CHAPTER XVII

THE MEKEO DISTRICT

We arrived at Hall Sound at 6.15 p.m., Thursday, July 6th, and visited

the Sacred Heart Mission, where we were cordially received by Archbishop

Navarre and his colleagues. Although this Roman Catholic Mission has its

headquarters at Issoudun, in Indre, in France, the executive may belong

to any nationality, and thus it is not entirely a French Mission, though

French is the language spoken among themselves.

After the evening meal I played “ludo” with the Archbishop, and we

subsequently played the game several evenings. Ray, by request, had

brought the phonograph ashore, and he gave a selection on it in the

course of the evening, greatly to the delight of the Fathers and

Brothers, none of whom had ever heard one before. Brother Philip, a

kind-hearted, merry Dutchman, who is always smiling and laughing, and

who is one of the musicians of the fraternity, was child-like in his

enthusiastic appreciation of the machine. We persuaded some natives to

sing into the phonograph, and, as usual, they were delighted at hearing

their own voices echoed from the mysterious instrument.

Monseigneur kindly asked us to stay the night at the Mission, so we

gladly sent for our kit bags. After a feverish night I was compelled to

spend a quiet day, and Wilkin was only able to walk to the village of

Ziria, which he photographed.

Ray was good enough to give another phonograph performance to the Fathers

and the natives, and later we went to the nunnery and repeated the

entertainment for the delighted Sisters. Ray spent all the rest of the

day in philological brain-picking, and was very satisfied with the result

of his day’s work.

After another sleepless, feverish night I began to feel better, but

decided to remain quiet, whilst Ray and Wilkin went to the village of

Mohu on the mainland with Brother Alexis to visit Father Burke, the only

“Englishman” (and he is an Irishman) in the Mission.

The day was a sad one for us, as Brother Edmond, who belonged to the

station at Pokao on the mainland, and had come here for a visit, became

very ill in the morning, and grew worse as the day wore on. Soon after 5

p.m. a little service was held in his room, when the Extreme Unction with

the Pontifical Absolution and Benediction was given; the anointing with

holy oil, which is performed in the early stages of an illness that may

have a fatal termination, had been celebrated in the morning. All through

the day we received numerous reports as to the progress of the disease.

The Brother had been in good health the previous day (Friday) and worked

hard in the sun, but he drank water copiously, and probably had taken

some from an infected source which brought on a malignant enteric disease

(hæmaturia).

At 9 p.m., when all lights are put out and the Mission goes to bed,

I heard the Sisters who were to keep the night watch arrive, for the

patient’s room was next to mine. At eleven o’clock I was awakened by a

slight commotion, and turning out found Father Guis reading the prayers

for the dying, and whilst they were being read Brother Edmond passed

away. I retired again to bed whilst the Brothers and Sisters performed

the last secular offices for the dead, and in a few minutes heard the

suggestive “pwew, pwew” of the planing of boards, and later the hammering

of nails. By 2.15 the body was lying in its last bed.

At 3 a.m., finding a service was about to be held in the chapel, I threw

my dark blue bed blanket around me, and in pyjamas and with bare feet I

attended the service. It proved to be a Communion service for those who

had administered to the deceased. Father Guis, in broken voice, feelingly

read the service, with a Brother as acolyte, to a congregation composed

of three Sisters clad in their usual blue costume, four Brothers in

workaday flannel shirts, and myself, a blanket-clad “heretic.” The moral

atmosphere was tense with emotion, and the service appeared to me to be

not so much a communion with God, as a sacrament of renewed devotion

under the most solemn circumstances. Of course I do not wish to imply

that the first sentiment was not present, that is, the essential element

in Holy Communion, but the other aspect appeared to predominate. The

impressiveness of the ceremony was enhanced by its being held in the

depth of night.

Before finally retiring to rest I visited the coffin lying on the

verandah of our hostel. Praying beside it were two of the indefatigable

Brothers who had worked so hard, and two patient, statuesque Sisters.

The morning bell woke us at 5.30 o’clock, and I dressed in order to

attend early morning Mass at six. During that service the sun rose, and

a glorious tropical day commenced, joyous physically, but psychically

sad. After Mass coffee was served, and at 7.30 the Mass for the Dead was

solemnised in the chapel by the Archbishop.

The last time I attended a Catholic Requiem Mass was in Rome sixteen

years previously.

There we witnessed the ceremony decked with all the pomp due to the rank

of a high functionary of the Holy Catholic Church; here I participated in

the same ceremony—the same, but how different!

There, a dignitary trained in ecclesiastical doctrine, dogma, and

discipline, had worked his way up in the Church till heaven gave him

a preferment. (I wonder whether it was a better one than his last on

earth?) Here, a man who for fourteen years was a joint owner with his

cousin of a fishing schooner in the North Sea, and who was making money

in his venturesome calling, left all, like other fishermen we read of,

and became a lay Brother, with no chance of promotion in this world, and

volunteered to a fever-stricken country from which he knew he would never

return. One day he worked hard, doing his duty heartily and manfully;

the next, he was prostrated by a severe illness, and passed away before

midnight, dying in perfect peace. His last words were that he was ready

to die and be quit of suffering (for death had no terrors for him), or

ready to live if God willed, and to continue his labours, although he

knew full well that this meant a certainty of renewed sickness and pain.

As the procession was forming outside the chapel after the service,

Ontong (who also had attended Mass) and I took the middle places, and

helped carry the coffin to the grave, but after a short distance I was

asked to desist, as I was taller than the others, and the equilibrium was

disturbed.

The grave had been dug by natives, who stood by clothed in their usual

fashion and decked with native finery, thus supplying a dramatic

contrast between the ceremonial of an ancient Church and the religious

and physical nudity of the savage.

At 8.30 a.m. we were back in the house for breakfast. By early afternoon

Father Guis was groaning under an attack of fever. He was ill the

previous Friday, and thought he was quit of it for a time; but his

devotion to the deceased Brother had overtaxed his physical strength, and

this, combined with the severe strain on his feelings, brought about a

relapse. Truly the Fathers appear to be fighting against fate!

Soon after our midday meal I started on horseback with Father Guilbaud

to the village of Ziria, where he was to conduct the Benediction. It

is characteristic of the practical straightforward simplicity of this

fraternity that the priest wore a large grey wide-awake hat, flannel

shirt, corduroy trousers, and carpet slippers. We had a pleasant ride of

somewhat under an hour, mainly along the sand beach.

After tea in the Mission house, Father Guilbaud and I went to the chapel,

where a chair and _prie-dieu_ were allotted me close to the altar rails,

and in full view of the congregation. Opposite sat two Sisters, in charge

of some small girls, and a third Sister presided at the harmonium. It was

very pretty to see the naked little boys trotting hand in hand up the

altar steps, bowing, and then darting to the right and squatting on the

floor. Clothing among the males was almost a negative quantity; indeed,

there was a marked absence of European dress of any description. Most of

the bucks had painted their faces with red, black, and white pigments,

the effect of which was certainly grotesque, and some were almost as much

decorated with native finery as if they were going to a dance; one or two

of the girls had freshly oiled themselves and were decorated with shell

ornaments. The women folk all sat on the Sisters’ side of the chapel,

and the men on the opposite side. The youngest children sat in the front

rows, and in increasing ages further back, so that the old people were

near the door.

Father Guilbaud preached a sermon in the native language, evidently

on the Communion, and he had on the altar rails a large coloured

picture-card illustrating the Last Supper; in the upper corners were two

small pictures, one of Elijah being fed by ravens, and the other of a

Catholic Communion Service. From time to time the good Father pointed

with a small stick to details in the pictures. Believing so firmly as I

do in visual instruction, I was particularly pleased with this innovation.

After the sermon came the ceremonial part of the service, and it was

charming to see two Papuan lads act as acolytes, with their mop of black

frizzly hair, copper-coloured skins, long red cassocks, and short white

cotta, going through the service in a most devout and seemly fashion.

When service was over the acolytes disrobed behind the altar and stepped

forth, two all but absolutely nude savage dandies with shell ornaments

and painted faces. It is to be hoped the grace in their hearts was of a

more permanent character than the brief adorning of their persons with

the garments of Christian ceremonial. A pleasant ride back in the cool of

early evening completed a most enjoyable day.

A little later in the week we again visited Ziria, when we took some

measurements of the natives and bought a few “curios,” mostly lime

gourds. We exhibited the phonograph to the Sisters living in Ziria, and

gave one rehearsal in the schoolroom, and another in the _marea_ or

club-house of the village, to excited audiences.

Ziria is quite an interesting village; some of its houses are similar to

those lower down the coast, but others I recognised as belonging to a

type characteristic of the Papuan Gulf. The people here certainly more

resemble the coast people further east than those to the west, but they

have a character of their own, and some appear to resemble the “typical

Papuan” which Guillemard describes, and which he met with in the extreme

north of New Guinea. This transitional area between the east and the

west is marked, amongst other ways, by the men’s costume more resembling

that of the Gulf men. The bark-cloth belt trails behind on the ground,

and the young men wear, when they are _ibitoe_, a rather narrow tight

wooden belt. One lad I saw wore his so tight that above the wooden belt

and below the breast-bone and ribs the abdominal wall protruded like an

inflated pouter pigeon’s crop; about an inch and a half below this belt

was the tightly drawn ordinary bark-cloth belt, and in the interspace

between the two belts the flesh exuded as a prominent ring. Another

example of tight-lacing is given in the accompanying photograph.

[Illustration: PLATE XXI

A MEKEO IBITOE

MASKED MAN, KAIVAKUKU, OF WAIMA, MEKEO DISTRICT]

When a boy is about twelve years of age, the family council decides

that he must be _ibitoe_, that is, of an age fit to marry, and he is

conducted to the _marea_ of the _ibitoes_, or club-house of the young

men. Thenceforth commences for him a life of unalloyed pleasure; nothing

has he to do but to eat, drink, and be merry. But it is all harmless

pleasure; intoxicant there is none. The only serious thing he has to do

is to make his drum. Several lads will go into the jungle without saying

anything to their friends, and will remain there, it may be a week or

a month, until each has made his drum. A straight branch is selected

and cut to the requisite size; this is next scraped with shells till

the orthodox shape is arrived at; finally, the cavity is carefully and

laboriously burnt out.

