. The
one referred to had roof and walls of palm leaves, and as a matter of
course, stood on piles. Though said to be only three years old it was
already very shaky; still after clearing away the grass and some of the
jungle next to it, we established quite a comfortable camp.

Chonggat brought in a number of birds and animals here, among them the
lovely raja bird, snow-white except for the deep blue head, and with a
very long graceful tail. It is also called paradise flycatcher
(_terpsiphone_), and is found from Sumatra up into middle China. In Borneo
it is quite common, being observed also on the Mahakam in the central part
of the island. According to the legend, it formerly cost a man his life to
kill it. This man soon showed himself to be an excellent worker who took
his business very seriously and did not allow himself to be distracted
when I amused visiting Kayans with simple moving pictures and by playing a
music-box. The jungle, dripping with dew in the early morning, did not
deter him, and at night it was his custom to shoot owls and hunt for deer
or other animals. After arranging his tent with little or no help from the
Dayaks, he would next put up a frame-work on which to dry his skins, under
a roof of palm leaves; here a fire was always kept, without which the
skins would have spoiled in that damp climate. Chonggat had a fine
physique, was always pleasant and willing and was possessed of more than
ordinary intelligence withal. Also keenly humourous, he enjoyed my initial
mistakes in Malay, though maintaining a proper respect for the leader of
the expedition.

In the evening, having retired for the day, he, as well as the Chinese
photographer could be heard in their respective tents studying English
from small guidebooks which they had brought along. He told me that his
earnings were invested in a small rubber plantation which he and his
brothers worked together. Chonggat was a good example of what a native of
Borneo can accomplish under proper civilizing influences.

One morning he brought in a king cobra (_naia bungarus_) which he had shot,
and as life was not yet extinct I got a good photograph of it. This serpent
was about three metres long, but these very poisonous snakes, called ular
tadong by the Malays, attain a length of seven metres. They are beautifully
formed for quick movement, and will attack human beings, the female being
particularly vicious when it has eggs. "When I see ular tadong coming
toward me," said Chonggat, who was no coward, "then I run." There are
several species of very poisonous snakes in Borneo, but according to my
experience they are not very numerous. Two small ones, about thirty-five
centimetres long, are the most common varieties encountered in the jungle.
They are sluggish and somewhat similar in appearance, dark brown and red
being the principal colours. One of them has its under side decorated with
transverse sections of beautiful scarlet alternating with black.

Ah Sewey, the photographer, was also an efficient man, but at first we had
immense difficulty with the developing. One cannot count on water cooler
than 75° F., and at that temperature the films come out well, but in the
beginning many plates were spoiled. For the photographer in the tropics
the use of formalin is an absolute necessity. He must also face other
difficulties, avoiding among other things the possibility of having his
films, when drying, eaten by small species of grasshoppers.




CHAPTER IV


AN EXPEDITION INTO THE JUNGLE--FIRST IMPRESSIONS--RAPID CHANGE IN THE
DENSENESS OF VEGETATION--ANIMAL LIFE--A STUBBORN FIGHT

About the middle of January, I began an expedition into the utan, as the
Malays call the great jungles of Borneo, first going up the river half a
day and from there striking inland toward the north. If circumstances
proved favourable, I intended to travel as far as Bengara, about twelve
days' trip for a Dayak with a light burden to carry. In case of
unfavourable weather and too much delay in getting fresh provisions, I
felt that I should be satisfied in penetrating well into a region not
before visited by whites, where I might succeed in coming into contact
with the shy nomads, called Punans, known to roam there in limited
numbers. To this end I had taken along one of the Sultan's petty
officials, a so-called raja, who exercised more or less control over the
Punans. This man, evidently half Malay and half Dayak, and as nude as the
rest, demanded to be waited upon by the other natives, who even had to put
up his hair. He was lazy; he would not be a raja if he were not. If he
were on the move one day, he would sleep most of the next.

Among my twenty-two Kayans was an efficient and reliable man called
Banglan, the sub-chief of Kaburau, who was alert and intelligent. He had
only one hand, the result of a valorous fight with a crocodile, by which
his prahu (native boat) had been attacked one day at dawn in a small
tributary of the river. The animal actually upset the prahu and killed his
two companions, in trying to save whom with no weapon but his bare hands,
he lost one in the struggle. In their contact with the crocodiles the
Dayaks show a fortitude almost beyond belief. A Dutch doctor once treated
a man who had been dragged under water, but had the presence of mind to
press a thumb into each eye of the reptile. He was badly mangled, but
recovered.

As long as we remained at a low altitude camping out was not an unalloyed
pleasure, because the tormenting gnats were exasperating, and at night the
humidity was great, making the bed and everything else damp. The
atmosphere was heavy and filled with the odor of decaying vegetable matter
never before disturbed. In the morning at five o'clock, my hour for
rising, there was considerable chill in the air. It was difficult to see a
star here and there through the tall trees and dense undergrowth that
surrounded us as closely as the walls of a cave.

The stagnant atmosphere and dark environment, which the sun's rays vainly
attempted to penetrate, began to have a depressing effect on my spirits.
After a couple of nights spent thus, a longing for sunshine came over me
and I decided to stay one day, make a clearing, dry our belongings, and
put up a shelter in which to leave some of our baggage; all of which could
not be carried up the hills.

I told the raja and Banglan that I wanted the sun to shine into the camp,
and the men immediately set to work with cheerful alacrity. The Dayaks
have no rivals in their ability to make a tree fall in the desired
direction. First, by carefully sighting the trunk, they ascertain the most
feasible way for the tree to fall, then they chop at the base with native
axes, sometimes four men working, two and two in unison. In a remarkably
brief time it begins to weaken, the top making slight forward movements
which are followed by a final sharp report announcing the end of their
labour.

Quickly noting that they were masters in their craft, I permitted them to
fell forest giants in close proximity to our tents, some of which landed
but half a metre distant. Immense specimens in their fall brought down
thickets of creepers and smaller growths which produced big openings, so
we succeeded in making quite a sunny camp in the dark jungle.

Since that experience I have made it an invariable rule in my travels to
cut a small clearing before putting up my tent in the jungle. Sometimes
the felling of one or two trees will ameliorate the situation
immeasurably, admitting fresh air and sunlight, and there is little
difficulty about it when one is accompanied by such able and willing men
as the Dayaks. For their own use when travelling they make simple shelters
as night approaches, because they dislike to get wet. The material is
always close at hand. Slender straight poles are quickly cut and brought
in to make frame-work for a shed, the floor of which is about half a metre
above ground. The roof is made of big leaves, and in less than an hour
they are comfortably at home in one or more sheds, grouped around fires on
the flimsy floor.

It is a curious fact that one can always manage to make a fire in these
damp woods; a petroleum burner is not essential. The natives always know
where to go to find something dry that will burn; as for the white man's
cook, he usually improves upon the situation by soaking the wood in
petroleum, which is one of the valuable articles of equipment. Often in
the jungle, when slightly preparing the ground for erecting the tent,
phosphorescent lights from decayed vegetable matter shone in innumerable
spots, as if a powerful lamp were throwing its light through a grating.

In ascending the hills it was surprising how soon the aspect of the
vegetation changed. The camp we were just leaving was only about a metre
above the Kayan River, so we probably were not more than twenty-odd metres
above sea-level. Twenty metres more, and the jungle vegetation was thinner
even at that short distance. Trees, some of them magnificent specimens of
hard wood, began to assert themselves. Above 100 metres elevation it was
not at all difficult to make one's way through the jungle, even if we had
not had a slight Punan path to follow. It is easier than to ascend the
coast range of northeast Queensland under 18° S.L., where the lawyer palms
are very troublesome. Making a light clearing one evening we opened the
view to a couple of tall trees called in Malay, palapak, raising their
crowns high above the rest; this is one of the trees from which the
natives make their boats. The trunk is very tall and much thicker near the
ground.

Reaching a height of 500 metres, the ground began to be slippery with
yellow mud, but the jungle impeded one less than the thickets around
Lenox, Massachusetts, in the United States. Toward the south of our camp
here, the hill had an incline of 45 degrees or less, and one hardwood tree
that we felled travelled downward for a distance of 150 metres. A pleasant
soft breeze blew for about ten minutes, for the first time on our journey,
and the afternoon was wonderfully cool.

A Kayan messenger here arrived from the kampong, bringing a package which
contained my mail, obligingly sent me by the controleur. The package made
a profound impression on the Dayaks as well as on the Chinese interpreter,
all of whom crowded around my tent to observe what would follow. I went
elsewhere for a little while, but it was of no avail. They were waiting to
see the contents, so I took my chair outside, opened and read my mail,
closely watched all the time by a wondering crowd.

None of our attendant natives had been in this part of the country before
except a Punan, now adopted into the Kayan tribe, who knew it long ago and
his memory at times seemed dimmed. Fresh tracks of rhinoceros and bear
were seen and tapirs are known to exist among these beautiful wooded
hills. Chonggat succeeded in shooting an exceedingly rare squirrel with a
large bushy tail. We finally made camp on top of a hill 674 metres in
height which we called kampong Gunong.

The Dayaks helped me to construct a small shed with a fireplace inside
where I could dry my wet clothing, towels, etc. Of their own initiative
they also put up around the tent some peculiar Dayak ornamentations in the
shape of long spirals of wood shavings hung on to the end of poles or
trees which they planted in the ground. The same kind of decorations are
used at the great festivals, and when a gentle wind set them in motion
they had quite a cheerful, almost festive appearance.

Every morning, almost punctually at five o'clock, the gibbons or
long-armed, man-like apes, began their loud chatter in the tree-tops, more
suggestive of the calls of birds than of animals. They are shy, but become
very tame in confinement and show much affection. A wah-wah, as the animal
is called in this part of the world, will throw his arms around the neck
of his master, and is even more human in his behaviour than the orang-utan,
from which he differs in temperament, being more vivacious and inclined to
mischief. In a kampong I once saw a young gibbon repeatedly descend into a
narrow inclosure to tease a large pig confined there. The latter, although
three or four times as large, seemed entirely at his mercy and was
submissive and frightened, even when his ears were pulled by the wah-wah.
During my travels in the jungle of Borneo, few were the days in which I was
not summoned to rise by the call of the wah-wah, well-nigh as reliable as
an alarm clock.

My stay here was protracted much longer than I expected on account of rain
and fog, which rendered photographing difficult; one or the other
prevailed almost continuously. Frequently sunlight seemed approaching, but
before I could procure and arrange my camera it had vanished, and light
splashes of rain sounded on my tent. This was trying, but one cannot
expect every advantage in the tropics, which are so beautiful most of the
year that I, for one, gladly put up with the discomforts of a wet season.

Rain-storms came from the north and northeast; from our high point of
view, one could see them approaching and hear the noise of the rain on the
top of the jungle many minutes before they arrived. A few times,
especially at night, we had storms that lasted for hours, reaching
sometimes a velocity of eighty kilometres an hour. The trees of the jungle
are naturally not exposed to the force of the wind, standing all together,
so those surrounding our clearing seemed helpless, deprived of their usual
support. Some smaller ones, apparently of soft wood, which had been left
on the clearing, were broken, and the green leaves went flying about. On
one occasion at dusk Banglan stood a long time watching for any
suspicious-looking tree that might threaten to fall over the camp.
Torrents of rain fell during the night and we could barely keep dry within
our tents. The rain was more persistent here in the vicinity of the lower
Kayan than in any other part of Borneo during my two years of travel
through that country.

White-tailed, wattled pheasants (_lobiophasis_), rare in the museums, were
very numerous here. This beautiful bird has a snow-white tail and its head
is adorned with four cobalt-blue appendages, two above and two underneath
the head. The Dayaks caught this and other birds alive in snares, which
they are expert in constructing. I kept one alive for many days, and it
soon became tame. It was a handsome, brave bird, and I was sorry one day
to find it dead from want of proper nourishment, the Dayaks having been
unable to find sufficient rain-worms for it.

The beautiful small deer, kidyang, was secured several times. Its meat is
the best of all game in Borneo, although the Kayans look upon it with
disfavour. When making new fields for rice-planting, if such an animal
should appear, the ground is immediately abandoned.

Scarcely fifty metres below the top of the hill was our water supply,
consisting of a scanty amount of running water, which stopped now and then
to form tiny pools, and to my astonishment the Dayaks one day brought from
these some very small fish which I preserved in alcohol. Naturally the
water swells much in time of rain, but still it seems odd that such small
fish could reach so high a point.

Many insects were about at night. Longicornes scratched underneath my bed,
and moths hovered about my American hurricane lamp hanging outside the
tent-door. Leeches also entered the tent and seemed to have a predilection
for the tin cans in which my provisions and other things were stored. In
the dim lamplight I could sometimes see the uncanny shadows of their
bodies on the canvas, raised and stretched to an incredible height, moving
their upper parts quickly to all sides before proceeding on their "forward
march." To some people, myself included, their bite is poisonous, and on
the lower part of the legs produces wounds that may take weeks to cure.

One day native honey was brought in, which had been found in a hollow
tree. It was sweet, but thin, and had no pronounced flavour. A few minutes
after the honey had been left on a plate in my tent there arrived a number
of large yellow hornets, quite harmless apparently, but persevering in
their eagerness to feast upon the honey. During the foggy afternoon they
gathered in increased numbers and were driven off with difficulty. The
temporary removal of the plate failed to diminish their persistence until
finally, at dusk, they disappeared, only to return again in the morning,
bringing others much larger in size and more vicious in aspect, and the
remaining sweet was consumed with incredible rapidity; in less than two
hours a considerable quantity of the honey in the comb as well as liquid
was finished by no great number of hornets.