During this period the lads are taboo (_rove_ in Roro, _ngope_ in

Mekeo)—they must have no intercourse with any man; the friend who brings

them food must surreptitiously hide it in a secret spot previously

arranged upon. Should they be seen by a woman or girl the drum would have

to be destroyed, otherwise it would be certain to split, and would sound

like an old cracked pot.

There are also restrictions as to food. If they eat fish, a fishbone

will prick them, and the skin of the drum will burst; if red bananas are

eaten, they will be choked, and the drum will have a dull sound; if they

eat grated coconut, the white ants will destroy the body of the drum;

should they cook food in an ordinary spherical earthen pot instead of

a small high one, they will grow fat, and will not be able to dance,

and the girls will mock them and call out, “Your stomach is big; it is

a pot.” Finally, they must never touch fresh water, but they may drink

coconut milk, or the water which occurs abundantly in the stem of a

banana; should they inadvertently touch water with feet, hands, or lips

before the drum is completely hollowed out, they break it, crying, “I

have touched water, my firebrand is extinguished, and I can never hollow

out my drum.” These prohibitions are interesting examples of symbolic

magic: the sight of a woman destroys the tone of the drum, contact with

water extinguishes the fire, a fishbone tears the tympanum, so the

sorcerer informs them; everyone says so, no one has the temerity to prove

it, but no one dares to deny it.

When a boy has been declared _ibitoe_ he is told, “Now you are free look

out for a woman and marry as soon as possible.” At first the young man

does not think about such things. He enjoys his absolute independence;

he goes, comes, plays the fool as he pleases; he dances for the sake of

dancing; decorates himself for his own delectation; but gradually other

thoughts arise. The girls of his own age also grow up; his parents begin

to talk about the girls, about the presents and marriage and so forth.

Such suggestions soon have the natural result.

The lad becomes _rove_. It is difficult to find a proper English

equivalent for this term: “holy” or “sacred” originally expressed this

idea, now other meanings have been read into them; it is perhaps best to

simply appropriate the Polynesian term “taboo.” He ornaments himself more

extravagantly, and tight laces till human nature can stand no more; he

plays sweet, melancholy airs on his flute in a corner of the village, and

the girls creep out to listen to the ravishing music.

The young men waylay the girls and offer presents. The weak damsels may

cry out and run to their parents, the lusty will beat and scratch the

adventurous youth, who never dares to resist lest he draw upon himself

her parents’ wrath. Should fair means fail, recourse is had to the

sorcerer, and he generally brings the girl to reason.

It is against custom in the Mekeo district for a young man to make love

to a girl of his own village, but each village is affiliated to another

from which brides should be taken. In the Roro language the relationship

between two villages is called _aruabira_, “part of our blood,” and in

the Mekeo tongue, _ufapie_, _auai_. The former word, according to Father

Guis, means “the other side of the sky,” in other words, as they would

say, “The _ufapie_ are our friends down below; they are like our own

souls (_auai_); we are blood brothers.” This friendship is carried out

much further; for example, the people of Veifaa keep pigs and rear dogs

for the village of Amoamo, their _ufapie_, and _vice versâ_. When there

is a death at Veifaa the Amoamo people come and feast reciprocally. When

the time comes to go out of mourning the _ufapie_ is invited. They come,

dance, eat, perform certain ceremonies, and the period of mourning is

over.

There are one or two quaint customs of the _ibitoes_ which may be noted.

They must never walk down the main street of a village, though the girls

at the corresponding period may do so. I noticed when we walked to Veifaa

the young men who were with us slunk round by the backs of the houses

in passing through a village or to get to the youths’ _marea_. They

are not constrained to work, but they are tacitly permitted to steal.

If they are caught they will be punished, but it is no crime, and is

not considered a disgrace, and will never be made the occasion of a

quarrel as ordinary theft often is. Sometimes the lads will do a little

perfunctory gardening, or if they want to combine amusement with business

they will take a bow and arrow and go to the seashore to shoot fish.

It is tempting to go on writing about these interesting people, but those

who desire further information are referred to Father Guis’ charming

account of them in _Les Missions Catholiques_ (1898), Nos. 1,493-1,512.

Father Cochard gave me the following examples of belief in omens. When

the hauba bird comes into a village and cries in the night, someone will

die. If a kangaroo hops into a village when the men are out hunting,

someone will die. Unfortunately I did not ask whether it was one of the

hunters or of the people then in the village that would die, but I expect

it was the former, and that the kangaroo was the spirit of the dead

hunter. This interpretation is borne out by the following: If men are

voyaging and a gale of wind suddenly springs up the mariners know that

someone has died, as the gust of wind is the passage of the spirit.

An interesting example of what is known as the “life-token” occurs in

Yule Island. When the men go to fetch sago from the Gulf a fire is

lit, and if the fire goes out there will be bad luck for the voyagers,

consequently care is taken to keep the fire alight during the whole time

the men are away.

Very characteristic of this district is the custom of men wearing a

large, plain, bark-cloth shawl, and the use of large mosquito nets, or

rather sleeping bags (_ruru_), made from the net-like spathe of the leaf

of the coconut palm. These contrivances are about ten to thirteen feet

in length, and some six feet wide, and they afford a suffocating shelter

from mosquitos for the whole family.

The women of Yule Island dress and tattoo from head to foot in a manner

very similar to the Motu women; but in the neighbouring tribes the

tattooing is less complete. According to Father Guis, at Waima only the

face and breast are tattooed, and at Marehau, the village on the beach at

Delena, the face alone; but when at Delena I certainly saw some tattooing

on the legs of some women. The village of Delena is said to have a

double origin. Some of the people belong to the Roro tribe, who claim

to have originally come from Bereina, in the Mekeo district. The other

inhabitants belong to the Motu stock, and migrated from Port Moresby.

Hence one would expect rather a mixture of customs in this little

village. One Nara woman I saw had characteristic tattooing on the body

and legs, but not on the face and arms. I was informed that this custom

was recently introduced from Delena; the spiral designs on her legs were

certainly Mekeo and not Motu patterns.

[Illustration: FIG. 27. TATTOOING IN THE MEKEO DISTRICT

Two Veifaa women and Maino, the chief of Inawi]

Father Guis states that the women of Mekeo are not acquainted with

tattooing. I do not know what particular villages he had in his mind,

probably those far inland, for at Veifaa I sketched two women whose

torsos were richly tattooed, and I saw women in Inawa with similar

tattooing. He also states that each tribe has its distinctive pattern,

and any infringement of copyright would be a valid reason for war.

There are three main groups of people in the region round Hall Sound,

which are distinguished by marked dialectic as well as by various

ethnographical differences. These are the Roro, Mekeo, and Pokao.

RORO.

The Roro plant their villages on the seashore or along creeks. The men

live as much in their canoes as on their infertile soil. These fishermen

collect in large numbers at the fishing seasons at the mouths of the

Angabunga, Apeo, and other rivers. The fish are carefully smoked, and are

bartered for the fine taro and enormous sweet potatoes grown by the Mekeo

women.

According to the seasons, with their prevailing winds, these adventurous

and trafficking mariners visit the coastal tribes to the north-west or

to the south-east. In the Papuan spring, October and November, they

repair to Toaripi for sago, which grows in inexhaustible quantity in the

neighbourhood of the great rivers. Here they exchange the thin pots of

Ziria, the main village of Rabao (or Yule Island), which are celebrated

all along the coast, for bundles of sago. On the return journey the

packages of sago are stacked in the bottom of the trading canoes, the

latter being four or half a dozen ordinary canoes lashed together.

In March or April, after the heavy rains, the annual visit is paid to the

jewellers of Taurama and Pari, who excel in the manufacture of necklaces

of small shells, _mobio_ (called _taotao_ by the Motu), and of polished

shell armlets, _hoia_, or _ohea_ (the _toea_ of the Motu).

The art of pottery-making was introduced into this district by immigrants

of the Motu stock, who appear to have reached their furthest western

limit at Delena. Not very long ago only one woman in Pinupaka had

acquired this art; now all the women make pottery, but the clay is

obtained from Yule Island.

These merchant fisher-folk have the reputation of being roguish and

cajoling, and with a pretty conceit in flattery. When boats arrive they

are greedy for news. They have been described as the Athenians of Papua.

Their language compares favourably with the guttural tongue of the

inland folk, being clear, musical, and distinct, with neither strain nor

ridiculous contractions.

MEKEO.

The Mekeo group of people live mainly in the villages that cluster

round the Angabunga (St. Joseph) River. There are also villages on the

upper waters of the Biaru, and on the Apeo, Laiva, and other streams

that flow into Hall Sound near the mouth of the Angabunga. They are an

intelligent, interesting, and well-to-do set of natives, who present

marked differences from their Gulf neighbours.

There are two great divisions, the Vee and the Biofa. The prolific and

skilful Biofa have devastated the villages of the Vee, and according to

the Sacred Heart missionaries, they have also strengthened themselves

by alliance with “the sea-warriors, Lokou and Motu-Motu” (Toaripi), in

order to crush their rivals. Unfortunately I have no further information

to give concerning these two factions. It would be important to trace

out the history and significance of this feud; it rather looks as if

the Biofa was an immigrant tribe that was dispossessing the indigenous

Vee. I regret I cannot mention which are the Biofa and which are the

Vee villages. It is, however, a matter of recent history that Eboa

has attacked Inawabui, and later Inawaia followed their example; but

these feuds have now been settled by the Government. Inawa, an offshoot

from Inawaia, is (according to Sir William Macgregor) the smallest and

fiercest tribe in this part of the district. The late Bishop Verjus urged

the Inawaia and Eboa to cease their quarrelling, and prevailed on them

to build a new village on the left bank of the Angabunga, in which the

Vee and Biofa were to live amicably side by side. He named this village

“The Peace of Jesus,” _Jesu baibua_, or _Yeku ngangau_, according to two

local dialects. The village is generally termed Yeku by the Government

officials.

The Mekeo people are good agriculturists, and their rich soil yields

them abundant harvests. Each of their villages consists of a single wide

street, with houses on each side. Sometimes the houses are two or three

deep, but in this case they are so arranged as to leave a regular street

on each side of, and parallel to, the main street. There are usually two

_mareas_, which are generally placed at opposite ends of the village. The

_marea_ is the club-house of the men; often it is highly decorated with

carved and painted posts and boards and streamers of palm leaves. The

_marea_, which is the equivalent of the _erabo_, or _eramo_, of the Gulf,

the _kwod_ of Torres Straits, and the _dubu_ of further east, is the

centre of the social, political, and religious life of the men.

The Government has had very great difficulty in getting the people to

bury their dead in a cemetery away from the village, as they preferred

their old plan of burying under the houses. The people are greatly in

dread of the sorcerers, who have the reputation for very powerful magic.

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE MEKEO DISTRICT]

POKAO.

The inland district south of Hall Sound is a dry, hilly country, with

sparse woods and green swards, where grow the aromatic plants so dearly

prized for personal wear by the natives of the whole district. The

physical conditions of this healthy land of eucalyptus and kangaroos do

not appear to be favourable to agriculture, and so the inhabitants have

become mainly hunters of the abundant game. On referring to a geological

map, it is seen that this is a region of old volcanic rocks.

The Pokao people are an instructive example of the economic defects of a

hunting existence. The necessity for getting fresh food every day fosters

improvidence, for meat cannot be kept like yams or sago in this tropical

climate. Hence these hunter folk are too lazy to send their meat to

market. If the Mekeo people will fetch the meat they require, so much the

better; if not, to use an expression employed nearer home, they “can’t be

bothered.”

A hunting population, all the world over, is liable to periodic famines,

and the Pokao people are no exception. But so ingrained is their laziness

or indifference that they have been known to refuse to send for food

which they could have had for nothing. They preferred to go hungry rather

than take a monotonous tramp to obtain food.

* * * * *

Probably in no part of British New Guinea are markets so numerous as

in the Mekeo district. As markets are important factors in the social

evolution of a people, it would be well if some of the residents in this

district were to make a special study of the origin and regulations of

the various marketplaces.

Markets are held at Inawaia and Mohu every five days on the banks of

the river, and at various intervals at Inawi, Inawa, and Jesu Baibua,

to which the Bereina, Abiara, and Waima people come. During the crab

and crayfish season in the north-west monsoon, these markets are also

held every five days. Inawi and Inawa used to fight Bereina, and trouble

consequently often arose in the villages on market days. To lessen this

danger, the Government appointed a market to be held in the forest

between Inawa and Bereina. Roro has no regular market, but there is a

great market at the mouth of the little river of Oriki, near Abiara.

Owing to the physical features of the locality, the villages have a

superfluity of some food, or have access to a speciality, or are experts

in a handicraft; these naturally form their stock-in-trade. For instance,

the Roro of the coast from Pinupaka, Rabao (Yule Island), Marihau

(Delena), and even the villages of Nabuapaka beyond Delena, trade in

crabs, crayfish, and mussels, as well as pottery, for the taro, yams,

sweet potatoes, sago, bananas, and areca nuts of the Mekeo tribes as

far inland as Rarai, at the foot of Kovio (Mount Yule). Waima trade in

coconuts; Waima, part of the Kivori, Bereina, and Babiko provide yams

and some sago. If a big feast is approaching, the Mekeo people send for

wallabies and cassowaries to the villages of the rich game district on

the other side of Hall Sound, such as Pokao, Boinamai, Nabuapaka, and

Biziu. Even the Waima and Kivori and Bereina will send to Pokao for game,

although wallabies are obtained in the grassy plains round Bereina;

sometimes they get game from Kaima.

The natives of Rabao buy nose-skewers and arm-rings and other shell

ornaments from the Port Moresby villages, Pari, and other Motu villages;

feather ornaments, gourds, and forks from Mekeo; petticoats from Kivori;

and large bark belts from Toaripi. I believe these are plain bark belts,

as the Toaripi men obtain the decorated bark belts which they wear from

Vailala and Orokolo. The bows of the district are mainly manufactured at

Kaima.

* * * * *

On July 14th a messenger arrived early in the morning, having very kindly

been sent overland by Mr. Gors, of Port Moresby, to say that the _Alice

May_ had been delayed on her way to call for us; so I decided to make a

trip inland, and had a chat with the Archbishop to arrange details. It

was settled that Brother Alexis should take us to Veifaa, and we were to

start by boat early in the afternoon with four native carriers, so we

hastily got our things together.

Unfortunately there was the usual delay in starting, owing to the

carriers not coming promptly from the village, but at last we got away,

and then unluckily the wind slackened.

However, in due time we reached Pinupaka, which is the port of this

district, owing to the shelter afforded by a sand spit jutting out from a

monotonous coast-line of miles upon miles of mangrove swamps.

Pinupaka is a miserable village, and poor Brother George, who had lived

in the district for twelve years, looked wan and worn, as well he may,

living in this wretched fever-stricken hole. Two months later the devoted

Brother died of hæmaturia. At high tide the sea comes up to the mission

premises, not a clear healthy sea, but muddy water from mangrove swamps.

Brother George offered us refreshment, but being desirous to push on we

would not delay, for every minute was precious.

Off we started at a rapid pace along a sand beach flanked by mangroves.

The sand was nearly black, and with but few shells or stones. The land

here appears to be sinking, as there are stumps of mangroves exposed at

low water, and many of the trees bordering the beach are dead. I may say

that there are several species of mangroves, and those at Pinupaka are

not the kind that encroach on the sea and accumulate land in their wake.

After about three-quarters of an hour we reached the first creek or

mouth of a river, but in this part of the world the rivers themselves,

far inland, are also called “creeks.” We waded this bare-legged, and

continued as fast as possible, for the sun was setting and the tide

rising fast, and on a low, sandy, windward shore this combination has a

sinister meaning. The second creek was known to be deeper than the first,

and the tide was also higher, so we took off our scanty clothing, rolling

it up into bundles to hold over our heads. Wilkin and I got along all

right, but Ray, being shorter of stature, found himself getting out of

his depth, walking on shifting sand and buffeted by breakers; so Wilkin

and I each seized one of his arms, and this enabled him to hold his

own, and we all safely gained the opposite side. In all these estuaries

crocodiles abound, and we were very thankful to have escaped these

brutes. In the muddy water their presence could not be seen, so there was

no means of escaping them should they happen to be present; but usually

crocodiles avoid noisy or numerous parties. By this time the sun had set,

and the short tropical twilight was too quickly passing, whilst we still

had a goodish bit of beach yet to traverse.

The tide was quickly gaining on the mangroves, and we had now to watch

our opportunity to bolt forward as a wave retreated, and dodge up

among the mangroves as it advanced; our progress was therefore slow

and laborious, as fallen trees put further difficulties in our way.

Eventually the high tide forced us altogether from the beach, and we then

took to the scrub and wended our way in the dark till we came to another

creek. After crossing this we halted and put on socks and shoes, for the

swamp was here crossed by a “corduroy road,” that is, a road made of logs

placed transversely and kept more or less in position by upright stakes.

It was a comfort to get on firm earth again, and after a half-hour’s walk

through plantations we were right glad to reach the hospitable house of

Fathers Cochard and Burke at Mohu.

A glass of white wine kept us going till dinner was ready. We had for

dinner a mound bird (_Megapodius_), which Father Cochard had shot that

morning, and we all thoroughly enjoyed our well-earned dinner. In the

evening Ray gave a phonograph entertainment. On his visit a few days

earlier he recorded a speech by Matsu, the chief, in which he exhorted

the people to make the Government road, and finished off with a hunting

song. This speech sounded very fine; it begins with the customary loud

clearing of the throat, and the sentences come in bursts, the intervals

of silence being evidently part of the orator’s art.

As soon as it was sufficiently light next morning I strolled round to

have a look at the village. There was a wonderful variety in the style

of its houses, perhaps more so than in any other village in British New

Guinea. On his previous visit Wilkin made notes of these and photographed

some of them.

The _marea_ had an enormously long projecting gable, which slants

upwards. Suspended from various parts of the _marea_ were long grass

fringes, and carved and painted wooden boards.

After an early breakfast we again started on our travels. The path we

followed was of dry mud and somewhat uneven, showing that it must be

very swampy in wet weather. All the country for many miles round is low

alluvial soil.

In forty minutes we reached Babiko, but had only time to glance at the

interesting _marea_. Half an hour later we struck the Government road

leading from the sea to Veifaa, the Government station of the Mekeo

district.

The road passed over a plain covered with a tall, coarse grass, growing

higher than our heads, and preventing any little wind there was from

reaching us. Fortunately the sky was cloudy, or it would have been simply

sweltering. There were numerous scattered trees, a kind of eucalypt, a

few pandanus, and occasional cycads. After leaving this grassy plain

our road lay through the forest. On first entering the forest we passed

through one of the smaller market places which characterise this

locality.

[Illustration: PLATE XXII

MOHU, MEKEO DISTRICT

MAREA AT MOHU]

Women from different villages or districts meet at appointed places,

usually at the boundary between two tribes, and there barter their

specialities for commodities from other localities. The bartering is done

by women only, but they are accompanied by a few armed men, who, however,

do not go amongst the market women, but stand a little way off. The men

bring a drum with them, which is beaten at the opening and close of the

market.

The “market-place” we passed on this occasion was only a small one, but

round about were remnants of the simple booths that the natives erect

when trading. After traversing a small patch of forest and a grass plain,

we crossed a river by a good wooden bridge, and shortly came to a large

forest. There was another small market-place where the road entered the

forest.

It was very enjoyable walking along the shady forest paths, and noting

for the first time typical tropical scenery. The trees were tall, but

by no means gigantic. Some had slab-like buttresses, which the natives

utilise as boards; there were wild bread-fruit trees, with their

beautiful foliage of a deep, glossy green, but in this species covered

with inedible fruit; half a dozen different kinds of palms; ferns,

bamboos, and a great profusion of shrubs and plants.

Our road passed at one point close to the Angabunga (St. Joseph River),

a swiftly-running river of dirty water. It is a noteworthy fact that

in this district many words have the _ng_ (as in “singing”), but this

peculiarity is scarcely found elsewhere in British New Guinea. Although

very common in the western tribe of Torres Straits, it does not occur in

Murray Island.

We had a short rest at Inawa. Whilst sitting on a platform of a house in

process of construction I saw a man cutting wooden arrow points with a

boar’s tusk, and bought the lot, much to his amusement.

We reached Inawi at noon, and found there was to be a large gathering of

the Sacred Heart Missioners to celebrate an anniversary of the founding

of their mission at Inawi. After lunch Wilkin and I went to the village,

which consists of one long street, with three rows of houses on each

side, and a population of some four hundred people.