Later several species of ants found their way into my provision boxes. A
large one, dark-gray, almost black, in colour, more than a centimetre
long, was very fond of sweet things. According to the Malays, if irritated
it is able to sting painfully, but in spite of its formidable appearance
it is timid and easily turned away, so for a long time I put up with its
activities, though gradually these ants got to be a nuisance by walking
into my cup, which they sometimes filled, or into my drinking-water.
Another species, much smaller, which also was fond of sugar, pretended to
be dead when discovered. One day at ten o'clock in the morning, I observed
two of the big ants, which I had come to look upon as peaceful, in violent
combat outside my tent. A large number of very tiny ones were busily
attaching themselves to legs and antennae of both fighters, who did not,
however, greatly mind the small fellows, which were repeatedly shaken off
as the pair moved along in deadly grip.

One of the combatants clasped his nippers firmly around one leg of the
other, which for several hours struggled in vain to get free. A small ant
was hanging on to one of the victor's antennae, but disappeared after a
couple of hours. Under a magnifying-glass I could see that each fighter
had lost a leg. I placed the end of a stick against the legs of the one
that was kept in this merciless vice, and he immediately attached himself
to it. As I lifted the stick up he held on by one leg, supporting in this
way both his own weight and that of his antagonist. Finally, they ceased
to move about, but did not separate in spite of two heavy showers in the
afternoon, and at four o'clock they were still maintaining their relative
positions; but next morning they and the other ants had disappeared.




CHAPTER V


MEETING PUNANS, THE SHY JUNGLE PEOPLE--DOWN THE RIVER AGAIN--MY
ENTHUSIASTIC BOATMEN-MALAYS VERSUS DAYAKS

At my request the raja, with a few companions, went out in search of some
of the shy jungle people called Punans. Seven days afterward he actually
returned with twelve men, who were followed by seven more the next day.
All the women had been left one day's journey from here. These Punans had
been encountered at some distance from kampong Bruen, higher up the river,
and, according to reports, made up the entire nomadic population of the
lower Kayan River. Most of them were rather tall, well-made men, but, as a
result of spending all their lives in the darkness of the jungle, [*]
their skin colour, a pale yellowish brown, was strikingly lighter,
especially the face, than that of the Kayans.

[Footnote *: In von Luschan's table, Punan 15, Kayan 22.]

They actually seemed to hate the sun, and next day when it broke through
the mist for a little while they all sought shelter in the shade of trees.
As a result of their avoidance of direct rays from the sun they have a
washed-out, almost sickly pale appearance, contrasting strangely with the
warm tone of light brown which at times may be observed among the Dayaks.
This is probably the reason why they are not very strong, though
apparently muscular, and are not able to carry heavy burdens. They began
at once to put up a shed similar to those of the Dayaks, but usually their
shelters for the night are of the rudest fashion, and as they have only
the scantiest of clothing they then cover themselves with mats made from
the leaves of the fan-palm.

On the Upper Mahakam I later made acquaintance with some of the Punans who
roam the mountainous regions surrounding the headwaters of that river.
Those are known under the name Punan Kohi, from a river of that name in
the mountains toward Sarawak. The members of the same tribe further east
in the mountains of the Bulungan district are called Punan Lun, from the
River Lun, to whom the present individuals probably belonged. According to
the raja, there are two kinds of Punans here, and his statement seems to
be borne out by the variations in their physical appearance.

These nineteen nomads had black hair, straight in some cases, wavy in
others. Most of them had a semblance of mustache and some hair on the
chin. Their bodies looked perfectly smooth, as they remove what little
hair there may be. Some of them had high-arched noses. The thigh was
large, but the calf of the leg usually was not well-developed, though a
few had very fine ones; and they walked with feet turned outward, as all
the Dayaks and Malays I have met invariably do. The only garment worn was
a girdle of plaited rattan strings, to which at front and back was
attached a piece of fibre cloth. Although dirty in appearance, only one
man was afflicted with scaly skin disease. Visits to the hill-tops are
avoided by them on account of the cold, which they felt much in our camp.
Their dark-brown eyes had a kindly expression; in fact they are harmless
and timid-looking beings, though in some parts of Borneo they engage in
head-hunting, a practice probably learned from the Dayaks. Those I talked
with said the custom was entirely discontinued, although formerly heads of
other Punans, Malays, or Dayaks had been taken.

These natives, following no doubt an observance prevalent among the
Dayaks, had some of their teeth filed off in the upper jaw, the four
incisors, two cuspids, and two bicuspids. Our Kayans from Kaburau had no
less than ten teeth filed off, the four incisors and three more on either
side. The operation is performed when a boy or girl becomes full-grown.
For the boys it is not a painful experience, but the girls have theirs
filed much shorter, which causes pain and loss of blood.

The Punans make fire by iron and flint which are carried in a small bamboo
box. They are expert regarding the manufacture of the sumpitan
(blow-pipe), and are renowned for their skill in using this weapon and can
make the poisonous darts as well as the bamboo caskets in which these are
carried. Subsisting chiefly upon meat, their favourite food is wild pig.

At the birth of a child all the men leave the premises, including the
husband. The dead are buried in the ground a metre deep, head toward the
rising sun. The Punans climb trees in the same manner as the Kayans and
other Dayaks I have seen, _i.e._, by tying their feet together and moving
up one side of the tree in jumps. The Kayans in climbing do not always tie
the feet.

These shy nomads remained in camp two days and allowed themselves to be
photographed. One morning seven of them went out to look for game, armed
with their long sumpitans and carrying on the right side, attached to the
girdle, the bamboo casket that contained the darts. They formed a
thrilling sight in the misty morning as in single file they swung with
long, elastic steps up the hill. Though the Punans are famous as hunters
and trappers, they returned in a few hours without any result. Next
morning when I ventured to begin taking their measurements they became
uneasy and one after another slipped away, even leaving behind part of
their promised rewards, rice and clothing for the women, and taking with
them only tobacco and a large tin of salt, which I rather regretted, as
they had well earned it all.

We made a trip of a few days' duration to the next elevation, Gunong Rega,
in a northerly direction, most of the time following a long, winding ridge
on a well-defined Punan trail. The hill-top is nearly 800 metres above
sea-level (2,622 feet), by boiling thermometer, and the many tree-ferns
and small palm-trees add greatly to its charm and beauty.

Toward the end of February I made my way back to the river. From our last
camp, one day's march downward, three of my strongest Kayans had carried
45 kilograms each. My Javanese cook, Wong Su, on arriving in camp, felt
ill and I found him lying prostrate. He had not been perspiring on the
march down the hills and complained of chilly sensations. He also
presented the symptoms of a cold attack of malaria, but it was simply the
effects produced by the bites of leeches, to which he was particularly
susceptible. He had seven bites on one ankle and two on the other, and the
resulting wounds were swollen and suppurating, but by the application of
iodine followed by hot compress bandages, he was able to resume his work
in three days. Nevertheless, suppuration formed even at a distance from
the wounds, and five months later they were not entirely healed. It is bad
policy to remove leeches forcibly in spite of the temptation to do so. The
application of salt or tobacco juice makes them drop off, and the wounds
are less severe, but few persons have the patience to wait after
discovering a leech. The animal is not easily killed. The Dayaks always
remove it with the sword edge and immediately cut it in two.

On our return to our old lodging-house near Kaburau I spent a week making
ethnological collections from the Kayan, who brought me a surprising
number, keeping me busy from early until late. Before continuing my
journey up the river I decided to go down to Tandjong Selor in order to
buy necessary provisions and safely dispose of my collections. The Kayans
were glad to provide prahus, the keelless boats which are used by both
Dayak and Malay. The prahu, even the largest size, is formed from a
dugout, and to the edge on either side are lashed two boards, one above
and overlapping the other. This is accomplished by threading rattan
through numerous small holes. As these are not completely filled by the
rattan, they are plugged with fibre and calked with damar to prevent
leakage.

In order to travel more comfortably we lashed a prahu at either side of
mine, while many of the natives who took advantage of the occasion to
visit the shops in town, tied theirs at the rear of ours. It was a gay
flotilla that proceeded down the river, the Dayaks singing most of the
time, especially the women who accompanied their husbands, a number of
them sitting in my large but crowded prahu. The women never seemed to grow
tired of the Mae Lu Long, a jolly song which I had several times heard
them singing when returning from the fields in the evening. Its words are
of a language called Bungkok. The Kenyahs have the same song, and when I
sang it to the Penihings on the Upper Mahakam they also understood it.
These Kayans (Segai) are able to sing in the following six dialects or
languages: Bungkok, Tekená, Siudalong, Siupanvei, Lepói, and Lui Lui.

[Musical notation:
KAYAN WOMEN'S SONG
(On returning from the fields)
Lively.
Mae lun long son dong min ma--i min kam lam (_Repeat_)]

At times as they paddled along, the men would sing without words, but more
impressively, a song which until recently was used when the Kayan returned
to a kampong from a successful head-hunting expedition. Though the Dutch
authorities evidently have stamped out headhunting on the Kayan River, and
have even destroyed the heads that were hanging in the houses, smashing
them throwing them into the river, the Kayan still speaks of the custom in
the present tense. Even one or two of my companions were credited with
having taken part in such expeditions.

To-day the young men sing the song of the returning head-hunters more for
the fun of it, but the enthusiasm of all waxed high when the paddlers took
it up. Those who did not paddle would reach out for the large trumpets
which, as part of my collections, were lying in my prahu, and blow them
with full force as an accompaniment, just as these instruments formerly
were used on real occasions. A deep, strong bass sound is produced which
resembles the distant whistle of a big ocean steamer. The men at the rear
would join in with wild shouts like those made by American cowboys, most
of them rising in their prahus to be able to give more impetus to the
paddles. The powerful strokes of our enthusiastic crew made my prahu jump
with jerky movements, and we progressed rapidly, arriving early in the
afternoon at Tandjong Selor. This time I was made comfortable in a
government's pasang-grahan that had just been completed, and which was far
enough from the main street to avoid disturbing noise.

[Musical notation:
KAYAN HEAD-HUNTERS' SONG
(On returning from a successful raid)
Vae vae-ae vo vae vo ae vo ae-ae-ae-ae vo vae (_Repeat_)]

I had found the Kayans very agreeable to deal with, and later had the same
experience with many other tribes of Borneo. They ask high prices for
their goods, but are not bold in manner. Though I made no special effort
to ingratiate myself with them they always crowded round me, and sometimes
I was compelled to deny myself to all callers regardless of their wishes.
When I was reading or writing it was necessary to tell them to be quiet,
also to stop their singing at night when my sleep was too much disturbed,
but they were never offended. Presents of fruit, fish, mouse-traps, and
other articles which they thought I might like, were constantly offered
me. The women, free and easy in their manners, were ladylike to a
surprising degree. In spite of having had ten teeth of the upper jaw filed
down and the remainder coloured black by the constant chewing of betel,
they are literally to the manner born.

The controleur told me that his large district, the northernmost part of
Dutch Borneo, called Bulungan, comprised "about 1,100 square miles." He
estimated the number of inhabitants to be about 60,000, roughly speaking,
50 to each mile, but the population here as elsewhere follows the rivers.
The Dayaks are greatly in majority, the Malays inhabiting the Sultan's
kampong and a couple of small settlements in the vicinity. He had
travelled a good deal himself and taken census where it was possible. His
statistics showed that among the Dayaks the men outnumber the women
somewhat, and that children are few. In one small kampong there were no
children. The same fact has been noted in other parts of Borneo. The hard
labour of the women has been advanced as a reason. Doctor A.W. Nieuwenhuis
believes that inborn syphilis is the cause of the infertility of the Bahu
on the Upper Mahakam. Whatever the reason, as a matter of fact the Dayak
women are not fertile. The chief of the Kayan kampong, Kaburau, at the
time of my visit had a fourth wife on probation for two years, having
previously dismissed three because they bore him no children.

With the Malays the condition is just the reverse. Their total number in
the Bulungan district is perhaps only one-tenth that of Dayaks, but with
them women preponderate and there are many children. Such is the case in
the rest of Dutch Borneo, and is one reason why the Malays ultimately must
dominate.

The Sultan had for weeks been preparing to celebrate the marriage of his
younger brother, which event occurred before I left, and the festivities
were to continue for ten days. As a feature of the occasion, two young
Malay girls presented a dance which they evidently had not practised
sufficiently. Among the company was an old Malay who, according to the
testimony of all present, was one hundred and thirty years old. He had
lived to see seven sultans and was the ancestor of five generations. His
movements were somewhat stiff, but otherwise he was a young-looking old
man who, still erect, carried a long stick which he put down with some
force at each step. I photographed the Sultan, who donned his official
European suit, in which he evidently felt exceedingly uncomfortable. The
operation finished, he lifted up the skirts of the long black robe as if
to cool himself, and walked hurriedly away toward the house.




CHAPTER VI


RESUMPTION OF MY JOURNEY UP THE KAYAN RIVER--LONG PANGIAN--BERI-BERI--
HINTS ON PROPER PROVISIONS--KENYAHS FROM CENTRAL BORNEO--EFFECT OF A
SPIDER'S BITE

Shortly after my arrival in Tandjong Selor, fifty Dayaks, mostly Kenyahs,
Oma Bakkah, and some Kayans, arrived from distant Apo Kayan on a trading
expedition, and I considered this rather fortunate, as it would largely
solve the difficult question of prahus and men for my journey up the
river. The controleur and the Sultan also co-operated in assisting me to
make a start, but when at last all seemed in readiness, the Malays allowed
one of our prahus to drift away down toward the sea; after other similar
delays I finally began my expedition up the Kayan River.