There are several different types of houses here. The chief’s house is a

picturesque pile-dwelling, built in the form of a cross, and adorned with

long fringes of grass and carved and painted boards; from one of the

latter, hanging in front of the house, depended a mask. Each chief in the

Mekeo district builds a _marea_, and has his own designs on it, which no

one may copy, as this would constitute a valid reason for a quarrel. The

chief only has a right to hang a painted board in front of his house; it

is, in fact, a sign of chieftainship, since when a chief is appointed he

receives a board at the same time.

In the Mekeo district there appear to be two main divisions of family

groups, each of which has its chief. I have more than once alluded to a

dual division of a community in this part of the world, but here it seems

to have been made the basis of a higher social development than has been

hitherto recorded in New Guinea. The chief of one division is the war, or

administrative chief; the other headman is _afu_ (or taboo) chief. The

office of the latter is hereditary.

A somewhat similar division of function has occurred elsewhere. To take

two examples only: in ancient Gaul there were war chiefs and peace

chiefs; the _sachem_ of certain North American aboriginees was a peace

chief. It is not improbable that in the _afu_ chieftainship we have the

commencement of a priestly dynasty after the order of Melchisedek, but at

the Papuan stage of culture the secret of his power is probably a magical

control over harvests rather than the authority due to purely religious

functions. The mage has not yet become a priest.

On December 6th, 1897, the _afu_ chief of Inawi put _afu_ (taboo) on the

coconuts and areca nuts, as these crops were failing in his district.

Brother Alexis, who happened to be there, described the ceremony to me.

A small feast was made consisting of five pigs, five cassowaries, and

plenty of native food, _i.e._ yams, sweet potatoes, taro, bananas, etc.;

at about five o’clock Brother Alexis was invited to a place of honour on

the _marea_, and one pig, one cassowary ham, and two banana leaves of

native food were given him. The _Afu_ chief of the village then made a

speech proclaiming _afu_, stating that the coconuts and areca nuts would

run short if this were not done. A piece of cassowary and pig meat with

native food was placed in each person’s _oro_, or cooking-pot, and then

the _afu_ was planted. This consisted of three bamboos, to the lower

part of each was tied a leaf of the sago palm, and coconuts were tied to

the bamboos. The bamboos were erected, grouped like a “Prince of Wales”

feathers, to the noise of conch shells and a wailing shout sounding

like a siren. So far as I could discover, the bull-roarer is not known

in this district. Leafy fringes, like women’s petticoats, were put round

the supports of the bamboos. (This _afu_ still remained on the occasion

of our visit, except that the central bamboo had disappeared.) In the

evening there was a dance, and fifteen coconuts and a bunch of areca nuts

were given Brother Alexis.

For the three days following the ceremony the nuts might be taken, but on

the third day a small feast was held, and thenceforth no nuts could be

picked.

[Illustration: FIG. 28. AFU, OR TABOO SIGNAL, AT INAWI]

Another family than that to which the _afu_ chief belongs (there seem

to be only these two divisions or family groups in the village) has the

responsibility of seeing that the _afu_ is observed, and some fourteen or

fifteen men of this group, called _fulaari_, form a sort of constabulary.

Every evening they go round the village armed with clubs, and disguised

either in masks similar to that which was hanging up before the chief’s

house, or they were so covered with leaves as to be unrecognisable. At

Waima all the enforcers (_kaivakuku_) of a taboo wear masks (Pl. XXI.,

B, p. 256); at Inawa and Veifaa they paint the face and cover up part of

the body, but they sometimes wear masks; at Aipiana they cover over the

whole body with leaves. In the Gulf district there are several important

ceremonies at which masks are employed; in the Mekeo district this custom

is in the various stages of attenuation and disappearance.

All the time the _fulaari_ are in office they may not chew the betel nut,

nor drink coconut water, lest the areca and coco nuts should not grow.

They may not live with their wives; indeed, they may not even look at

a woman, and if they pass one they must keep their eyes on the ground.

Women must not go outside their houses whilst the _fulaari_ are going

their rounds, but if a woman is seen, the _fulaari_ places his club at

her feet, and she must remain standing there until a fine has been paid

for her. If the _fulaari_ convict a man of eating the tabooed nuts he is

tied to the tree from which he gathered the forbidden fruit, and is only

released on the payment of a pig as a fine.

The village from time to time gives presents of food to the _fulaari_.

When there is again a good show of nuts the _afu_ chief proclaims that

on a particular day the restriction will be removed. We were at Inawi

on July 15th and 16th, and the 18th the taboo would be removed from the

nuts, after an interval of thirty-two weeks.

We saw the preparations for a big feast, for which eighty-six wild boars

had been caught, besides numerous kangaroos and a large supply of native

food. We were very sorry that we could not stay to witness the feasting

and dancing.

During the afternoon and evening the missionaries arrived in detachments,

and our unexpected party of four rather complicated Father Vitale’s

arrangements, but he was so hospitable and friendly and all were so

kind that we did not feel _de trop_. We had two interesting phonograph

exhibitions in the afternoon and evening, and one chief made a speech

into it amid great excitement.

During our short stay at Inawi we bought a fair number of ethnographical

objects, especially lime gourds with burnt designs and stone blades of

the now obsolete stone adzes; no handles of these were to be had. These

stone adze heads were ruder than any I had previously seen from New

Guinea. The Papuan stone implements are usually characterised by being

neatly ground and finely polished. These implements were roughly hewn and

polished only at the cutting edge.

We also bought some whipping-tops; these are common here, and the

following game is played. Two rows of four or five boys stand a

considerable distance apart; each lad spins his own top, and they

gradually increase the severity of the lashing, till the tops career in

mid air across the space between the two rows, the object being to hit

one of the opponent’s tops. When this is accomplished the conqueror cries

out, “_Ango ango angaia!_” (“My top has bitten you”). The tops (_ango

ango_) are conical pieces of wood about two and a half to three inches in

length.

The whips (_ngapu ngapu_) are ordinary pieces of stick or cane to which

a lash is attached composed of a three-ply plat of strips of bark-cloth

from the _ipi_ tree. It is pretty certain that the whipping-top has not

been brought to New Guinea by the white man, for Dr. Lawes has previously

found it among the Kabadi tribe, where the natives had not been under the

influence of the foreigner.

The following day, July 16th, some of the missionaries arrived, and all

went to High Mass in the morning. We had so much else to do that we

thought it was not necessary to show our sympathy to the extent of going

to the service. We had quite a feast in the middle of the day, and all

were very merry. Just before grace after meat, Brother Philip left the

table, and in another part of the verandah played the air of our National

Anthem in honour of the guests. This act of courtesy pleased us much.

In the afternoon we separated. Our party walked to Veifaa, a distance

of forty minutes only, making a slight détour on the way to visit the

village Aipiana. Veifaa was reached in good time for the evening meal.

The boys’ schoolhouse was placed at our disposal, and three beds were put

up for us in the inner room.

_Sunday, July 17th._—We all went to early morning Mass, and Ray

afterwards exhibited the phonograph to a very large audience of

demonstrative, excitable natives and delighted missionaries. I was

particularly struck with the calm, strong, sweet face of the Sister

Superior. She is a Parisienne, with a narrow face and a finely-shaped

nose. The two Savoyarde Sisters contrasted with her in having round

faces and snubby noses; their more homely countenances were brimful of

simple-hearted kindliness. An instructive demonstration of two European

races when I was on the look-out for a lesson in Papuan ethnology! The

phonograph selection was decidedly mixed, but that did not matter in the

least. The Sisters appeared most pleased with the European orchestral

marches.

The people about here wear native clothing almost exclusively, and it is,

fortunately, quite rare to see a man or woman in European garments. The

men of the Mekeo district wear a wider perineal band than is worn in the

other places we visited, and these belts are here prettily painted in a

manner quite new to me, and we were fortunate enough to secure several of

them.

The women wear short black leaf petticoats, shorter than any we had

previously seen. I was informed that their dress in the mountains is even

scantier, as it consists merely of a broad perineal band.

The missionaries, wisely, do not care about introducing European clothing

into ordinary use, but they expect the women and girls to wear calico

gowns when attending the services. It was very comical to see the women

and girls, just before a service, go to the girls’ schoolhouse, bring

out their gowns, or throw gowns to other women waiting outside, and then

proceed to dress themselves in the courtyard. It was still funnier when,

after the service, the reverse process was gone through, and their native

dress alone remained as the garments of civilisation were doffed. Here,

as in most other parts of New Guinea, the women are extremely modest

and virtuous, another of the many examples that the amount of clothing

worn bears no relation whatever to modesty, though prudery is usually

developed in direct proportion to dress.

Our host knew I was very anxious to obtain ethnographical specimens from

this place, and made no difficulty whatever about our trading on Sunday,

as “ours were not commercial transactions.”

Indeed after service the good Father told his congregation to bring us

things for sale, and thus we obtained a fair number of specimens, chiefly

lime gourds and belts. Father Bouellat persuaded two girls to stand still

whilst I copied their tattoo patterns.

In the afternoon I made friends with the children, who played some of

their own games for us. For the first time I saw children playing games

that mimicked the hunting expeditions of their fathers. In this instance

a pig hunt and a kangaroo drive were very vividly acted. The “kangaroos”

hopped about on the grass, some hid under bushes. They were stalked and

surrounded by “men,” and a rush was made, and the flying kangaroos were

chased all over the ground. “Man” and “kangaroo” would tumble about in a

close embrace, the latter giving characteristic vigorous backward kicks

with his legs.

The “pigs” walked about on all fours, hands and feet. They were chased

by “men” with sticks to represent spears. When the men came close to the

pigs, the latter jerked their heads sideways with an upward movement,

as if trying to rip up the men with their tusks. One pig was eventually

captured, and two boys got a pole and the pig clasped it with his hands

and hooked his knees ever it, his body hanging down, and so, like a

tied-up pig, he was carried to a place where some boys had laid sticks

across one another to represent a fire. The pig was placed on this amid

much laughter. The shouting and noise during these games was considerable.

[Illustration: FIG. 29. BOYS AT VEIFAA DRESSED UP AS FULAARI]

Various other games were played, and towards the end of the afternoon

several boys ran off and stayed away some time. When they returned they

presented a remarkable appearance. They had bound round their bodies and

limbs green or sere banana leaves, and looked for all the world like

miniature knights of old in leafy armour. The head was entirely covered,

the leaves in some cases being prolonged above into a long spike, like

certain helmets. Flaps hung down from all the head-pieces like frilled

capes. One or two boys had a fringe round the waist, and all had leaves

radiating from their ankles; which gave them a very curious appearance,

so that they looked like Cochin China fowls. Usually the hands were

swathed in green strips, and the bandaging of the right arm was continued

in some on to a stick held in the hand, so that it was uninterruptedly

swathed.

The boys thus grotesquely accoutred chased the girls about and made them

scream. These naughty little fellows were mimicking the _fulaari_ of

Aipiana!

I was immensely pleased to see an existing important social function

imitated by children, and the game presumably also gave us an idea of

what the real costume was like. We measured a few men in this village,

and altogether had a most enjoyable and instructive time.

We started about 7 a.m. on Monday, July 18th, after breakfast, intending

to visit Waima (Maiva) _viâ_ Bereina; but at Inawi we received an urgent

message from Yule Island that the _Alice May_ had arrived there, and

would sail on the 19th. This necessitated our giving up the much-desired

visit to Waima, and returning instead to Yule Island. We therefore

retraced our walk of Friday, except that we kept to the Government road

leading direct to the sea. As it was low water the three creeks we had to

cross presented no difficulties, but Brother Alexis was very exhausted

when we reached Pinupaka at 4 p.m., after our eighteen miles’ walk, as he

was suffering from an attack of fever.

Brother George gave us a good meal, and we then had three and a half

hours’ beat to windward in the small Mission cutter, not arriving at

the Mission on Yule Island till after 10 p.m. All had gone to bed by

that time, but a frugal supper was somehow raked together, and we then

retired, fairly tired out by our long day.

Next morning we spent in packing, as Captain Inman wished to start early

in the day, and we left the good Fathers and Brothers, with very pleasant

memories of the kindness and hospitality of all the members of the Sacred

Heart Mission.

Before we left Yule Island for our little inland trip a Sister from

Veifaa arrived very ill indeed. She was carried in a hammock by some

natives, and shielded from the sun by a Sister holding an umbrella.

So far as Father Guis could tell, she suffered from acute rheumatism,

dropsy, and malarial fever. It seems a pity that with so many

missionaries of both sexes there should not be one qualified medical

man, or at all events one who has especially studied medicine. Father

Guis has a very good practical knowledge of diseases and their treatment,

but it is scarcely fair to expect an accomplished literary man to be

responsible for the health and lives of his colleagues in so unhealthy a

district. It would also seem desirable that the Brothers, who are often

untutored working men, should be ordered to take more precautions, and

especially to be careful as to the quality of their drinking water.

PART II

CHAPTER XVIII

JOURNEY FROM KUCHING TO BARAM

We left Singapore at ten o’clock of the morning of December 10th, on the

_Vorwärts_, and arrived at Kuching about 1.30 on the 12th. The voyage

up the twenty-three miles of the Sarawak river was charming as the

steamer glided along between the fringe of nipa palms and other luxuriant

vegetation.

Immediately on landing I called on the Honourable C. A. Bampfylde, the

Resident of the division, and who was acting for the Rajah, who was

then in England. He kindly invited us to stay with him for a few days,

and we had luxurious quarters in a most lovely garden, with a lawn that

would not disgrace a Cambridge college, surrounded by choice shrubs and

trees, conspicuous among the latter being a kind of areca palm that has a

brilliant red stem.

The various members of the British population were very kind and

hospitable, and did their best to render our stay in Kuching enjoyable,

and we look back upon our visit to Kuching with considerable pleasure.

Dr. A. J. G. Barker, the principal medical officer of Sarawak,

entertained Seligmann, and the two doctors had great talks about the

tropical diseases in which they were both so keenly interested. Sarawak

is to be congratulated on having so able and enthusiastic a medical

officer as Dr. Barker unquestionably is. Seligmann took advantage of his

stay in Kuching to visit a friend in the Land Dayak country.

Ray stayed at the hotel and spent most of his time in studying the Malay

language.

Mr. R. Shelford put me up, and we both enjoyed talking about Bornean

natural history and over mutual Cambridge friends. As there was no chance

of our getting away from Kuching for nearly three weeks, I devoted my

time to work in the museum and in laying a foundation for a study of

the decorative art of the natives of Sarawak. I photographed nearly a

hundred Sea Dayak fabrics, and recorded the names of a large number of

the designs on them.

The Resident gave his customary usual Christmas Eve dinner to his

colleagues and friends, to which we were invited, and Mr. Smith, the then

Manager of the Sarawak branch of the Borneo Company, invited us to his

usual New Year’s Eve dinner, when we again met “everybody,” and saw the

old year out in the orthodox fashion. Mr. Smith’s garden is on a height

that overlooks Kuching and the river. In a township of beautiful gardens

this was noted for its orchids, and the plants in Mr. Smith’s garden

truly were a sight to behold, especially one avalanche of the trailing

flower spikes of an _Arachnanthe Lowii_, which reached a length of some

fourteen feet.

The annual regatta took place on Monday, the 2nd of January. The poop

deck of the _Vorwärts_ was the grand stand, and most of the white

inhabitants were there.

It was a very gay and animated scene, on the shore crowds of quiet people

in all kinds of gay dress and undress. On the water were boats of every

size, from a tiny dug-out canoe that could scarcely support even a light

native to canoes cut out of giants of the forests that would hold fifty

to sixty men two abreast. These darted about hither and thither, smoothly

gliding like fish or rampaging with flashing paddles and spurting spray.

The natives in the boats gave themselves up to exuberant pleasure, and

there was no lack of shouting and merriment. There were large numbers of

roofed boats in which one could get occasional glimpses of bedecked and

bejewelled women and girls; nor were they ill provided with good things

to eat. We could imperfectly see one gorgeously dressed woman in one

of the covered boats eating her tiffin with a metal spoon. Some native

nurses on board the steamer, who were looking after the children, were

greatly interested to discover who could be showing off in this way by

eating like a white woman, and they threw pieces of cake at the boat in

order to attract the attention of the woman, who was hidden under the low

roof of the boat. At length their tactics were successful, and on her

showing herself they made grimaces at her.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIII

REGATTA AT KUCHING

VIEW FROM KABAN HILL, WITH THE BRUNEI HILLS IN THE DISTANCE]

I took some snapshots of the scene and of some of the races, but the day

was dull; in the morning there was rarely a gleam of watery sunshine, and

it rained all the afternoon.

All the white inhabitants, the half-castes, and the more important Malays

and Chinamen lunched in the court-house. The races lasted from 9 a.m.

till 4.30 or 5 p.m. A sort of comic side-show was provided in the shape

of a greased boom along which competitors had to walk in order to secure

a small flag that was stuck at the end. The successful as well as the

unsuccessful fell into the water, a matter of no moment to the amphibious

people.

Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, is only a small town. On the left

bank of the river, and situated in beautiful grounds, is the Astana,

the simple residence of the Rajah. Separated from it by a gully are

the fort and the barracks, the headquarters of the miniature Sea Dayak

army of Sarawak. On the right bank of the river is the town itself. At

the entrance to the wooden wharf at which the steamers tie up is the

custom-house, beyond is a square in which are grouped all the Government

offices. Immediately opposite the custom-house and for a short distance

down stream is the large bazaar or Chinese quarter, where everything

required for native or European use can be purchased at reasonable rates.

The comparatively large establishment of the Borneo Company is at the

extremity of the business end of the town. To the right, beyond the

Government offices, is the Malay town.

The few Europeans, who are all Government officials or connected with

the Borneo Company or the missions, live in the bungalow surrounded by

charming gardens well stocked with varied and beautiful shrubs and trees.

From most of the houses one obtains interesting views of distant isolated

mountains uprising from the somewhat flat country, and the sunset effects

with the lowering clouds of the rainy season are often very fine.

Despite the strange tropical vegetation, the township has a peculiar

home-like appearance, due to the prevalence of carefully trimmed lawns,

green hedges, and well-built roads. There is an air of neatness and quiet

beauty which was very refreshing after much wandering on watery ways and

the glare and bustle of some tropical towns and the frank unfoliaged

ugliness of others. The rampant verdure of luxuriant vegetation is here

kept within due bounds, though not without some difficulty. By day there

is the sweet singing of birds, and at night myriad insects chirp with

varied note, ranging from crude stridulation to what may be termed a

musical song.

A very good native band plays twice or thrice a week in the evening in a

public garden, and gives an excuse for social foregathering. The social

centre for the white man is naturally the club. Deserted during the day,

it wakes up in the evening, and about six o’clock members begin to drop

in; but all leave shortly before eight, to bathe, and dress for dinner.

There are a couple of tennis courts, but during the rainy season very

little tennis is possible. Generally one or two members play billiards,

but the great game is American bowls; this gives plenty of exercise, and

is really a fine game for the tropics.

On the hill is a large reservoir, formed by a dam thrown across an

irregular depression. The winding shore of this artificial lake,

embowered with rank vegetation, makes a most lovely walk. By the side

of the reservoir is the ice factory, which had only very recently been

completed, but now ice is regularly supplied at a cheap rate by the

Government.

On the slope of the same hill is the museum, and the picturesque house of

the curator. Close by is the large demesne of the Anglican Church, with

the bishop’s house, rectory, and official buildings. A considerable part

of the grounds is taken up with a cricket field for the Mission boys, and

with golf-links; but new golf-links have recently been laid elsewhere.

Owing to the sporting proclivities and fondness of horses of the present

Rajah, Kuching possesses one of the most picturesque racecourses in

the Far East. The roads, too, in and around the town are in excellent

condition, and they extend for a considerable distance into the country

in various directions.

The museum is a very pet institution of the Rajah’s, which he has wisely

and liberally endowed. In his address on the occasion of the opening

of the museum on the 4th of August, 1891, the Rajah admitted that it

had cost a good deal both of trouble and money, “but,” he continued, “I

consider that every country worthy of being called a country should have

a museum, and I hope that ours will be equal, at any rate in time, to any

other country in the East, including even India. It has been for many

years a great wish of my heart to see a good museum established here, and

at last I hope that wish is accomplished.”

The building is an attractive edifice, built in Queen Anne style,

consisting of three lower and three upper rooms, built in the form of an

H. It is very well lighted, and at the same time there is an abundance

of wall space. The foundation of the ethnographical collections was the

very valuable Brooke Low Collection, which the Rajah bought in England

and reshipped to its native land. This has been added to from time

to time, and although there is a good deal to be done before all the

arts and crafts of the natives of Sarawak are adequately represented,

the museum contains the best and most instructive collection extant

illustrating the ethnography of Sarawak. The fauna of Sarawak is

also most fully represented. All the specimens are well labelled and

attractively set out. Dr. G. D. Haviland was the first curator. He was

succeeded by Mr. E. Bartlett, and Mr. R. Shelford, the present curator,

was appointed in 1897.