At the old pasang-grahan near Kaburau, I found that during our two weeks'
absence surprising changes had taken place in the vegetation of the
immediate surroundings. The narrow path leading from the river up the
embankment was now closed by large plants in flower, one species looking
like a kind of iris. The grass which we had left completely cut down had
grown over twenty centimeters. (Three weeks later it was in bloom.) It was
the month of March and several big trees in the surrounding jungle were
covered with masses of white blossoms.

It is about 112 kilometres from Tandiong Selor to Long Pangian, our first
halting-place, and, as the current of the river is not strong until the
last day, the distance may be covered in four days. When low the Kayan
River is light greenish-brown, but when high the colour changes to a muddy
red-brown with a tinge of yellow. We used the dilapidated pasang-grahans
as shelters, but one night we were obliged to camp on the river bank, so I
had the tall, coarse grass cut down on the embankment, which was a few
metres higher than the beach. Underneath the tall growth was another kind
of grass, growing low and tangled like a mat, which could be disposed of
by placing poles under it, lifting it and rolling it back, while at the
same time the few roots attaching it to the ground were cut with swords.
In less than fifteen minutes I had a safe place for my tent.

The Dayaks, however, who have little to concern them except their prahus,
in which is left whatever baggage they may have, as usual slept in the
prahus or on the stony beach. During the night the river rose a metre, and
some of the men awoke in water. The Chinese mandur, notwithstanding my
warnings, had tied his prahu carelessly, and in the middle of the night it
drifted off, with lighted lamp and two Dayaks sleeping in it. Luckily some
of the others soon discovered the accident and a rescuing party brought it
back early in the morning. The "kitchen" had been moved up to my place,
and in spite of rain and swollen river we all managed to get breakfast. I
had a call from the chief of the near-by kampong, who spoke excellent
Malay, and had visited New Guinea twice on Dutch expeditions, once with
Doctor Lorenz. One characteristic of the climate which had impressed him
much was the snow, which had been very cold for the feet. He was kind
enough to send me a present of a young fowl, which was very acceptable.

Long Pangian is a small settlement where ten native soldiers are kept,
under the command of a so-called posthouder, in this case a civilized
Dayak from the South, who met us at the landing in an immaculate white
suit and new tan shoes. It was warmer here toward the end of March than at
Tandjong Selor, because there had not been much rain for a month. The soil
was therefore hard, and in the middle of the day so heated that after a
shower it remained as dry as before. A few Chinamen and Bugis who live
here advance rice and dried fish to the Malays to provision expeditions
into the utan which last two to three months, receiving in return rubber
and damar. The Malays come from lower down on the river, and a good many
of them leave their bones in the jungle, dying from beri-beri; others ill
with the same disease are barely able to return to Long Pangian, but in
three weeks those who do return usually recover sufficiently to walk about
again by adopting a diet of katsjang idju, the famous green peas of the
East Indies, which counteract the disease. The Malays mix native
vegetables with them and thus make a kind of stew.

The rice traded in Borneo is of the ordinary polished variety, almost
exclusively from Rangoon, and it is generally supposed that the polishing
of the rice is the cause of this illness. The Dutch army in the East seems
to have obtained good results by providing the so-called silver-fleeced
rice to the soldiers. However, I was told that, in some localities at
least, the order had to be rescinded, because the soldiers objected so
strongly to that kind of rice. Later, on this same river, I personally
experienced a swelling of the ankles, with an acceleration of the heart
action, which, on my return to Java, was pronounced by a medical authority
to be beri-beri. Without taking any medicine, but simply by the changed
habits of life, with a variety of good food, the symptoms soon
disappeared.

It is undoubtedly true that the use of polished rice is a cause of
beri-beri, because the Dayaks, with their primitive methods of husking,
never suffer from this disease, although rice is their staple food. Only on
occasions when members of these tribes take part in expeditions to New
Guinea, or are confined in prisons, and eat the rice offered of
civilization, are they afflicted with this malady. In my own case I am
inclined to think that my indisposition at the commencement of my travels
in Borneo was largely due to the use of oatmeal from which the husks had
been removed. Rolled oats is the proper food.

Modern research has established beyond doubt, that the outer layers of
grains contain mineral salts and vitamines that are indispensable to human
life. Facts prove that man, if confined to an exclusive diet of white
bread, ultimately dies from malnutrition. Cereals which have been
"refined" of their husks present a highly starchy food, and unless they
are properly balanced by base-forming substances, trouble is sure to
follow. Scurvy, beri-beri, and acidosis have been fatal to many
expeditions, though these diseases no doubt can be avoided by a judicious
selection of provisions that insure acid and base forming nutrition in the
right proportion. [*]

[Footnote *: For an illuminating example of poorly balanced food, see
_Physical Culture Magazine_, New York, for August, 1918, in which Mr.
Alfred W. McCann describes the disaster to the Madeira-Mamore Railway
Company in Brazil, when "four thousand men were literally starved to death
on a white bread diet." In the July number may be found the same food
expert's interesting manner of curing the crew of the German raider
_Kronprinz Wilhelm_, which in April, 1915, put in at Newport News, in
Virginia, with over a hundred men seriously stricken with acidosis. The
crew had enjoyed an abundance of food from the ships they had raided and
destroyed, but a mysterious disease, pronounced to be beri-beri, was
crippling the crew. As the patients failed to respond to the usual
treatment, the ship's chief surgeon consented to try the alkaline treatment
which Mr. McCann suggested to him. The patients rapidly recovered on a diet
consisting of fresh vegetable soup, potato-skin liquor, wheat bran,
whole-wheat bread, egg yolks, whole milk, orange juice, and apples. No
drugs were administered.

It may be added that Dr. Alfred Berg (in the same magazine, September,
1919) recounts the cure of an absolutely hopeless case of stomach trouble
by the vegetable juice prepared according to McCann's formula. He has
found the results gained by the use of this soup in diet "so remarkable as
to be almost unbelievable."

The formula in question, as taken from McCann's article, is: "Boil
cabbage, carrots, parsnips, spinich, onions, turnips together for two
hours. Drain off liquor. Discard residue. Feed liquor as soup in generous
quantities with unbuttered whole-wheat bread."]

As a precautionary measure during my further travels in Borneo I adopted
the green peas of the Orient in my daily diet, and when properly cooked
they suit my taste very well. Every day my native cook made a pot of
katjang idju, to which I added as a flavour Liebig's extract, and when
procurable different kinds of fresh vegetables such as the natives use.
Almost any kind of preserved vegetables or meat, especially sausages, is
compatible with this stew, which is capable of infinite variations. For a
year and a half I used it every day, usually twice a day, without becoming
tired of it, and this regimen undoubtedly was the reason why the symptoms
of acidosis never reappeared.

I may add that besides this dish my main food was milk and biscuits,
especially those made of whole wheat. In the tropics no milk will keep
beyond a certain time limit unless it is sweetened, which renders it less
wholesome. I found Nestlé & Company's evaporated milk serviceable, but
their sterilised natural milk is really excellent, though it is expensive
on an expedition which at times has to depend on carriers, and in
mountainous regions like New Guinea it would be impracticable to carry it.
Under these conditions one is content to have the evaporated or the
sweetened brand. Sterilised milk, although perhaps a luxury, is a
permissible one when travelling by boat, but the fact that it remains
sound only a limited time should be borne in mind. However, it helped me
to resist the adverse conditions of travel in the equatorial regions, and
to return to civilisation in prime physical condition. When I had
opportunity I ate the rice of the Dayaks, which is not so well sifted of
its husks, and is by far more palatable than the ordinary polished rice. I
found the best biscuits to be Huntley and Palmer's College Brown,
unsweetened.

As regards one's native companions, the Dayaks or Malays are quite
satisfied as long as they get their full rations of rice and dried fish.
This is the food they have always been accustomed to and their demands do
not go further, although cocoanut-oil for frying the fish adds to their
contentment. Katjang idju was usually given them if there was sugar enough
to serve with it; they do not care for it unsweetened. I have dwelt at
some length on the food question, because information on this subject may
prove useful in case others are tempted to undertake journeys of
exploration and research in the East Indies. To have the right kind of
provisions is as important in the equatorial regions as in the arctic, and
civilised humanity would be better off if there were a more general
recognition of the fact that suitable food is the best medicine.

Our Dayaks from Apo Kayan, who had proved very satisfactory, left us at
Long Pangian. They had to wait several days before their friends caught up
with them, so they could continue their long journey. This party of
Dayaks, after spending one month at home in gathering rubber, had
travelled in five prahus, covered some distance on land by walking over
the watershed, and then made five new prahus in which they had navigated
the long distance to Tandjong Selor. Ten men had been able to make one
prahu in four days, and these were solid good boats, not made of bark.
Already these people had been three months on the road, and from here to
their homes they estimated that at least one month would intervene,
probably more.

The rubber which they had brought was sold for f. 2,500 to Hong Seng. They
had also sold three rhinoceros horns, as well as stones from the
gall-bladder and intestines of monkeys and the big porcupine, all valuable
in the Chinese pharmacopoea. Each kilogram of rhino horn may fetch f. 140.
These articles are dispensed for medical effect by scraping off a little,
which is taken internally with water. On their return trip the Dayaks
bring salt from the government's monopoly, gaudy cloths for the women,
beads, ivory rings for bracelets and armlets, and also rice for the
journey. Should the supply of rice become exhausted they eat native herbs.

At Long Pangian we were able to develop plates effectively by hauling
clear and comparatively cool water from a spring fifteen or twenty minutes
away. By allowing six cans (five-gallon oil tins) of water to stand over
night, and developing from 4.30 next morning, we got very good results,
though the water would show nearly 76°F. My kinematograph was out of
order, and desiring to use it on my journey higher up the river, I decided
to go again to Tandjong Selor in an endeavour to have it repaired. The
delay was somewhat irritating, but as the trip down-stream consumed only
two days, I started off in a small, swift boat kindly loaned to me by the
posthouder. Fortunately Mr. J.A. Uljee, a Dutch engineer who was in town,
possessed considerable mechanical talent: in a few days he succeeded in
mending the apparatus temporarily.

As I was preparing to return, another party arrived from Apo Kayan. They
were all Kenyahs, Oma Bakkah, who came in seven prahus, and proved so
interesting that I postponed my journey one day. The government has put up
a kind of lodging-house for visiting Dayaks, and the many fine implements
and utensils which these men had brought with them made the interior look
like a museum. Their beautiful carrying-baskets and other articles were
standing in a continuous row around the walls. These Kenyahs did not seem
to have been here before and were agreeable people with whom to deal. I
have not, before nor since, seen such a tempting collection of the short
sword of the Dayak which has grown to be almost a part of himself. In the
northeast these famous swords are called mandau, but the designation
parang is more extensively used, and I shall employ that name. One
exceedingly fine one, belonging to the chief, I purchased for three sets
of ivory rings, each set at fifteen florins, and one sarong. In the
blacksmith's art the Dayaks have reached a higher level than the otherwise
more advanced Malays and Javanese. There were three women in the party.
One of the men was dressed as a woman and his hands were tatued. Though
his voice was quite manly, there was something feminine about him and in
appearance he was less robust than the others. According to my Chinese
interpreter, who has travelled much, there are many such men in Apo Kayan.

I stopped over night at one of the Bugis settlements which have large
pineapple plantations. Such delicious pineapples as those in northern
Borneo, with an unusual abundance of juice and very slightly acid, I had
never before tasted. A gigantic white rat, about the size of a rabbit,
which had been caught working havoc with the pineapples, was offered me
for sale alive. I afterward regretted that, owing to the great difficulty
of transportation, I declined, as no doubt it was a rare, if not a new,
species.

In the evening, on my return to Long Pangian, I went to bed in the old
pasang-grahan which I occupied there. It consisted of a single large room
and had an air of security, so for once I omitted to tuck the mosquito-net
underneath me. But this was a mistake, for some animal bit me, and I was
awakened by an intense pain on the left side of my head which became
almost unbearable, then gradually subsided, and in two hours I slept
again. I applied nothing to the affected area because of the impossibility
of locating the bite. On the left side of my neck at the back soon
developed two balls of moderate size which had not quite disappeared four
years afterward. Next day I found a large dark-coloured spider which no
doubt was the culprit. When chased it made long high jumps on the floor,
but was finally captured. After that occurrence I paid strict attention to
the mosquito-net, and when properly settled in my bed for the night I felt
as safe against snakes or harmful smaller animals as if I were in a hotel
in Europe.




CHAPTER VII


ON THE ISAU RIVER--A KENYAH CHILD'S FUNERAL--A GREAT FISHING EXPEDITION--
CATCHING FISH BY POISONING THE RIVER--TAKING OMENS--ENTERTAINING SCENES

A report came to me that the people of kampong Long Isau (Long = sound;
Isau = a kind of fruit) were making preparations to catch fish by
poisoning the river, and that they were going immediately to build traps
in which the stupefied fish are caught. I decided to go at once, and a few
hours later we were on our way up the Isau River, a tributary to the
Kayan, at the junction with which lies Long Pangian. We made our camp just
opposite the kampong, which has a charming location along a quiet pool
formed by the river at this point. The natives here and on the Kayan river
above Long Pangian are Kenyahs. Our presence did not seem to disturb them
in the least, nor did the arrival of some Malays from Long Pangian, who
had closed their little shops in order to take part in the fishing.

The chief was a tall, fine-looking man, the personification of physical
strength combined with a dignified bearing. He readily granted permission
to photograph the women coming down to the river to fetch water. The
Kenyah women wear scantier attire than those of any other tribes of
Borneo--simply a diminutive piece of cloth. It was picturesque to see
these children of nature descend the steps of the rough ladder that leads
down to the river, gracefully carrying on their backs a load of five or
six bamboos, then wade into the calm water, where they bathed for a few
moments before filling their receptacles. The Kenyah drinks water by
taking it up in his hands while looking at it. In the house he drinks from
the bamboo utensils which are always conveniently placed. The Malay throws
water quickly into his mouth with his right hand.

There seemed to be an epidemic of cholerine among the children, three
having already died and one succumbed while we were at the kampong. The
sounding of a gong drew attention to this fact and people assembled at the
house of mourning where they wailed for an hour. The fishing was postponed
one day on account of the burial, and the work of making the coffin could
be heard over on our side of the river. During the night there was much
crying.

Next day at noon the funeral took place. First, with quick steps, came two
men and two women, parents of children who had died before, followed by
the father of the dead child and another man of the family who carried the
coffin. The procession embarked in three prahus. The relatives were all
attired in simple but becoming mourning garments, made from wood-fibre,
consisting of tunics, and wrappers around the loins, which as regards the
women covered practically the whole body, and on their heads they wore
pointed hats of the same material. In the first prahu the little coffin
was placed, and immediately behind it the mother lay with face down. Over
her breast was a broad band of fibre which passed around to the back where
it was tied in a large bow. The mourning garb worn in this and other Dayak
tribes by relatives of a deceased person is an attempt to elude the evil
spirit (antoh) who is regarded as the cause of death and whose wrath the
remaining relatives are anxious to evade by disguising themselves in this
way. The men poled fast, and ten minutes later the cortege ascended the
bank without following a path, and deposited the coffin in a small,
old-looking house. Once daily for three days food is deposited near a dead
child, while in the case of adults it is given for a long time.

The following day we all started up the river for the great catch. About
300 Dayaks had gathered, with 80 prahus. There were people from as far
east as Kaburau, but those of the kampongs west of Long Pangian did not
appear as expected. Some of the men carried spears specially devised for
fishing, and some had brought their shields. We passed seven traps, in
Kenyah called "bring," some in course of making, and others already
finished. These rapidly made structures were found at different points on
the river. Each consisted of a fence of slightly leaning poles, sometimes
fortified with mats, running across the river and interrupted in the
middle by a well-constructed trough, the bottom of which was made from
poles put closely together, which allowed the water to escape but left the
fish dry.

The poison which stupefies or even kills the fish, without making it unfit
for food, is secured from the root of a plant called tuba and described to
me as being a vine. The root, which is very long, had been cut up into
short pieces and made into about 1,800 small bundles, each kampong
contributing its share. The packages had been formed into a beautifully
arranged pile, in accordance with the artistic propensities of both Kenyah
and Kayan, whose wood-stacks inside the rooms are models of neatness. The
heap in this case was two and a half metres long and a metre high, a
surprisingly small amount for the poisoning of a whole river.

Before daylight they began to beat these light-brown tuba pieces until the
bark became detached. The bark is the only part used, and this was beaten
on two previously prepared blocks, each consisting of two logs lashed
together, with flattened upper sides. On either side of these crude tables
stood as many men as could find room, beating earnestly with sticks upon
the bark, singing head-hunting songs the while with much fervour.
Occasionally they interrupted the procedure to run about animatedly,
returning shortly to resume their labour.

Later an augury was to be taken, and all gathered closely on a wide pebbly
beach. First a long piece of root, which is called the "mother of tuba,"
was beaten vigorously by a number of men. Then one of the principal actors
stepped forward and began to make fire in the old-fashioned way, _i.e._,
by pulling with both hands a piece of rattan around a bamboo stick held to
the ground. According to several possibilities the divinations are
expounded: Should the rattan break before smoke ensues, the undertaking is
postponed for an hour or two; if the rattan breaks into two equal parts,
fish will not be caught; but if the right-hand piece is longer than the
left, all is well and much fish will be the result.

The assemblage was chewing betel, smoking tobacco, and with hopeful
patience anticipating a successful outcome, while one chief after another
vainly attempted the augury. Only men who have taken heads are permitted
to make divinations of fire at the tuba-fishing, and if all the elders
have tried and failed the fishing is delayed one day.

The same augury is used when dogs have run away. If the left-hand piece is
the longer, the dog is dead; if of the same size, the dog will be found at
a distant future time; but if the right is the longer, the animal will be
recovered very soon. The reading of pig's liver in regard to the present
or the future is used more by the Kayan than by the Kenyah.

It was after nine o'clock in the morning when success was attained, and
the fishers all suddenly dispersed. Some of them carried beaten bark into
four empty prahus, threw water over it with their hands, then beat it
again, until finally it was crushed to shreds. The prahus were then turned
over and the stuff emptied into the water, where it soon disappeared. The
bark on the blocks, which by this time had the appearance of a
reddish-brown fibre, was now thrown into the river with much shouting and
running about, whereupon the men ran out of sight, probably to take to
their prahus.

The majority of the stupefied fish are caught in the so-called "bring,"
the traps running across the river, but frantic endeavours were made by
those engaged in the sport to take the fish before the fences were
reached, and for this purpose hand nets or spears were used. This part of
the proceeding was most entertaining.

The fleet of prahus thoroughly searched the water, descending the river
slowly in seven hours. At a few places where the stream makes large pools
a few hundred metres long the boats loitered for a considerable time, as
the prey would not often rise to the surface. Now and then there was much
excitement over a fish that had risen and dived again, and the nearest
prahus would all try to get it. Soon a man would be seen to jump after it
with fixed spear, pass out of view, and after a while reappear on the
surface, invariably with a large fish on the spear point. It was a
magnificent exhibition of agility combined with skill.

The Malays also captured many victims with their casting-nets. It is
customary for each to consider as his personal property all the fish he
obtains. These gatherings afford much delight to the children, of whom a
great number accompanied their elders in the prahus. Women and children
were in holiday attire, and, in spite of the grotesque ornaments of big
rings in the split, distended ear-lobes, the latter were unusually
charming. They had bracelets of brass and silver around their wrists and
ankles; some of them wore necklaces of antique beads in dull colors,
yellow, dark brown, or deep blue. Such a necklace may cost over a thousand
florins. The spirit of the whole occasion was like that of a great picnic.

All was over at five o'clock in the afternoon, when the people dispersed
to their respective kampongs. At each of the seven "bring," each belonging
to one of the principal men, were caught from 100 to 200 fish, most of
them fairly large. I noted seven species. More than a thousand have been
caught, and for the next two nights and days the people were engaged in
opening and drying fish over fire and smoke. Thus preserved they are of a
dark-brown tint, very light in weight, and will keep for three months.
Before the dried product is eaten it is pounded, then boiled, and with
each mouthful a pinch of salt is taken.

During the night much fish was obtained even as far down the river as our
kampong, and many men searched for it here, using as lamps petroleum in
bamboo with a piece of cloth for a wick. Next day all the able-bodied
people left the kampong for a week's stay at the ladangs (fields), one
day's journey up the Kayan River, only the weak and old people remaining
behind. On this occasion I observed five or six individuals, men and
women, of a markedly light, yellowish colour. One woman's body was as
light as that of a white woman, but her face was of the usual colour,
perhaps somewhat lighter.




CHAPTER VIII


THE JOURNEY CONTINUED UP THE KAYAN RIVER--FIRST EXPERIENCE OF KIHAMS, OR
RAPIDS--WITH KENYAH BOATMEN--ADVANTAGE OF NATIVE COOKING--LONG
PELABAN--THE ATTRACTIVE KENYAHS--SOCIAL STRATA--CUSTOMS AND
HABITS--VALUABLE BEADS

At Long Pangian several days were spent in vain efforts to secure men and
prahus to continue the journey up the Kayan River. The few Malays about,
as usual, did not believe in work, but the posthouder finally succeeded in
calling Kenyahs from the river above, and on the 1st of May we started
with five prahus and twenty-four men. It was quite refreshing to hear
again the joyous shouts of the paddlers, who worked eagerly and quickly
against the strong current. A little over an hour brought us to some
well-known rapids, or "kihams," as they usually are called in Borneo.
Formerly this Kiham Raja had a bad reputation, Dayaks being killed here
occasionally every year, but of late the government has blasted out rocks
and made it more passable. However, even now it is no trifle to negotiate
these rapids. Below them we halted and threw explosive Favier into the
water in the hope of getting fish, and as soon as the upheaval of the
water began the Kenyahs, as if by a given signal, hurried all the prahus
out to the scene. With other natives than Dayaks this would have given me
some anxiety, as the boats were heavily laden and contained valuable
cameras and instruments. We secured quite a number of fish and the Kenyahs
had a good time.

The traveller soon assumes a feeling of confidence in these experienced
men as, according to circumstances, they paddle, pole, or drag the prahu
by a long piece of rattan tied to the inside of the bow. In passing these
rapids most of them got out and dragged us by the rattan, but as the shore
consisted of big stones that sometimes were inaccessible, they would often
throw themselves with the rope into the foaming water and manage to get
foothold a little further up. Sometimes it looked as if they would not
succeed, the prahu receding precariously, but they were so quick in their
movements and the prahus followed each other so closely that it was
possible to give mutual help.

Amban Klesau, the only son of the chief of Long Mahan, directed my prahu.
He had taken part in an expedition to New Guinea and was an efficient and
pleasant man who had seen something of the world, but his attire was
fantastic, consisting of a long white nightshirt with a thin red girdle
around the waist, to which was attached his parang adorned with many
ornaments. He liked that shirt, for he did not take it off all day,
notwithstanding the extreme heat. The dry season had set in, and though in
our travels I took good care to place mats over the iron boxes in which
cameras and plates were kept, still they became warm. When I photographed,
perspiration fell like rain-drops. At Long Mahan (mahan = difficulties, or
time spent) we found the pasang-grahan occupied by travelling Malays, two
of whom were ill from a disease resembling cholera, so we moved on to a
ladang a little higher up, where we found a camping-site.

Next day we stopped to photograph a beautiful funeral house on the bank of
the river, in which rest the remains of a dead chief and his wife. This
operation finished, the Dayaks prepared their midday meal consisting of
rice alone, which they had brought in wicker bottles. A number of bamboo
sticks were procured, which were filled with rice and water and placed in
a row against a horizontal pole and a fire was kindled underneath. As soon
as this cooking was finished the bamboos were handed to the chief, Amban
Klesau, who in the usual way split one open with his parang to get at the
contents. Having eaten, he distributed the rest of the bamboos. I was
given one, and upon breaking it open a delicious smell met my olfactory
sense. The rice, having been cooked with little water, clung together in a
gelatinous mass which had a fine sweet taste, entirely lacking when cooked
in the white man's way.

During my travels in Borneo I often procured such rice from the Dayaks. It
is a very clean and convenient way of carrying one's lunch, inside of a
bamboo, the open end closed with a bunch of leaves. Fish and meat are
prepared in the same manner. With fish no water is used, nevertheless,
when cooked it yields much juice, with no suggestion of the usual
mud-flavoured varieties of Borneo. It will remain wholesome three days, and
whenever necessary the bamboo is heated at the bottom. One who has tasted
meat or cereals cooked between hot stones in earth mounds knows that, as
regards palatable cooking, there is something to learn from the savages.
It is a fact that Indians and Mexicans prepare green corn in a way
superior to that employed by the best hotels in New York. There is no
necessity of returning to the bamboo and hot stones as cooking utensils,
but why not accept to a greater extent the underlying principle of these
methods?

In the evening we arrived at Long Pelaban, a large Kenyah kampong, where
for some time I made my headquarters. On the opposite bank of the river we
cut the tall grass and jungle and made camp. Soon we were visited by many
small boys who afterward came every day to look for tin cans. With few
exceptions they were not prepossessing in appearance; nearly all were
thin, and one was deaf and dumb, but they were inoffensive and
well-behaved. During my travels among Dayaks I never saw boys or girls
quarrel among themselves--in fact their customary behaviour is better than
that of most white children. Both parents treat the child affectionately,
the mother often kissing it.

The sumpitan (blow-pipe) is found in his room, but the Kenyah usually
prefers to carry a spear when he goes hunting. In his almost daily trips
to the ladang he also takes it along, because instinctively mindful of
enemy attacks. The Kenyahs are physically superior to the Kayans and the
other natives I met, and more free from skin disease. They are less
reserved than the Kayans, who are a little heavy and slow. In none of
these tribes is any distrust shown, and I never saw any one who appeared
to be either angry or resentful. Though the so-called Dayaks have many
traits in common, of them all the Kenyahs are the most attractive. They
are intelligent and brave and do not break a contract; in fact, you can
trust their word more completely than that of the majority of common white
people. Neither men nor women are bashful or backward, but they are always
busy, always on the move--to the ladang, into the jungle, building a
house, etc. Murder by one of the same tribe is unknown and a lonely
stranger is quite safe in the kampong, where they do not like to kill
anybody.

Among the Kenyahs and Kayans and many other tribes are found distinct
social strata, upper, middle, and low. The first class ranks as a sort of
nobility and until recent times had slaves, who were kindly treated. The
members of the second class have less property, but they are active in
blacksmithing, making prahus, determining the seasons by astronomical
observations, etc. These well-bred Dayaks are truthful and do not steal.
In their conception a thief will have to carry around the stolen goods on
his head or back in the next life, forever exposed to scorn and ridicule.
Third-class people are descendants of slaves and, according to the
posthouder at Long Pangian, himself a Dayak, they are the more numerous on
the Kayan River. These may tell lies, and ten per cent of them are apt to
appropriate small articles, but they never steal money.