The museum is a favourite resort for natives, and every day numbers

of Chinese, Malays, and Dayaks come to have a look round. Often women

and children come too, and very picturesque are some of the groups,

as fortunately the natives retain their own costumes, and do not ape

European clothing, which, whatever its effect when worn by ourselves, is

ugly and incongruous when adopted by most native races. The Dayak men

often have very little on, but that is an advantage, as one can then

admire their shapely limbs. Their “chawats,” or loin cloths, are varied

in colour, and however bright they may be, they always harmonise with the

beautiful deep cinnamon-coloured skin of the wearer.

Mr. Shelford has a Chinese clerk or assistant, who speaks English well

and has a very good knowledge of the zoology of Borneo. He is a Catholic,

and beats the big drum of the Catholic band with gusto. It is also

amusing to see a Dayak boy, clothed only in a small chawat, sorting and

drying bird skins. Several Dayak collectors are attached to the museum,

and they continually bring in all kinds of zoological specimens. When I

was working in the museum two of them got into trouble, one for carrying

pig-meat through the bazaar, and the other for firing off crackers on

Christmas Day at an unauthorised time. Pork may be carried along the

high-roads, but not along the smaller streets of the bazaar, on account

of the sentiments of the Mohammedans.

The enthusiastic curator had quite a menagerie in and under his house.

On one occasion when I was staying with him he had nine hornbills in

one cage, three different species being represented. In another cage

were four lemurs (_Nycticebus_). He had also a binturong, and another

small carnivore, three chained-up monkeys, one being a gibbon, and an

owl. There were always a lot of live jungle insects about, and in the

dining-room were a number of gigantic stick insects unceasingly munching

away at leaves; the allied mantidæ are insectivorous. Mr. Shelford is

anxious to induce the Rajah to add a small zoological garden to the other

attractions of the museum.

We left Kuching early on January 4th in the _Adeh_, a small but

comfortable coasting steamer. The morning was fine, but it rained all

the afternoon when we were ascending the Rejang. As soon as it was dark

we anchored, as it is against standing orders for the steamers to sail

in the rivers between six o’clock in the evening and six o’clock in the

morning.

By ten o’clock next day we reached Sibu, ninety miles up the river. On

landing we called on the Resident, the Honourable H. F. Deshon. Mr.

Johnson took us to the bazaar, the Malay town, and round the small, low

island that forms the central station of the large and important Rejang

district.

In the afternoon we went down river in a Government boat to see some

Kanauit natives at Saduan who made beautiful baskets. I was anxious to

see them at work, and to learn their names for the patterns; but our

boatmen made a mistake, and took us to see a Sea Dayak house at Sanamari.

It was a hopelessly wet afternoon, but still it was an enjoyable little

trip.

We visited a native cemetery on the way back. Sheds were built over

the graves, and under wall-less shelters were numerous pots, baskets,

articles of clothing, and all sorts of objects that appealed very

strongly to my collecting instincts, which, however, were rigorously kept

under control. Most of the objects appeared to me to have been old and

probably useless. Under one shed, or mausoleum as I suppose one ought

to call it, was an old Kayan shield and a tiny model of another shield,

also a mancala board. Mancala, the national game of Africa, is played

with pebbles, or similar objects, on a board provided with parallel rows

of depressions; the game has travelled nearly all over the world, the

extent of its distribution depending upon negro or Arab influence. I

think this is the first record from Borneo, though it is known in the

Philippines.

Over another grave was an imitation parang with a wooden blade. A parang

is a locally made steel sword, which is used for cutting down the jungle,

chopping wood, and as a sword when fighting. Apparently the survivors

considered that the spirits would be satisfied in some cases with the

essence of things offered to them. The cemetery was bountifully decorated

with parti-coloured red and yellow flags; there were also two long poles

covered with what appeared to be straw decorations.

We had tea at Mr. Deshon’s on our return to Sibu, and some Sea Dayak

women came, by appointment, to show me some patterns. The remainder of

the evening was very pleasantly spent at the Residency.

The steamer started at 5 a.m. next morning, and we reached the sea at one

o’clock, and proceeded on our eastward journey.

Unfortunately, we had arrived at the season when it is impossible to

cross the bar at the mouth of the Baram River, so we had to continue our

journey to Limbang, and thence to proceed by a long overland détour to

our destination.

The station at Limbang is situated at a bend of the river on its right

bank below the range of the Kaban Hills. In coming up the river one first

passes the Malay town, built as usual on piles, the houses being either

near the water’s edge or, as the Malays seem to prefer, actually over

the running water. Here were several sago factories. Later we passed the

bazaar, or Chinese quarter, for nearly all the shopkeepers in Sarawak are

Chinamen. Then we arrived at the fort, a two-storied wooden building, in

which are the Government offices; beyond were the barracks, stables, and

other outbuildings.

On the spur of the hills behind and above the fort is the Residency,

a commodious house, with a very large deep verandah, from which an

extensive view is obtained of all the lower valley of the Limbang as far

as the Brunei Hills.

Mr. O. F. Ricketts takes a great interest in his garden, and has laid

it out very tastefully in well-mown grassy terraces with flower-beds,

flowering shrubs, areca palms, and other tropical foliage. Mr. Ricketts

has a large selection of cannas and hibiscus, so that there are always

some bright flowers open. He has a delicate violet hibiscus brought from

Celebes, which I believe is a very rare variety; he has also raised

a colias with deep brown leaves that do not show a trace of green. He

procures all his canna seeds from England!

One evening we went up to the top of Kaban Hill, known popularly as

Mount Pisgah, and had a magnificent panoramic view from Mount Mulu in

one direction to Labuan in the other. The great swampy plains were

intersected by the sinuous courses of several rivers. By the aid of a

glass we could see part of the town of Brunei fringing Brunei Lake, and

at the horizon were the Brunei Hills. (Plate XXIII., B, p. 280.)

A very considerable portion of Sarawak appears to be low-lying land; in

some places the hills come down to the coast, but for about a hundred

miles inland the country is flat and more or less swampy. Here and there

solitary mountains rise above the level, and these are sculptured into

peaks and precipices. It seems as if relatively recently the country as

a whole has been slightly raised from the sea. Before this upheaval the

isolated mountains had been islands which have since been embraced by

the advancing land. Thus Sarawak would still be a land in the making, to

which the rivers contribute their quota of alluvial soil.

The river banks in the interior, with their layers of pebbles, alluvium,

and leaf beds, tell an unmistakable tale, and the spit at the mouth of

Baram River demonstrates the gradual extension of the land into the

sea. The innumerable gigantic tree trunks floated down by the river

are deposited by the action of prevailing winds and currents mainly on

the eastern or right side of the estuary, and river sediment and leaf

deposits are entangled in the natural breakwater, and so by the conjoint

efforts of the river and the sea the spit gradually grows. The swampy

soil is soon rendered more coherent by the growth of casuarinas and other

trees, and as the spit advances, so marches the appropriate vegetation

behind it in marshalled order.

The river scenery in the low lands is somewhat monotonous. As far as the

influence of salt water extends, palisades of nipa palms usually line the

banks. These trunkless palms, whose long leaves spring from the water’s

edge, are of varied use to man, for their leaves are utilised as thatch,

their sap produces sugar, and, when burnt, their ashes provide salt.

Behind the serried array of nipa palms are swamp trees, and beyond these

again, on firmer soil, are tall jungle trees. When one paddles up

the creeks a greater variety of vegetation manifests itself, and many

beautiful vistas open out which the wealth and luxuriance of the tropical

jungle tempt one to explore. We had our first experience of this at Sibu.

Immediately on our arrival Mr. Ricketts had sent messengers by jungle

tracks to Mr. Hose, to acquaint him of our arrival, so that he might

send boats to meet us on his side of the spur of Mount Mulu. As all this

would take time we were obliged to remain at Limbang for some days, and

a very enjoyable time we had there in the beautiful Residency, thanks to

the kindness and hospitality of our host. I cannot refrain from once more

remarking on the wonderful generosity and friendliness that was exhibited

to us throughout our travels. Any verbal acknowledgment can but feebly

express the gratitude we feel to those numerous friends who assisted and

cheered us on our way.

We devoted one morning to visiting a small Malay sago factory by the side

of the river. At the edge of the river bank were several lengths of the

stems of sago palms, and beside them was a heap of bark that had been

stripped off the trunks.

Under a shed, roofed with nipa palm leaves and supported on two

horizontal poles, was a peeled log of sago, part of which had been

scraped away by means of a long spiked rasp. A Malay showed us how their

grating was done, and on the floor were two heaps of the triturated pith

of the sago palm.

The man then removed some of the coarse powder to a mat on a neighbouring

platform, which more or less overhung the river, and trod the grated

pith, pouring water on it from a kerosene tin which was suspended by a

cord from the end of a long, slender pole. This contrivance for scooping

up water from the river is similar to the shaduf so extensively employed

in Egypt and the East, and is doubtless another example of indirect Arab

influence.

The dancing of the man separates, so to speak, the chaff from the wheat,

and the farinaceous water pours into an old canoe that lies alongside

of the platform. This canoe is covered over to prevent extraneous

matter from getting into the sago, and the lower end is boarded up. The

canoe thus forms a trough in which the sediment is deposited, while the

superfluous water dribbles away from one end into the river.

The sago thus crudely manufactured by the Malays is sold to the Chinese

factors, who give it extra washings and strain it through a fine cloth.

The fine mud is spread out to dry in the sun. The white impalpable

sago powder is packed in bags and shipped to Europe _viâ_ Kuching. The

granulation of the sago is a subsequent process. A considerable portion

of the sago consumed at home must come from Borneo. The amount of sago

flour exported from Sarawak in 1899 was 228,989 piculs (or over 12,000

tons), the value being $790,583 (or £79,058), which brought in an export

duty to the Sarawak Government of $19,503.01 (£1,950).

The 14th of January was a memorable day for us, as the Resident invited

us to accompany him to Brunei, which is one of the oldest of Malay towns.

It was first described by Pigafetti, who visited “Bornei” in July, 1521.

Even then the town was large and important, and the Sultan was powerful

and wealthy; consequently the Malays must have been established in the

country for at least five hundred years.