The Kenyah woman is most independent, and may travel unaccompanied by
another woman with a party of men for days, sleeping aside, separate from
the men. She and her husband both bring wood to the house and she does the
cooking. No man has ever been known to beat or kill his wife. If
dissatisfied, either may leave the other. The daughter of the chief at
Long Mahan had had three husbands. Abortive plants are used, but the men
do not know what they are.

Every day I went to the kampong, and it was a pleasure to visit these
still primitive natives. Women, as usual, were timid about being
photographed, for it is a universal belief that such an operation prevents
women from bearing children. However, by giving money, cloth, sugar, or
the like, which would enable them to offer some little sacrifice to
protecting spirits, I usually succeeded. But if a woman is pregnant or has
care of a small child, no inducements are of any avail, as an exposure to
the camera would give the child bad luck or a disease that might kill it.

The women here had the teeth of the upper jaw in front filed off, but not
the men, who make plugs from yellow metal wire, procured in Tandjong
Selor, with which they adorn their front teeth, drilling holes in them for
the purpose. The plug is made with a round flat head, which is the
ornamental part of it, and without apparent rule appears in one, two, or
three incisors, usually in the upper jaw, sometimes in both. One of my men
took his out to show to me.

The women are cleanly, combing their hair frequently and bathing three
times daily. The men bathe even oftener; still all of them have more or
less parasites in their hair and frequently apply lime juice in order to
kill them. A young woman, whom I remembered as one of two who had danced
for the kinematograph, had considerable charm of manner and personal
attraction; it was a trifle disconcerting to find my belle a little later
hunting the fauna of her lover's head. Her nimble fingers were deftly
expert in the work and her beloved was visibly elated over the
demonstration of her affection.

These natives do not tolerate hair on the body and pull it out or shave it
off. The men even remove the hair at the edge of the scalp all around the
head, letting the remainder attain a growth of about sixty centimetres,
and this is tucked up in a coil under the cap. The hair of eyebrows and
eyelids is removed with great care. The women perform this operation, and
tweezers made for the purpose are usually seen among the ornaments that
hang from the tops of their hats. I was told that people careful about
their appearance have their eyes treated in this manner every ten or even
every five days. It is a service which a young man's "best girl" is glad
to perform and a couple thus engaged may often be seen. Truly the wiles of
Cupid are many.

The Dayaks are fond of ornaments and the Kenyahs are no exception. The
extraordinary number of large tin or brass rings worn in the vastly
distended ear-lobe is well known and is the striking feature in the
appearance of most tribes. I was told that among the Kenyahs the ear-lobes
of children are pierced when the infant is seven days old. Especially the
women of this and many other tribes carry this fashion to extremes, the
lobe being so elongated that it may be twisted twice around the ear. The
heavy weight of rings sometimes breaks the thin band to which the lobe has
been stretched. The men may also wear rings, though they remove them when
going into the utan or to the ladang, and, although in this regard the
males make less display than the females, in the wearing of valuable
necklaces they excel them.

Necklaces of beads are worn by men, women, and children. When money is
obtained by selling rubber to the Chinese, or by taking part in an
expedition to New Guinea, there is much display of such ornaments, many of
which are manufactured in Europe. But the Dayaks are extremely particular
about the kind they buy; therefore it is useless to take beads out to
Borneo without knowing the prevalent fashion. On the Kayan River a
favoured style of bead is tubular in form, light yellow in hue, and
procured from Bugis traders who are said to obtain their stock in New
Guinea. Others of similar shape, but brown in colour, come from Sumatra.

When children are small they are carried on the backs of their mothers in
a kind of cradle, the outside of which is often elaborately adorned with
beads. The chief in Long Pelaban had one, the value of which I computed to
be two thousand florins. The choicest beads are very old and have been
kept for centuries in Borneo. Some are thought to be of Venetian origin,
while others resemble a Roman variety. It is very difficult to induce the
Dayaks to sell any of these, which they guard as precious heirlooms and
the value of which they fully realize. According to Hose and McDougall,
the wife of a rich chief in Sarawak may possess old beads to the value of
thousands of pounds.




CHAPTER IX


HYDROPHOBIA--FUNERAL CEREMONIES--AT A PADDI HARVEST--ANOTHER TUBA-FISHING
EXPEDITION--THE CHARM OF PRIMITIVE MAN--INTERESTING CEREMONIES--ON
HEAD-HUNTING GROUND

Hydrophobia was raging at Long Pelaban, and during my stay one man and
seven children were bitten. For religious reasons the Dayaks do not like
to kill dogs, so in cases like this the canines that are ill are caught,
their legs are tied together, and they are thrown into the water to die
without being killed. Over forty were disposed of in this way. I saw one
of the hydrophobia victims standing in the water as if alive, a little of
the back showing above the surface.

The sounding of a gong one day signified the death of a woman. A party
immediately went out to procure a suitable tree from which to make the
coffin. Throughout the night we could hear without intermission the sounds
produced by those who hollowed out the log and smoothed the exterior. Next
day I was present at the obsequies of the dead woman. On the large gallery
men were sitting in two long rows facing each other, smoking their
green-hued native tobacco in huge cigarettes, the wrappers of which are
supplied by large leaves from two species of trees. A jar of native brandy
stood between them, of which but little was consumed. More alcohol is made
here from sugar-cane than from rice. The latter is the better and sweeter,
the former being sour.

At the end of the gallery stood the large, newly made casket, which was
open, the corpse covered with cloth resting inside. It was an oblong,
heavy box supposed to represent a rhinoceros, though nothing positively
indicated this except the large head of this animal at one end, which,
though rudely made, was cut with considerable artistic skill. The family
sat around the casket, one man smoking tobacco, the women wailing and
occasionally lifting the cover to look at the face of the corpse. One babi
(pig) that had belonged to the deceased had been killed and was served
with rice. In the afternoon, having partaken of food, a number of men
carried the heavy burden on their shoulders down to the river, preceded by
two women belonging to the family. It was placed on two prahus, which were
lashed together, and then taken down the river to be buried. After the
death of a relative women mourners cut off about two centimetres from the
end of the hair; the men cut an equal portion from the front.

Later in the afternoon the gong announced another death, that of a child.
On this account some sixty Malays who were camped here, bound for the utan
higher up the river, in search of rubber and damar, delayed their
departure as did some Kenyahs who were on their way to Apo Kayan, and the
people of the kampong did not go to their ladangs. The following day the
sound of the gong was again heard, but this time it was occasioned by the
fact that an adept had taken augurs from the flight of the red hawk, and
to him it was given that illness would cease.

It was difficult to hold the busy Dayaks in the kampong. At this time, the
beginning of May, their attention was absorbed in harvesting the paddi.
Every day they started up the river to their ladangs a few miles distant,
returning in the evening with their crops. I decided to visit these
fields, taking my cameras with me. In years gone by the kampong people
have gradually cleared the jungle from a large tract of country, but part
of this clearing was still covered by logs that had not been burned. Over
these hundreds and hundreds of fallen trees, down steep little galleys and
up again, a path led to the present fields higher up in the hills, very
easy walking for bare feet, but difficult when they are encased in leather
shoes. For over an hour and a half we balanced along the prostrate trunks,
into some of which steps had been cut, but, arduous as was the ascent, we
naturally found the descent in the evening a more hazardous undertaking;
yet all emerged from the ordeal with sound limbs.

We arrived a little before noon and found some of the natives busy
preparing their midday meal in and around a cool shed on top of a hill
from where an extensive view was obtained of the past and present fields
of the country. Near by was a watch-tower raised on top of upright logs.
At one side of it four bamboos of different sizes were hanging
horizontally over each other, which produced different notes when struck,
and probably had been placed there for the purpose of frightening birds
away.

The Kenyahs "take turns" helping each other to harvest, and on this
occasion they were assisting their chief. It was a scene of much
animation, as if it were a festival, which in reality the harvesting is to
them. The long row of men and women in their best garments, with
picturesque sun-shades, cut the spikes one by one, as the custom is, with
small knives held in the hollow of their hands. Assuredly the food which
they received was tempting to hungry souls. The rice, after being cooked,
was wrapped in banana leaves, one parcel for each, forty-four in all, and
as many more containing dried fish which also had been boiled. The people
kindly acceded to my request to have them photographed. They then packed
the harvested paddi in big baskets, which they carried on their backs to
the storehouse in the kampong the same afternoon. From planting time till
the end of the harvest--four or five months--a man is deputed to remain in
the kampong to whom fish is forbidden, but who may eat all the rice he
wants, with some salt, and as recompense for his services receives a new
prahu or clothing.

A few days later, the chief having early in the morning taken omens from a
small bird, the inhabitants with few exceptions departed on a tuba-fishing
expedition to the Pipa, a small tributary to the Kayan River farther
north. The two kampongs, Long Pelaban and Long Mahan, combined forces, and
as so many were going I experienced difficulty in arranging to join the
excursion, but finally succeeded in securing prahus and men from the
latter place.

We passed a small settlement of Punans, former nomads, who had adopted the
Dayak mode of living, having learned to cultivate rice and to make prahus.
We found the people of Long Pelaban camped on a stony beach in two long
rows of rough shelters, each row containing many families under one common
roof of bark. The Long Mahan people had gone farther and camped on a
similar beach, and between the two I discovered a pleasant location in the
jungle by ascending the high bank of the river. Hardly had we finished
putting up our tents when a violent thunder-storm arose, which continued
unabated for half an hour, and thereafter with diminished force throughout
the night. Many of the Dayaks moved up to our position, and next day the
river ran high, so we did not make a start.

In the morning, after a fine bath, as I was about to take breakfast, a
large party of visitors from Long Mahan approached. They were unacquainted
with the Malay tongue and showed obvious signs of embarrassment, but by
distributing a little candy to the children and biscuits to the adults
harmony was soon established. Two unusually attractive small girls wearing
valuable bead necklaces, who at first had appeared takut (frightened),
unconcernedly seated themselves on their heels in front of me. The others
perched in a long row on two poles which they laid on the wet ground, all
of them preparing to watch me eat breakfast. Among other things the menu
included half a dozen small boiled potatoes brought from Tandjong Selor
and obtained from Central Java; they usually keep for four or five weeks
and are a valuable aid in maintaining good health in the tropics.

The Kenyahs had never seen potatoes before, and one man handed some of the
peelings to his wife for inspection, whereupon I gave her a potato, which
she peeled carefully, divided, and gave a piece to each of the two
children, with whom, however, it did not find favour. I opened a can of
milk and another of cream, for I was fresh from Europe and had plenty of
provisions. After helping myself from the cans I gave them to the
children, who greatly relished what was left in them, but they did not eat
greedily, behaving like white children who have not learned from adults to
eat hastily. The Kenyahs are very courteous. When a man passed my tent
opening he generally called aloud, as if announcing his presence.

In visiting the camps I found the Kenyahs, even on an occasion like the
present, busily engaged at some occupation, and seldom or never was
anybody seen sitting idle. The men were splitting rattan into fine
strings, later to be used for many purposes: for plaiting the sheath of
the parang; for making bottle-shaped receptacles for rice; for securing
the axe to the handle, etc. Women were doing the same work with bamboo,
first drying the stalks by standing them upright before a fire. These fine
bamboo strings are later used in making winnowing trays and for various
kinds of beautifully plaited work. When employed in this way, or on other
occasions, the women smoke big cigarettes as nonchalantly as the men.

Continuing the journey next day, we found it a laborious undertaking over
many small rapids. The water had already subsided, so we had to wade most
of the day, dragging the prahus, a task which we found rather fatiguing,
as the stones are difficult to step on in the water and very hot out of
it. The river was narrow, but here and there widened out into pools. Many
"bring" were erected over the stream, and I noticed that they were smaller
than those I had seen before, but the arrangements for beating the tuba
were far more elaborate.

On the river bank, as we approached the main camping-place, piles of the
light-brown root were often seen, resembling stacks of wood. The gathering
of these roots, I learned, was accomplished in one day. Our men had helped
in the work and they also put up a couple of "bring" near our camp for our
own use. Early in the afternoon two rather solid structures, built like
bridges across the small river, were erected; on these the beating of the
tuba was to take place next morning. In the middle, lengthwise, was placed
a long, narrow excavated log, longer than the bridge itself, for the use
of the beaters.

In the evening a large tree crashed to earth not far from my camp, and at
a later hour another, still nearer, thunderously broke with its fall the
silence of night. At two o'clock in the morning the beating of tuba began,
to the accompaniment of shouts and outcries, and though the noise was
considerable and unusual I did not find it intolerable, but fell asleep
again. I arose early, and after partaking of some excellent Dayak rice I
walked down to view the proceedings, and found the scene engrossing. Men
and women stood close together on each side of the long trough, crushing
the tuba with sticks in a similar manner to that adopted when pounding
rice. The trough had at one end a small compartment, open like the rest,
but the sides had been smoothed with an axe and when beaten served the
purpose of a gong. The bark was pounded into small pieces and then thrown
to one side upon large palm leaves which covered the bridge.

Boarding a prahu, I next visited Amban Klesau's bridge, a little lower
down, which was larger and more pretentious, with tall poles erected on
it, and from the top hung ornamental wood shavings. The end of the trough
here had actually been carved into a semblance of the head of "an animal
which lives in the ground," probably representing a supernatural being
usually called nagah. The owner himself was beating it with a stick on
both sides of the head, and this made more noise than the pounding of the
fifty men and women who stood working at the trough. At times they walked
in single file around it.

The pounding was finished in the forenoon, and all went a little farther
down the river to take the fire omen at a place where the river widened
out into a pool. A man with many tail-feathers from the rhinoceros
hornbill (_buceros rhinoceros_) stuck into his rattan cap seated himself
on a crude platform which had been built on upright poles over the water.
Some long pieces of tuba-root were lying there, and he squatted on his
heels facing the principal men who were sitting on the bank south of him.

A few minutes later the chief of Long Mahan made his way out to the
platform over some logs which loosely bridged the space to the bank of the
river, and attempted the fire-making, but after two unsuccessful attempts
he retired. Several other prominent men came and tried, followed by the
man with the tail-feathers in his cap, but he also failed; whereupon they
all stepped ashore, taking the fire-making implements and some of the
roots with them, in order to see whether they would have better luck on
land. The brother of the chief now came forward and made two attempts,
with no more success than the others. Urged to try again, he finally
succeeded; the assemblage silently remained seated for a few minutes, when
some men went forth and beat tuba with short sticks, then threw water upon
it, and as a final procedure cast the bark into the river and again beat
it. From the group of the most important people an old man then waded into
the water and cast adrift burning wood shavings which floated down-stream.

In the meantime the Long Mahan people had gone to throw the bark into the
river from their elaborate bridge, and those of Long Pelaban went to their
establishments. The finely pounded bark soon began to float down the river
from the bridges as it might were there a tannery in the neighbourhood.
Presently white foam began to form in large sheets, in places twenty-five
centimetres thick and looking much like snow, a peculiar sight between the
dark walls of tropical jungle. Above the first little rapid, where the
water was congested, a portion of the foam remained like snow-drift, while
most of it continued to advance and spread itself over the first long
pool. Here both men and women were busily engaged catching fish with
hand-nets, some wading up to their necks, others constantly diving
underneath and coming up covered with light foam.

The insignificant number of fish caught--nearly all of the same kind--was
surprising and disappointing. Even small fish were eagerly sought. There
was little animation, especially at the beginning of the sport, and no
spears were used. Several tons of bark must have been utilized, at least
eight or ten times as much as at the Isau River, and I regretted that they
should have so little reward for their trouble. Five days were spent in
travel, two days in making "bring" and gathering tuba, and they had
pounded tuba for eight hours, since two o'clock in the morning. After all
these exertions many prahus must have returned without fish. Possibly the
fish had been practically exterminated by the tuba poisoning of former
years. One man told me that many fish remain dead at the bottom, which
partly accounts for the scanty result.

I was desirous of having Chonggat remain here for a week of collecting,
but no Kenyah was willing to stay with him, all being deterred through
fear of Punan head-hunters, who, on this river, not so long ago, had
killed some rubber-gatherers from Sarawak. Besides, they also anticipated
revenge on the part of Kayans, eleven of whom had been killed by the
Kenyahs in Apo Kayan one and a half years previously. According to their
own reports and that of the Chinese interpreter, the heads of six men and
five women had been taken after a successful attack on the two prahus in
which the Kayans (Oma-Lakan) travelled. The Kenyahs (Oma-Kulit) who had
committed the outrage had been apprehended by the Company, as the
government is called by the natives. The brother of the chief of Long
Pelaban, who was with us fishing, three months previously had returned
from Samarinda, where he had spent one year in prison for having been
implicated in a minor way in this crime, while the main offenders were
serving labor terms of six years in Sorabaia, Java.

This report was confirmed by a Dutch officer whom I met a month later and
who came from Apo Kayan. The attacking Kenyahs were eighty in number, of
whom ten were punished. The affair took place in 1912 at a distance of six
hours, going down-stream, from Long Nawang. Though head-hunters are known
to travel wide and far, and distant Apo Kayan is not too remote for them,
nevertheless to me, as well as to Chonggat, the risks seemed unfounded;
however, there remained no alternative but for all of us to return to Long
Pelaban.




CHAPTER X


IN FOG AND DARKNESS--A RAID BY ANTS--DEPARTURE FROM LONG PELABAN--AN
EXCITING PASSAGE--RETURN TO TANDJONG SELOR

During April and the first half of May the weather was warm with very
little rain, though at times thunder was heard at a distance. But during
the second half of May thunder and lightning in the evening was the usual
occurrence, with an occasional thunder-clap at close quarters. At night it
rained continually though not heavily, but this was accompanied by a dense
fog which did not clear away until nine o'clock in the morning. When the
dark clouds gathered about sunset, it was not with exactly cheerful
feelings that I anticipated the coming night. My tent stood at a little
distance from the rest of the camp, for the reason that solitude at times
has its charms. When the lamp outside the tent door was extinguished, and
all was enveloped in darkness and fog to an overwhelming degree, a feeling
of loneliness and desolation stole over me, though it soon left me when I
thought of the glories of the coming day, when all the rain would be
forgotten.

Shortly after sunset one evening scores of thousands of ants descended
upon me while supper was in progress. In the dim light afforded by the
lamp I had not perceived their approach until I felt them around my feet.
Upon looking about, I discovered to my astonishment that the floor, which
had a covering of closely set bamboo stalks, was black with ants and that
regiments of them were busily climbing up my bed. Coming in such immense
numbers and unannounced, their appearance was startling. Outside the soil
seemed to move. Twice before I had received visits from these ants but had
prevented their entering the tent by pouring hot water over them. The pain
caused by their bite is severe, although of short duration, and they are
therefore feared by the Dayaks and Malays.

By liberal application of hot water and burning paper on the ground we
finally succeeded in driving the unwelcome visitors out of the tent; but
new hordes were constantly arriving, and we battled for two hours before I
could retire, carrying many bites as souvenirs. None were then in the tent
and next day not a trace of them remained. The Chinese photographer had
been there twenty minutes before the raid began and had not noticed even
one ant. The attack began as suddenly as it ceased.

My stay on the Kayan River had been interesting as well as profitable.
Twice during that period requests had come from the government for Dayaks
willing to join a Dutch enterprise operating in northern New Guinea, and
the chances of my securing sufficient men on this river for my expedition
were evidently gone. However, with the assistance of the government I felt
sure there would be no difficulty in securing them from other rivers of
Dutch Borneo, but I deemed it wise to begin my return trip.

The river was now so swollen that it was difficult to effect a departure,
and current report indicated that if the rain continued it might be
necessary to wait a month before the rapids below could be passed. I had
all my belongings packed in order to be ready to start whenever it was
found advisable to do so. While waiting I went over to the kampong to
kinematograph two dancing girls who the day before, owing to their
bashfulness, had detained us so long that the light became inadequate. At
last the river fell about a metre during the night, and the chief and his
brother called on me early in the morning to suggest that our best plan
would be to start in the middle of the day.

Only a couple of hours are consumed in going to Long Pangian from here, on
account of the downward course of the river, which forms rapids and
currents at frequent intervals. As the men appeared disinclined to go, the
posthouder of Long Pangian, who then was with me, crossed the river and
gave the necessary impetus to action. Soon a big prahu was hauled by many
men down the bank to the river; this was followed by others, taken from
their storage place under the house, and shortly afterward we had
facilities for departure. Most of the boats were medium-sized; mine was
the largest, about seven and a half metres long, but so unsteady that the
luggage was loaded with difficulty. As usual my prahu carried the most
valuable articles, the photographic outfit, scientific instruments, etc.,
all of which was finally secured by tying rattan over it from side to
side. Naturally, fewer men are needed going down a river than coming up,
and I had only four.

At two o'clock in the afternoon a start was made and we proceeded rapidly
down-stream. The man standing at the bow is the commander, not the one
that steers with his paddle at the stern, and it appeared to be their
custom always to take the boat where the current was strongest and the
water most turbulent. It seemed reckless, but my prahu, heavily laden,
acted admirably, shooting through the waves without much exertion. After
nearly an hour of refreshing passage we approached the main rapid, Kiham
Raja. I kept behind the rest of the fleet, in order, if possible, to get a
snap-shot. In the beautiful light of the afternoon the prahus afforded a
splendid sight as, at short intervals, they passed along one after
another, the first ones already considerably lower than mine. My Kenyahs,
all standing, seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do, and we
moved along rapidly. Without a moment's hesitation we shot down the kiham.
This time they did not choose the place where the waves ran highest, and
we quickly slipped down the rapid, turbulent current, while the big waves
on our right threatened to engulf our craft.

As usual, it was difficult to get away from Long Pangian, but the
posthouder exerted himself to the utmost, and after a few days we were
ready to leave for Tandjong Selor. To a large prahu that we had obtained
we had to lash a log on either side to keep it steady. I found that the
Kenyah prahus in these parts usually are unstable. One Dayak that had been
loading mine in stepping ashore tipped it to such a degree that two large
green waterproof bags containing clothing, blankets, etc., fell overboard.
They floated well and were recovered.

Having finally put mats on upright saplings over the boats, as shade
against the sun and protection against rain, we were off, but it was not
altogether a pleasant two days' journey. My heavily laden prahu, having
been out of use for some time, leaked badly, so one of the five men had
all he could do to throw out the water which poured in through the holes
of the rattan fastenings. The man who was bailing sat opposite me in the
middle section, and for want of space I had to hold my feet up, with one
leg resting on either side of the prahu. I wore a pair of London Alpine
boots with thick soles and nails, weighing eight pounds, which I had found
too heavy for walking, but which were excellent for wear in wet boats.
When, in order to change my uncomfortable position, I placed both legs on
one side, the edge of the prahu nearly touched the water and the Dayaks
would cry out in warning. I have not on other rivers in Borneo met with
prahus quite as cranky as these. At the Bugis settlement I bought fifty
delicious pineapples at a very moderate price and distributed them among
us.




CHAPTER XI


DEPARTURE FOR BANDJERMASIN--A PLEASANT STEAMSHIP LINE--TWO HEAD-HUNTERS--
AN EXPEDITION TO LAKE SEMBULO--SAMPIT--THE ORANG-UTAN--STORMY WEATHER--A
DISAGREEABLE RECEPTION

In Tandjong Selor I was exceedingly busy for three days getting boxes and
packing the collections, and early in June I departed for Bandjermasin, on
S.S. _De Weert_. It has been my fortune to travel much on the steamships
of the Royal Packet Boat Company, which controls the whole Malay
Archipelago from Singapore to New Guinea and the Moluccas. It is always a
pleasure to board one of these steamers, as the officers are invariably
courteous, and the food is as excellent on the smaller steamers as on the
large ones. The same kind of genuine, good claret, at a reasonable price,
is also found on all of them, and it may readily be understood how much I
enjoyed a glass of cool Margaux-Medoc with dinner, after over five months
in the utan. The sailors on these steamers are Javanese. Those from
Madura, rather small men, made an especially good impression. A captain
told me they never give any trouble except when on leave ashore in
Sourabaia, where they occasionally remain overtime, but after a few days
they come to the office and want to be taken on again. They are punished
by having their wages deducted for the days they are absent, but the loss
of coin does not trouble them much. If they have cigarettes and their
meals they are happy, and they never accumulate money. They are engaged
for one year and some of them renew their contracts.

As we sailed southward from the Kayan River we were told of a French count
who with his wife lived on an island three or four kilometres long, near
the coast. At first he had fisheries and sold dried fish, which, with
rice, forms the staple food of the natives of Borneo and other countries
of the East. He was enabled to change his business into cocoanut
plantations, which to-day cover the island. According to report they
dressed for dinner every day, to the end that they might not relinquish
their hold upon the habits of civilised society. Later I learned that when
the war broke out the count immediately went to France to offer his
services.

Lieutenant C.J. La Riviere came aboard in Samarinda, en route to Holland
for a rest, after being in charge of the garrison at distant Long Nawang
in Apo Kayan. There are 40 soldiers, 2 officers, and 1 doctor at that
place, which is 600 metres above sea, in a mountainous country with much
rain, and therefore quite cool. In a single month they had had one and a
half metres of rain. Officers have been known to spend three months in
going from Long Iram to Apo Kayan, travelling by prahu almost the whole
distance. Usually the trip may be made in a couple of months or less. The
river at last becomes only four metres broad, with very steep sides, and
in one night, when it rains copiously, the water may rise five to six
metres. Mail usually arrives three times a year, but when the lieutenant
boarded the steamer he had not seen a newspaper for five months.

He expressed his opinion that the government would find it extremely
difficult to stamp out head-hunting in Apo Kayan, with its 15,000 Dayaks,
because the custom is founded in their religious conception. "Our
ancestors have always taken heads," they say; "we also do it, and the
spirits will then be satisfied. We have learned it from our ancestors, who
want us to do it." "They often ask us," the lieutenant said: "When are you
going to leave Long Nawang? When you are gone then we will again take up
the head-hunting." These same Kenyahs are entrusted to go to Long Iram to
bring provisions to the garrison. About eighty of them are sent,
accompanied by only two soldiers, and after three months' absence the
goods arrive safely at Long Nawang.

On board the steamer were also two Punan head-hunters from the interior
who were being taken to Bandjermasin under the guard of two soldiers. They
had been caught through the assistance of other Punans, and in prison the
elder one had contracted the dry form of beri-beri. He was a pitiful
sight, in the last stage of a disease not usually found among his
compatriots, no longer able to walk, looking pale and emaciated and having
lost the sight of his right eye. They had rather wild but not unpleasant
faces, and were both tatued like the Kenyahs. Their hair had been cut
short in the prison. I later took the anthropometric measurements of the
young man, who was a fine specimen of the savage, with a splendid figure,
beautifully formed hands and feet--his movements were elastic and easy.

As it had been found impossible to secure Dayaks in the Bulungan for my
expedition to New Guinea, the resident courteously offered to get eighty
men from the Mahakam River. This would take at least two months and gave
me opportunity to visit a lake called Sembulo, a considerable distance
west of Bandjermasin. It was necessary first to go to Sampit, a small
town, two days distant, on a river of the same name, where there is a
controleur to whom the resident gave me an introduction, and who would be
able to assist in furthering my plans. I could not afford to wait for the
monthly steamer which touches at Sampit on its way to Singapore, so I
arranged to make the trip on board an old wooden craft which was under
repairs in Bandjermasin, and in the afternoon of June 5 we started.