The former sultans held nominal sway over a considerable portion of

northern Borneo; but though the Malays brought with them a relatively

high civilisation, they only affected the coastal population, no

influence was exercised for the improvement of the condition of the

interior natives. The Malay traders have always been adventuresome,

and they introduced various trade goods up the rivers; but the

up-river tribes, such as the Kayans and Kenyahs, do not appear to have

acknowledged the authority of the sultans, or to have paid them tribute.

The power of the sultans and of their subordinates, from the highest

to the lowest, has for a long time been exerted to extract the maximum

amount of revenue out of those unfortunate coastal tribes who, by their

propinquity, could not escape from their cruel and rapacious neighbours.

Whatever it may have been in the past, the history of the Brunei

administration for the last half-century has been marked by rapine,

bloodshed, extortion, injustice, and utter hopelessness.

The fall of the power of Brunei is probably owing to causes that have

hastened the fall of other empires and cities. The State was founded by

a civilised and even a polished people, expert in the arts of life; but

success and power became undermined by wealth, luxury, and sensuality,

which destroyed the energy that created those conditions in which alone

they could thrive. Strength of character sunk into aimless cruelty.

The isolation of the town also prevented that intercourse with different

peoples which affords the necessary stimulus for advancement. It is true

that there were trading and diplomatic relations with China even in very

early times, but that was in the days when Brunei was a living force, as

it also must have been when centuries ago a Sultan of Brunei conquered

the Philippines and the neighbouring islands.

Founded by a pagan, the State soon became converted to Islamism, and the

religious fervour of the converts, backed by belligerent tenets of their

faith, were doubtless important factors in the building up of the power

of Brunei. But all that is now past, and Brunei has sunk into senile

decay.

The name Brunei is variously spelt Bruni or Brunai; an old form of it was

Brauni or Braunai, and another was Burni. Pigafetti called it Bornei.

Voyagers, applied the name of the town to the island as a whole; but the

name of Borneo is unknown to the natives of Sarawak, who call it Pulo

Kalamantan.

Most Europeans derive the term Kalamantan, or Klamantan, from an

indigenous sour wild mango, which is called _Kalamantan_; but Hose

believes this term is a corruption of _lemanta_, “raw sago.” There

is no obvious reason why Borneo should be known as the island of an

inconspicuous wild fruit, while it is very appropriately “the island of

raw sago.”

Owing to an ineffective and rapacious system of government, great

dissatisfaction with the Sultan has for a long time been felt by the

natives, and as a result the Sultanate has shrunk to the small triangular

area which constitutes the drainage basins of the Balait, Tutong, and

Brunei rivers. At the present time natives of the Balait and Tutong have

hoisted the Sarawak flag, and are urging the Rajah to take them over. It

is obvious that the days of Malay dynasty in Borneo are numbered.

Owing to their having taken territory from him, the Rajah of Sarawak

and the British North Borneo Company pay the Sultan a yearly tribute as

cession money of about $30,000 (£3,000), paid half-yearly in advance, and

practically this is the main source of his revenue.

Unfortunately we had for our excursion a dull day, unredeemed by a single

glint of sunshine, and it drizzled during part of the morning. We went

down the Limbang in the Government steam launch, the _Gazelle_, and owing

to the tide being low we stuck for an hour and a half in a sandbank near

the mouth of the river. When the tide turned we left the Limbang and

entered the mouth of Brunei River. Owing to the hills on the left bank of

the lower reaches of this river the scenery is much prettier than that

of the corresponding portions of other rivers of Sarawak. The right bank

is merely the coast of a large alluvial island deposited in the combined

delta of the Limbang, Brunei, and Kadayan rivers.

About six miles from its present mouth Brunei River extends into a sort

of elongated lake. The town is situated along the left or northern

shore, and opposite to it is some high land. The waters of the Brunei

and Kadayan rivers pass between this hill and the range of hills behind

the town. In other words Brunei is situated at the conjoint mouths of

the small Brunei and Kadayan rivers, and in close proximity to the large

Limbang River. Originally this spot was on the coast of the Brunei Bay,

but the growth of the largest of the delta islands, which is mainly due

to the action of the Limbang, has made the site of Brunei appear as if it

were actually up a river.

The situation of Brunei was extremely well chosen, as it is very

sheltered, and would have been easily defended in the old days.

The town of Brunei has been so often described that there is no need to

add one more account, especially as there is no reason to believe that it

has essentially altered in its character since the days when it was first

visited by Europeans, though it has probably become reduced in size, and

it must surely have also become meaner of aspect.

At first sight one is wonderfully impressed with the town. Some houses

are built on the bank, others on islets, but the vast majority form great

compact masses standing in piles in the shallow estuary. The groups of

pile-dwellings are intersected by broader or narrower waterways, along

and across which dart small canoes like so many skaters or other aquatic

insects that skim along the surface of our ponds.

On closer acquaintance, however, a good deal of the town presents rather

a dilapidated appearance. This is, doubtless, partially due to the houses

being built of wood, and thatched and usually walled with palm leaves. We

saw it on a dull, damp day, however, and the impression on my mind was

that it would take a great deal of time and material to put the town into

a good state of repair.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIV

BRUNEI

A FAMILY BATHE]

We rowed about the town and visited the small Chinese bazaar, but we did

not land for long as our time was limited and there did not appear to be

much that we could do. We took several snapshot photographs, but were too

low down in the water to get very good views. Although the place looked

poverty-stricken, I was informed there were a large number of ancient and

valuable objects in the houses of the important people, such as gold,

bronze, and brass work, Chinese vases and embroidery.

We should have greatly liked to call on the Sultan, but we were prevented

from doing so as we were on a Sarawak steamer, and there had been

recently a little friction between the Sultan and the Rajah’s Government.

The Resident had on board the half-yearly cession money and rent for

Brooketon, which was then due from the Rajah to the Sultan; but the

cession money was $1,000 short, for that sum had been paid by the Sarawak

Government as indemnity to some natives in the Limbang who had been

raided by some Brunei Malays.

On our arrival at Brunei word was sent to the Chamberlain, and soon that

distinguished functionary came to receive the dollars. He was an elderly,

fat man, with a clever, diplomatic face. There was a good deal of

conversation and documents were read, and finally the rent for Brooketon

was taken, as there was no dispute about that; but the Chamberlain had to

return to the Sultan to confer about the remainder. Finally the Sultan

refused to accept the diminished cession money, as he still claims

ownership of the Limbang, and on that ground the raided were his own

subjects, consequently, according to his position, the Sarawak Government

had no right to interfere.

In his recent life of Rajah Brooke, in the “Builders of Greater Britain

Series,” Sir Spenser St. John writes (p. 216): “The Sultan is the

Suzerain Lord of all the possessions of the present Rajah, with the

doubtful exception of Sarawak proper, and Great Britain is the Protector

of Sarawak and Brunei alike.”

The story of the first Rajah Brooke is most fascinating, and has several

times been told, so that it is superfluous to repeat it here, but I shall

content myself by merely alluding to the most prominent events.

Sir James Brooke first landed at Kuching from his schooner yacht

_Royalist_ on August 15th, 1839, and made acquaintance with Muda Hassim,

the Rajah of Sarawak. Pirates swarmed at the mouth of the Sarawak river,

the Rajah was not on friendly terms with his neighbours the Dutch, and

the population of Upper Sarawak was threatening him with a hostile force.

Trade was at a standstill, and people in and about the capital were

subjected to oppression and extortion from every petty officer of the

State.

As a friend of the Rajah, Sir James Brooke at once commenced his great

work. His first achievement was a bloodless victory over the rebel army,

which, after months of manœuvring and negotiation, was disbanded. For

this assistance he was offered the Governorship of Sarawak, which, after

some delay, he undertook, and at once set to work to clean out the Augean

stables of wrong and oppression and to reform irregularities, always,

however, regarding the customs and existing laws and rights of the

people. He was confirmed as Rajah in 1842.

Warlike expeditions to protect and avenge his subjects had to be

made against the wilder tribes of the interior, and to repress the

pirates, who, whilst they existed, were a constant source of trouble,

disorganising by one raid a whole district, which had perhaps taken years

to settle down since a previous raid.

When all things seemed to be progressing favourably the great Chinese

rebellion broke out in February, 1857, the story of which has been so

well told by Sir Spenser St. John. One result of this calamity was to

prove how well grounded Rajah Sir James Brooke was in the affection

of the Malays and Sea Dayaks, and, thanks to their loyalty, zeal, and

bravery the Chinese were completely routed after they had actually taken

and burnt Kuching. The country soon settled down and became even more

prosperous.

The “Old Rajah” died in England on the 11th June, 1868, and he was

succeeded by his nephew Charles Johnson Brooke, Rajah Muda of Sarawak,

who had long been in the country, and had distinguished himself in his

uncle’s service.

The Rajah is an absolute monarch who consults the Supreme Council on

important matters. This Council is composed of the Rajah, three senior

English officers, and four native chiefs of Sarawak proper. There is

also a General Council composed of the more important chiefs of various

districts and certain English officers. The General Council meets about

once a year, and on this occasion the Rajah makes an address and states

his policy and proposed changes in the administration or finance.

The Raj is divided into five main districts under English Residents:

Sarawak, Batang Lupar, Rejang, Baram, and Limbang. The mere enumeration

of these names shows what accessions to the original Raj of Sarawak

proper have been made in the progress of events. Limbang was annexed on

the 17th March, 1890.

There are various Government officials in Kuching, each of whom has

usually various duties to perform, but the practical administration of

the country is in the hands of the Residents and Assistant Residents. A

Resident is at the same time a governor and a magistrate, and his powers

depend upon his rank; but his influence depends upon his personality.

An energetic Resident who goes among the people can exercise an immense

power for good, but for this is required a knowledge of the languages

spoken in the district and a sympathy for the people themselves.

When Rajah Sir James Brooke first took over Sarawak it was with the

intention of administering the country for the benefit of the natives

rather than for personal aggrandisement, and ever since this has been the

central idea of the Government.

It has often been objected to the rule of the late and of the present

Rajah that they have not endeavoured to “open up” the country, and have

thrown obstacles in the way of those who desired to develop it. To a

certain extent this is true. So far as I understand it, the policy of the

Government has consistently been to let the growth of the country take

place slowly and, as far as practicable, naturally. Neither for the Civil

List, nor for official salaries, nor even for administrative purposes

and public works have the natives been exploited or the soil alienated.