The steamer was small, slow, and heavily laden, so it was not a very
pleasant trip. As we sailed down the great Barito River on a dark and
cloudy evening, from the deck, which was scarcely a metre above the muddy
water, one might observe now and then floating clumps of the plants that
thrive so well there. On approaching the mouth of the river the water,
with the outgoing tide, became more shallow. The Malay sailor who
ascertained the depth of the water by throwing his line and sang out the
measures in a melodious air, announced a low figure, which made the
captain stop immediately. The anchor was thrown and simultaneously a great
noise of escaping steam was heard. Before the engine-room the sailors were
seen trying to stop the steam which issued, holding sacks in front of them
as a protection against being scalded. Coupled with my observation that
there were no life preservers in my little cabin, nor anywhere else, the
situation appeared disquieting, but the captain, a small-sized Malay and a
good sailor, as all of that race are, reassured me by saying that it was
only the glass for controlling the steam-power that was broken. After a
while the escape of steam was checked and a new glass was put in.

The old craft kept up its reputation for rolling excessively, and I was
glad when finally we entered the smooth waters of the Sampit River. We
stopped for a couple of hours at a small kampong, where I made the
acquaintance of a Polish engineer in the government's service, who was
doing some work here. He told me that thirty years ago, in the inland
country west of Kotawaringin, he had seen a young Dayak whose chest, arms,
and legs, and most of the face, were covered with hair very similar in
colour to that of the orang-utan, though not so thick. The hair on his
face was black, as usual. There were no Malays at that head, but many
Dayaks. I have heard reports of natives in the Schwaner mountains, who are
said to have more hair on the body than Europeans, of a brownish colour,
while that on the head is black. Controleur Michielsen, [*] in the report
of his journey to the upper Sampit and Katingan in 1880, describes a
certain Demang Mangan who had long, thin hair on the head, while on the
chest and back it was of the same brown-red colour as that of the
orang-utan. His arms were long, his mouth large and forward-stretching,
with long upper lip, and his eye glances were shy. Among the Dayaks he was
known as mangan (red).

[Footnote *: Controleur W.J. Michielsen, _Verslag einer Reis door de boven
distrikten der Sampit en Katingan rivieren in Maart en April_, 1880.]

About noon we arrived at Sampit, a clean, attractive village situated on
slightly higher ground than is generally available on Bornean rivers. The
stream is broad here, having almost the appearance of a lake. As is the
custom, a small park surrounds the controleur's residence, and in the
outskirts of the town is a small, well-kept rubber plantation belonging to
a German. Sampit is a Katingan word, the name of an edible root, and
according to tradition the Katingans occupied the place in times long gone
by.


The weather was remarkably dry, so that the tanks at the corners of the
controleur's house, on which he depended for water, were becoming
depleted. When the fruits of the utan are ripe, the orang-utan may at
times be heard crying out in the neighbourhood, but on account of the dry
weather they had retired deeper into the jungle. Chonggat shot only one,
which was but half-grown and easily killed by a charge of shot. It is
often difficult to discover an orang-utan because he has a knack of hiding
himself where the foliage is densest, and if alarmed will proceed along
the branches of tall trees and thus disappear from sight.

This intelligent, man-like ape is probably not so common in Dutch Borneo
as he is supposed to be. Mr. Harry C. Raven, who collected animals in the
northeastern part, told me that in a year he had shot only one. The
orang-utans are generally found in Southern Borneo and do not go very far
inland; in Central Borneo they are extremely rare, almost unknown. It is
to be hoped that these interesting animals will not soon be exterminated.
A Malay, the only hunter in Sampit, told me that some are so old that they
can no longer climb trees. When wounded an orang-utan cries like a child
in quite an uncanny manner, as a Dutch friend informed me. According to
the Dayaks, it will wrest the spear from its attacker and use it on him.
They also maintain, as stated elsewhere, that orang-utans, contrary to the
generally accepted belief, are able to swim. Mr. B. Brouers, of
Bandjermasin, has seen monkeys swim; the red, the gray, and the black are
all capable of this, he said.

From a reliable source I have the following story. Eight Malays who had
made camp on a small promontory on the river, one morning were sitting
about sunning themselves when they were surprised to see an orang-utan
approaching. He entered their camp and one of the Malays nearest to him
instinctively drew his parang. Doubtless regarding this as an unfriendly
action, he seized one of the poles which formed the main framework of
their shelter and pulled it up, breaking the rattan fastenings as if they
were paper. The Malays now all attacked with their parangs, but the
orang-utan, taking hold of the end of the pole, swept it from side to side
with terrifying effect, and as the locality made it impossible to surround
him, they all soon had to take to the water to save themselves.

My informant, who had spent several years travelling in Southern Borneo
buying rubber from the natives, told me that one day his prahu passed a
big orang-utan sitting on the branch of a tree. The Malay paddlers shouted
to it derisively, and the animal began to break off branches and hurled
sticks at the prahu with astonishing force, making the Malays paddle off
as fast as they could. The several points of similarity between man and
highly developed monkeys are the cause of the amusing saying of the
natives of Java: the monkeys can talk, but they don't want to, because
they don't like to work.

The controleur obligingly put the government's steam launch _Selatan_ at
my disposal, which would take me to the kampong Sembulo on the lake of the
same name, whence it was my intention to return eastward, marching partly
overland. One evening in the middle of June we started. On entering the
sea the small vessel rolled more and more; when the water came over the
deck I put on my overcoat and lay down on top of the entrance to the
cabin, which was below. The wind was blowing harder than it usually does
on the coasts of Borneo, and in the early morning shallow waters, which
assume a dirty red-brown colour long before reaching the mouths of the
mud-laden rivers, rose into waves that became higher as we approached the
wide entrance to the Pembuang River.

The sea washed over the port side as if we were on a sailing-boat, but the
water flowed out again through a number of small, oblong doors at the
sides which opened and closed mechanically. The launch, which was built in
Singapore, behaved well, but we had a good deal of cargo on deck as well
as down in the cabin. Besides, the approach to Pembuang River is not
without risks. The sand-bars can be passed only at one place, which is
twelve or thirteen metres wide and, at low water, less than a metre deep.
The route is at present marked out, but in bygone years many ships were
wrecked here.

As the sea became more shallow the yellow-crested waves of dirty water
mixed with sand assumed an aspect of fury, and lying on my back I seemed
to be tossed from one wave to another, while I listened with some
apprehension to the melodious report of the man who took the depth of the
water: "Fourteen káki" (feet)! Our boat drew only six feet of water;
"Seven káki," he sang out, and immediately afterward, "Six káki!" Now we
are "in for it," I thought. But a few seconds more and we successfully
passed the dangerous bar, the waves actually lifting us over it. My two
assistants had spent the time on top of the baggage and had been very
seasick. We were all glad to arrive in the smooth waters of the river. The
captain, with whom later I became well acquainted, was an excellent
sailor, both he and the crew being Malays. It was the worst weather he had
experienced in the two years he had been at Sampit. According to him,
conditions in this part of Borneo may be even more stormy from August to
November.

In the Malay kampong, Pembuang, I procured a large pomelo, in Borneo
called limao, a delicious juicy fruit of the citrus order, but light-pink
inside and with little or no acidity. After the exertions of the night
this, together with canned bacon, fried and boiled potatoes, furnished an
ideal midday meal. Necessary repairs having been made to the engine, next
day, on a charming, peaceful afternoon, we continued our trip up the
river. An unusually large number of monkeys were seen on both sides, and
the men sat on the railing, with their feet hanging outside, to look at
them. The red, long-nosed variety did not retreat, but looked at us calmly
from the branch where it sat; other species hurried off, making incredibly
long leaps from branch to branch. Shortly after sunset we threw anchor.

Lake Sembulo is about sixteen kilometres long by about one in width. The
lake is entered suddenly, amid clumps of a big species of water plant
which in season has long white odoriferous flowers. Very striking is the
white bottom and the beaches consisting of gravel or sand. How far the
sandy region extends I am unable to say, but Mr. Labohm, the chief
forester, told me that in the Sampit River region northeast of here, and
about twenty metres above the sea, he walked for two days on whitish sand,
among rosaceae and azale, the forest being very thin. The comparatively
clear water is slightly tinged with reddish brown on account of its
connection with the Pembuang River, which has the usual colour of Bornean
rivers. Low receding hills rise all around as we steam along, and the
utan, which more or less covers the country, looks attractive, though at
first the forests surrounding the ladangs of the Malays are partly defaced
by dead trees, purposely killed by fire in order to gain more fields.

After a couple of hours we arrived at kampong Sembulo, which has an
alluring look when viewed from the lake, lying on a peninsula with
handsome trees which mercifully hide most of the houses. The kapala of
this Malay settlement, who came on board in a carefully laundered white
cotton suit, had courteous manners. He kindly arranged for three prahus to
take us and our belongings ashore.

There was a diminutive pasang-grahan here, neatly made from nipah palm
leaves, where I repaired, while Chonggat and Ah Sewey put up tents near
by. The presence of two easy chairs which had been brought from
Bandjermasin seemed incongruous to the surroundings, and had an irritating
rather than restful effect on me. Both Malays and Dayaks are very desirous
of securing European furniture for the house of the kapala, and will carry
a chair or table for hundreds of miles. On the occasion of my visit to the
Kenyah chief of Long Pelaban, in the Bulungan, he immediately went to a
heap of baskets and other articles occupying one side of the big room, dug
out a heavy table with marble top, which was lying overturned there, and
proudly placed it upright before me to be admired. That this piece of
furniture had been brought so great a distance over the kihams was almost
incomprehensible.

I had a talk with the kapala and a large number of people who soon
gathered in front of the pasang-grahan. The Dayaks who originally lived
here have disappeared or amalgamated with the Malay intruders, who in this
case are largely composed of less desirable elements. It soon became
evident that no information could be gained from these people in regard to
the traditions of the place. One man said that if I would wait four or
five days (in which to be exploited by the wily Malay) he would undertake
to bring me three old men of the place, whereupon the kapala, who was more
obliging than the rest, went to fetch one of these, who pretended to have
no knowledge in such matters.

In order to get relief from the increasing throng of men and boys, I went
for a walk, in which I was joined by the kapala and the mantri, a small
native police authority whom the controleur had sent with me to be of
assistance in making arrangements with the Malays. An old-looking wooden
mosque, twenty years old according to reports, stands at the turn of the
road. Near by is a cemetery covered with a large growth of ferns and
grass, which hides the ugly small monuments of the graves. The houses lie
along a single street in the shade of cocoanut-palms and other trees. On
account of the white sand that forms the ground everything looks clean,
and the green foliage of handsome trees was superb. Everywhere silence
reigned, for the women, being Mohammedans, remain as much as possible
inside the houses, and no voice of playing or crying child was heard.

On returning from our walk, near sunset, I asked the kapala how much I had
to pay for the bringing ashore of my baggage. "Fifteen rupia" (florins)
was the answer. As things go in Borneo this was an incredibly excessive
charge, and as my intention was to go by boat to the Dayak kampong on the
lake, and from there march overland to the small river, Kuala Sampit, I
demanded to know how much then I would have to pay for twenty men that I
needed for the journey. "Five rupia a day for each," he said. Dayaks, who
are far more efficient and reliable, are satisfied with one rupia a day.
Those near by protested that it was not too much, because in gathering
rubber they made even more a day. At that rate it would have cost me a
hundred florins a day, besides their food, with the prospects of having
strikes for higher pay all the way, according to the Malay custom.

Luckily the _Selatan_ had delayed its departure until next morning, so I
was not yet at the mercy of the greedy natives. The kapala seemed to have
as little influence with the people as the mantri, who plainly was afraid
of them. I got a prahu and went out to the captain, who arranged to take
us back next day, away from these inhospitable shores. At dusk he
accompanied me ashore, and in a refreshingly courageous manner read them
the text, telling them that I, who came recommended from the
Governor-General, was entitled to consideration; that it was a disgrace to
the Malay name to behave as they had done, etc. While I was eating my
evening meal two long rows of men were sitting outside on the ground,
watching the performance with close attention.

Next morning the _Selatan's_ boat came to assist in bringing us on board
again. After the captain's severe arraignment last night the mantri seemed
to have spurred up his courage. He said that two rupia would be sufficient
to pay for our luggage. I gave one ringit (f. 2.50), which the captain
said was ample. The kapala, who had exerted himself to get our things on
board again, thanked me for the visit and we steamed away, arriving safely
in Sampit a couple of days later.




CHAPTER XII


THE WAR CHANGES MY PLANS--CHOLERA--UP THE GREAT BARITO RIVER--PURUK TJAHU--
DECIDE TO STAY AMONG THE MURUNGS--A DANCING FEAST

In the beginning of July I returned to Bandjermasin, where I packed my
collections and despatched them to Europe. I decided to send what goods I
had, with my two assistants, to Macassar on Celebes, where the Dayaks who
were to take part in the New Guinea undertaking would also be transported.
It might be possible for Chonggat to do some collecting in the
neighbourhood of the town. At all events, it would be more convenient to
have them wait for me there than to take them to Java. Having secured
passes from the resident for the two men, and given them recommendations
to the Norwegian consul in Macassar, I departed for Batavia to take the
last steps in fitting out my expedition to New Guinea.

At this stage of my proceedings the war broke out. On August 6 I had an
audience of the Governor-General, who informed me that he was then unable
to let me have either soldiers or ship for my explorations. The day before
he had recalled his own great expedition on the Mamberamo in Northern New
Guinea, and advised me to wait for a more favourable opportunity,
promising that he would later give me all assistance. The commanding
general was equally agreeable. As I had never been in British India I
decided to go there while awaiting developments regarding the war, so the
following Saturday found me on my way to Singapore. Here I first arranged
for the safe return of my two assistants, who had been left in Macassar,
where cholera had broken out. Usually natives, who range under the
category of labourers, go as deck-passengers on steamers in the East.
Therefore, after I had bought second-class tickets for them, and the Dutch
Packet Boat Company had courteously offered to have a man meet them on
arrival, I felt satisfied that they would have no trouble in landing. I
then continued my journey over Penang to Madras.

In spite of the continuation of the war and the great fascination of
India, in April, the following year, 1915, I decided to return to the
Dutch Indies and undertake an expedition to Central Borneo, parts of which
are unexplored and unknown to the outside world. Briefly, my plans were to
start from Bandjermasin in the south, ascend the Barito River, and,
branching hence into its northern tributary, the Busang, to cross the
watershed to the Mahakam or Kutei River. Following the latter to its mouth
I should reach the east coast near Samarinda. This journey, I found, would
take me through a country where were some tribes never before studied.

At Colombo I took the Dutch steamer _Grotius_, which gave me a very
pleasant week. The Dutch are a kindly nation. There were fifteen children
on first-class playing on deck, and I never heard them cry nor saw them
fighting. After more than nine months' absence I again found myself in
Batavia, and from there I went to Buitenzorg to ask an audience of the
Governor-General. He offered to give me all assistance in furthering my
project, and I had the pleasure of being invited to dine at the palace. A
large open carriage, with quaint, old-fashioned lanterns, called for me.
The coachman and footman were liveried Javanese. It was a beautiful, cool,
starlit evening in the middle of June when we drove up the imposing avenue
of banyan-trees which leads to the main entrance. The interior of the
palace is cool and dignified in appearance, and the Javanese waiters in
long, gold-embroidered liveries, whose nude feet passed silently over the
marble floor, were in complete accord with the setting.

Several weeks had to be spent in preparation for the trip. It was decided
that in Borneo I should be furnished with a small escort. Further, Mr. J.
Demmini, photographer in the well-known Topografische Dienst in Batavia,
was attached to the expedition, as well as Mr. H.P. Loing, a native
surveyor of the same institution. After much searching I finally found a
man, Rajimin, a native of Batavia, who seemed competent to collect birds
and animals. My kinematograph was out of order, but fortunately I
succeeded in replacing it with a secondhand Pathé. The first week in
August we departed from Tandjong Priok by steamer, bound for Bandjermasin,
Borneo.

On our arrival in Sourabaia we learned that cholera was prevalent in
Bandjermasin, and our steamer carried serum for the doctors of the
garrison there. Early in the morning we steamed up the river, viewing the
usual scene of Malays bathing and children running out of the houses to
see the steamer pass. The most urgent matter demanding attention was to
have Rajimin, the taxidermist, vaccinated, as well as the two native boys
I had brought from Batavia. There were nine deaths a day, but while it is
unpleasant to be at a place where such an epidemic is raging, there is
reassurance in the knowledge that the bacillus must enter through the
mouth, and that therefore, with proper precautions, it is unnecessary for
anybody to have cholera.

A Dutch doctor in Sourabaia told me that he had been practising two years
on the Barito River in Borneo, and had gone through a severe epidemic of
cholera, but neither he nor his wife had been affected, although their
native boy, while waiting at table, fell to the floor and in two hours
expired. His wife disinfected plates, forks, spoons, and even the fruit,
in a weak solution of permanganate of potassium. Of course there must be
no alcoholic excesses. In the tropics it is also essential, for several
reasons, always to boil the drinking water.

The Dutch use an effective cholera essence, and if the remedy is applied
immediately the chances for recovery from the attack are favourable. The
lieutenant who accompanied me through Central Borneo told me that he saved
the life of his wife by immediately initiating treatment internally as
well as by bathing, without waiting for the doctor's arrival, for the
attack occurred in the middle of the night. After three or four hours she
was out of danger. One evening at the Bandjermasin hotel I was startled by
seeing our three Javanese men taking a sudden and determined departure,
carrying all their belongings. One of the hotel boys who occupied the room
next to them had shown the well-known symptoms of cholera, whereupon they
immediately decamped. I at once informed the manager, who gave the boy a
dose of cholera essence, and an hour later he was better. The next morning
he was still improving, and on the following day I saw him waiting at
table.

The resident, Mr. L.F.J. Rijckmans, was kind enough to order the
government's good river steamer _Otto_ to take us up the Barito River to
Puruk Tjahu, a distant township, where boats and men might be secured and
where the garrison would supply me with a small escort. Toward the end of
August we departed. On account of the shallow water the _Otto_ has a flat
bottom and is propelled by a large wheel at the stern. We had 5,000
kilograms of provisions on board, chiefly rice and dried fish, all stored
in tin cans carefully closed with solder. There were also numerous
packages containing various necessary articles, the assorting of which
would be more conveniently done in Puruk Tjahu. We also brought furniture
for a new pasang-grahan in Muara Tewe, but the steamer could have taken
much more.

The evening of our departure was delightful, and a full moon shed its
light over the utan and the river. I occupied a large round room on the
upper deck, and felt both comfortable and happy at being "on the move"
again. Anchoring at night, there are about five days' travel on the
majestic river, passing now and then peaceful-looking kampongs where
people live in touch with nature. A feeling of peace and contentment
possessed me. "I do not think I shall miss even the newspapers," I find
written in my diary.


On approaching Muara Tewe we saw low mountains for the first time, and
here the river becomes narrower and deeper, though even at the last-named
place it is 350 metres wide. The water assumed a deeper reddish colour and
was speckled with foam, indicating a certain amount of flood caused by
rains higher up the river. We passed a family of wild pigs grubbing up the
muddy beach in search of roots. There was a large dark one and a huge
yellowish-white one, besides four young pigs dark in colour. At Muara
Tewe, where we had to make a stay of two days, the doctor of the garrison
said that in the case of the common species of wild pigs the full-grown
ones are always light in hue. Doctor Tjon Akieh, who came here from
Surinam, had some amusing monkeys, a native bear, tamer than most cats,
and a very quiet deer. In a steam-launch he had gone four days up the Ajo
River, a tributary to the Barito from the east, which passes between
limestone cliffs. In that locality the Dayaks are rarely visited by Malays
and therefore have retained their excellent tribal characteristics. The
men are inclined to obesity.

After leaving Muara Tewe we passed many small kampongs which were less
attractive than those at the lower part of the river. The farther one
proceeds the more inhabited are the banks. In this vicinity, eleven years
previously, a violent Malay revolution which had lasted two years was
finally suppressed. As usual, the revolt was headed by a pretender to the
sultanate. The steamer in which we travelled was a reminder of those days,
for it had two gun-mountings on its deck and my cabin, round in shape, was
lightly armoured.

Puruk Tjahu (puruk = small hill; tjahu = running out into the water) lies
at a bend of the river in a somewhat hilly and quite attractive country,
which is blessed with an agreeable climate and an apparent absence of
mosquitoes. The captain in charge of the garrison told me that he,
accompanied by the native kapala of the district, was going on a two
months' journey northward, and at his invitation I decided to follow him
as far as Sungei Paroi. I hoped that on my return a supply of films and
plates, ordered from London and already overdue, might have arrived. It
was, however, a very difficult proposition to have everything ready in
three days, because it was necessary first to take out of my baggage what
was needed for the journey. It meant the opening of 171 boxes and
packages. Convicts were assigned to assist in opening and closing these,
which afterward were taken to a storehouse, but as I had no mandur I alone
had to do the fatiguing work of going through the contents. The doctor of
the garrison kindly furnished me with knives and pincers for the
taxidermist, as the collector's outfit was missing from the boxes that had
been returned from Macassar.

The _Otto_ needed only one and a half hours to run down stream to the Muara
Laong, a Malay kampong at the mouth of the river Laong, which we intended
to ascend by boats to the kampong Batu Boa, where the overland journey was
to begin. As soon as we arrived in the afternoon the kapala was sent for to
help in procuring a sufficient number of prahus for the next day. I brought
twenty-nine coolies from Puruk Tjahu to serve as paddlers. The kapala was
unable to find enough prahus, but it had grown dark, so we waited, hoping
for better luck next day.

In the morning search was continued, but no great results were obtained.
The Malays evidently disliked to rent their boats, which were coming in
but slowly. In the meantime our luggage was being unloaded to the
landing-float. Mr. Demmini was able to secure some large prahus, among them
a specially good one belonging to a Chinaman, and the goods were placed in
them. At 11 A.M. all the baggage had been unloaded from the steamer, and
having worked like a dog for the last few days I felt that I had earned
twenty minutes for my usual bath, applying tepid water from a tin can,
with rough mittens. According to the opinion of those best able to judge,
bathing-water in the tropics should be of the same temperature as the
body, or slightly lower. There are three important items in my personal
outfit: A kettle in which drinking water is boiled, another (of a
different colour) in which water for bathing is heated, and a five-gallon
tin can which serves as a bathtub.

Much refreshed from my bath, I felt ready for further action. In the
morning I had requested the captain not to wait for me, and he had already
left. At 12 o'clock the _Otto_ departed, and a few minutes later our
flotilla was under way. We stayed over night at Biha, a small but clean
Dayak kampong. The Murungs, as seen here for the first time, are rather
shy, dark-complexioned, somewhat short and strongly set people. They are
not ugly, though their mouths always seem ungainly. The next day we
arrived at a Malay kampong, Muara Topu, which is less attractive on
account of its lack of cleanliness and its pretense of being civilised.

I soon realised that it would not be possible to overtake the captain,
still less to proceed overland, as our men from Puruk Tjahu were rather a
poor lot. They were Malays with the exception of three Dayaks, and one of
these, an Ot-Danum, had accepted Islam and therefore had imbibed many
Malay ideas. The majority of them were personally amiable, but physically,
with few exceptions, they were even below the Malay average, having weak,
ill-balanced bodies. I saw one man, when pushing his prahu, fall into the
water twice, and the men in my prahu often nearly upset it. In view of
these conditions I decided to stop over at the large kampong Tumbang
Marowei. Something might be gained by a stay among the Murungs, and
meantime the overdue photographic supplies, much needed for our inland
expedition, would possibly arrive.

The kampong created a pleasant impression, the space in front toward the
river, which the Dayaks are compelled to clear and keep clean, being
unusually extensive--almost approaching a boulevard on the river bank.
Along this are four communal houses arranged lengthwise, in two pairs, and
elevated on upright posts. Between the groups and farther back is a
smaller house. There are areca-palms and other trees planted in front, and
at the back the vast jungle begins immediately. Most of the people were
absent, burning trees and bushes that had been cut down to make new fields
for rice-planting, the so-called ladangs, but about sunset they returned,
and all were quite friendly in their manners.

We asked the kapala if he could have the people dance in order that we
might photograph them, but he said that would not be possible unless a
feast were made, a necessary part of which would be the sacrifice of a
babi (pig), whereupon an agreement was easily reached that I should pay
for the babi six florins, and that the Murungs should perform. The feast
was held one day later and was more interesting than I had expected. It
took place in front of the house where the kapala resided, and here a
sacred pillar stood, by the Katingans and others called kapatong, erected
on the occasion of a death.

A striking feature in Dayak kampongs, especially in remote regions, is the
presence of such upright pillars, carved more or less completely into
human form and standing before the houses. These are invariably for the
benefit of a dead person whom they guard, and if the deceased was well
provided with earthly goods two or three are furnished. They are made of
ironwood and often higher than a man, but usually only the upper part is
actually worked into shape, though many instances are observed of smaller
statues the entire surface of which is crudely carved. When a death occurs
many duties are incumbent on the surviving relatives, one of the first
being to make the kapatong, the soul of which waits on and guards the soul
of the departed one.

A good-sized domestic pig had been brought in dependent from a long pole
about which its feet had been tied, and it was deposited at the base of
the kapatong. One man held an upright stick between the legs of the
animal, while another opened the artery of the neck with one thrust of his
knife. The pig was next lifted up by the carrying-pole so that the blood
might run into a vessel, which was handed to a man who climbed the
kapatong and smeared blood on the image of a human being at the top. This
indicated that the feast was for the benefit of the soul of that ironwood
statue, because it is an invariable custom for the blood of a sacrificed
animal to be smeared on the principals of any feast or ceremony, and this
is also done when attempting to cure or ward off illness. The same custom
obtains in the case of those about to be married; or, if children are to
be named, if a move is made to a new home, blood is first daubed on the
house.

The pig was then carried a little farther away, where the space was more
favourable for dancing, which soon began to our edification. It was the
same type of dance that is universal among the Dayaks wherever I have
been, although other varieties are seen in Borneo. This principal one
consists of moving in a circle around the sacrificial offering, which is
lying at the foot of an upright rod to the top of which a piece of cloth
is tied, or at the base of a sacred jar (blanga). The participants join
hands, and the movement is slow because an essential feature consists in
bending the knees--heels together--down and up again, slowly and in time;
then, moving one step to the left and bringing right heel to left, the
kneeling is repeated, and so on. The men danced for a long time, at first
by themselves, then the women by themselves, but most of the time the
circle was made up of alternate men and women. The latter, most of them
stocky and somewhat coarse-looking, danced with surprising excellence.
Though children of nature may be without good looks, there is decided
attraction in their grace and easy movements.

It did not look difficult, so I joined in the dancing, as I have done many
times among other races. Greatly to the amusement of the natives I
demon

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