Probably few countries are financed so economically; perhaps in many

cases the salaries of officials are too low, and there is at present a

tendency to save a few dollars by petty economies; but these are faults

of which the natives can scarcely complain. Life and property are safe,

and there is perfect freedom in religion and custom, provided that the

latter does not infringe on the life or belongings of others. These are

advantages which the natives did not formerly possess and which are

now thoroughly appreciated by them. The taxation, which is very light,

is collected with discretion, and falls hard on no one. There is no

difficulty in getting it paid by those heads of families who have but

recently come under the Government, for they realise that the benefits of

a settled government and of a secure outlet for their trade are more than

compensated for by the annual payment of a couple of dollars. The amount

of the “door” tax varies, but four shillings a year is what is usually

levied. In certain cases, half or the whole of this is remitted in return

for right to impress temporary labour. This system is very light, and is

entirely suited to local conditions.

There would be a grave danger to the natives if Sarawak was “opened up”

according to the desires of certain financiers or corporations whose

sole idea is to make money. The “development” of a country does not

necessarily mean the welfare of the original inhabitants; too often it

spells their ruin or extermination. The hustling white man wants to make

as much money as he can within the shortest possible time; but rapid

exploitation is not development, and in many tropical countries it has

meant that if the aborigines will not work as hard for the foreigner as

the latter desires, their place must be taken by coolies from elsewhere.

According to one point of view, a country belongs to its inhabitants;

but according to another, which is prevalent among Europeans, it should

belong to those who can extract the most from it. The Sarawak government

is based upon the former theory, and so far as I have observed it

honestly endeavours to help the people to govern themselves and assists

them towards a gradual bettering of their condition.

Sir Spenser St. John says: “The government of Sarawak is a kind of mild

despotism, the only government suitable to Asiatics, who look to their

chiefs as the sole depositary of supreme power. The influence of the

old Rajah still pervades the whole system, and native and European work

together in perfect harmony.” This is the judgment of one whose opinion

must always carry weight.

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE BARAM DISTRICT]

CHAPTER XIX

THE WAR-PATH OF THE KAYANS

Hose had arranged for us to go up the Limbang and the Madalam rivers,

to walk across a low watershed, and to come down the Malinau, Tutau,

and Baram to Claudetown. The greater part of this route was the ancient

war-path of the Kayans of the Baram, when they went head hunting in the

river basin of the Limbang; it is also a route by which gutta hunters

travel.

We left Limbang at eight o’clock on the morning of the 16th January in

the _Gaselle_, and steamed up the river trailing three boats behind us.

Each _goban_, or canoe, was about forty feet long, three to four feet

wide, and was covered with a palm-leaf roof. Strips of nipa palm had been

fastened together by ratan to form a kind of mat, or _kajang_; a number

of these were laid over a bamboo framework. The hull of each boat was a

large dug-out, the sides of which were heightened with boards.

For many miles up its course the river maintains the same general

character that it has at Limbang, except that it narrows and the nipa

palms which line the banks below the station are no longer to be met with.

We anchored that afternoon at Lasas, and search was made for fresh boats

and more men. One of our canoes, which leaked considerably, we wished to

replace, and we needed an extra one. Matters did not look promising at

night, but next morning, about 5.30 a.m., the requisite boats turned up,

and we started in them about eight o’clock, the steamer returning to the

fort.

The heavy goods were packed in the middle of each boat, and behind these

was the space reserved for each passenger. Four or five men paddled in

front, and one or two behind. We arrived at Tulu at five. We established

ourselves in the only house of the village, which was about a hundred

and thirty feet in length. Like most of the houses in Borneo, it was

situated on the bank of the river, and was built on piles, so that the

floor of the house was some ten feet above the ground. A log with deep

notches in it served for a ladder. On climbing up this we found ourselves

in a long gallery or verandah on the outer, or river, side of which were

placed mats. Along the verandah were one or two fireplaces, above each of

which was a small staging, and at one end of the verandah was a raised

platform used as a lounge and sleeping-place. The side of the verandah

that faced the river was more or less boarded up, but a long, narrow

opening was left of such a height that people sitting on the mats could

conveniently look out. As we paddled up the river we always saw faces

looking out at us through this opening in the various houses that we

passed; sometimes there was a long row of buff-coloured faces without any

body being visible.

On the other side of the verandah are the domiciles, each of which opens

by a separate door on to the verandah. A long house averages from four

to sixty or more distinct households, or “doors” as they are officially

termed. On the low partition walls of the domiciles were stacked large

quantities of firewood, and hanging from the rafters were loops of strips

of palm leaves ready for plaiting into mats. On the floor of the verandah

close to the walls of the homes were Chinese vases, gongs, and other

valuables, and suspended from deer antlers were parangs, bamboo boxes,

and various small articles.

The floor was composed of split bamboos placed a little distance apart,

like lattice-work. This kept the floors clean, as rubbish fell through,

and a little water spilt on the floor soon cleansed the smooth bamboo of

any dirt.

Below the house were the pigsties. The pigs were fed in wooden troughs,

which could be raised by a cord suspended from the floor of the house.

If one pig tried to get more than its share it was poked away from the

trough by a long bamboo, which passed through the flooring. When the

trough was slightly raised above the pigs’ heads the fowls could get

their meal in peace.

After our evening meal Ray brought out the phonograph and gave a

selection of Sea Dayak songs that he had obtained at Limbang. These

caused great delight. We tried to get some of the natives of the village

to sing into the machine, but they were too shy; at last one man made an

attempt, which was both feeble and brief. Then a Brunei Malay, one of our

crew, sang, but as he put his mouth too close to the trumpet the result

was rather tinny. Altogether our hosts were satisfied, and we had the

opportunity of seeing how these people express the emotion of pleasure.

We reached some rapids early the following morning; they were by no means

formidable, and merely necessitated extra exertion in paddling or in

poling. The excitement, however, was sufficient to cause the boatmen to

shriek and call out to one another. When really excited the Sea Dayak

is noisy, but not so much so, nor so demonstrative, as the Papuan. The

natives are skilled boatmen, creeping along under the banks out of the

swifter currents, and know how to take advantage of the lesser currents

in the concave side of the bends, so that the boat takes a comparatively

straight course, and as far as possible avoids the force of the stream.

On the morning of the nineteenth we entered the Madalam, an affluent

which is distinctly narrower than the main stream, and our journey up

it was more difficult, owing to the strength of the current and the

numerous rapids. We landed in the afternoon on one of the shingle beaches

or _karangang_ that occur in the concavity of a bend of the river, or

in other words, in the convexity of the bank, and immediately wood was

chopped and a fire lit, a folding table was set up, and in a very short

time a cup of afternoon tea was ready. After this we strolled about in

the jungle and on the small beach, and shortly before sunset had a swim;

there are no crocodiles to fear so far up the river. By this time our

boatmen had finished making a sleeping-shed for us. It is surprising how

quickly the natives will erect one of these huts. As there were three of

us they made the hut about ten or twelve feet long and about six feet

broad. A flooring of saplings or bamboos was raised two or three feet

off the ground by poles running lengthwise; the roof was covered with

_kajangs_ from the boats; the ends were slightly walled with boughs, but

the sides were open. This was of no consequence as the roof was low.

To make everything more secure we threw our waterproof sheets over the

_kajangs_ and others over the floorings. With a couple of blankets and a

pillow each, we had very comfortable quarters, safe from rain and damp.

We had a good dinner on the beach and turned in early.

The country we were passing through was a few years previously the scene

of a little disturbance, and I have culled the following account of it

from the _Sarawak Gazette_ (vol. xxv., 1895) in order to illustrate some

of the difficulties that the Government has had to contend against.

In December, 1894, Lahing, son of Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai, the chief

of the Long Patas, went from the Tutau to the Pandaruan River with the

avowed intention of collecting jungle produce, but when there, and only

three hours’ walk from the Government Station at Limbang, he murdered

three Kadayans and, with two of their heads as trophies, returned to his

father’s house on the Tutau; the third man sunk in the river directly

after he was killed, and so his head was not obtained. The heads were

feasted in the house on their arrival, and news of this having reached

the Resident of Baram, he at once ordered them to be given up and a

deposit of $1,500 to be put in the fort. This was done, but the Rajah was

not satisfied with the pledge, and ordered the Orang Kaya to pay a fine

of $2,000, and to move back to the Baram District, for in the meantime

he had shifted to the Madalam River. This the Orang Kaya refused to do,

nor would he meet the Resident of Baram, but commenced building a house

in the Madalam for himself and his people, who numbered about seventy

families, to the annoyance of the peaceable inhabitants of the district,

who had suffered on previous occasions from these men. The Resident of

Limbang sent for the Orang Kaya to come down to the fort, but he refused

to do so, and owing to the feeling of insecurity which was rife among the

people of the Limbang, and the certain prospect of future disturbances

should these men be allowed to settle in the Madalam, the Rajah decided

that force must be employed to punish the aggressors, and restore

tranquillity and confidence amongst the people in the Limbang.

The Rajah informed the Supreme Council on the 20th May, 1895, that

Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai and his son Lahing in former times had been

made use of by the Brunei Government for warlike purposes against the

population of the Limbang. Since their arrival in the Madalam the Orang

Kaya had on two occasions visited Brunei, where he was received in a

friendly manner by H.H. the Sultan of Brunei and his Government.

[Illustration: PLATE XXV

ORANG KAYA TUMONGGONG LAWAI, CHIEF OF THE LONG PATAS, IN WAR COSTUME,

WITH A KENYAH SHIELD

A SLEEPING HUT IN THE JUNGLE]

Under these circumstances the Rajah did not consider it safe to permit

this party to locate themselves in or near the Limbang and Brunei. He

felt sure that if they were allowed to settle there further troubles and

murders would ensue; he therefore intended to take steps to drive them

out of the locality without delay. The Rajah further stated that the

Resident of Limbang, Mr. Ricketts, had sent a message to call the Orang

Kaya Tumonggong to come and see him, but that he declined to answer to

the summons.

As regards the heads of the Kadayans murdered in Pandaruan, they were

kept and feasted in the house of Lahing and his father, but were

afterwards delivered up and sent to Baram fort with a deposit of $1,500,

which the Resident of Baram, Mr. Hose, had required from them. These were

to be detained in the fort as a guarantee for their future behaviour,

until he could learn the Rajah’s decision on the case. In a despatch

to Mr. Hose the Rajah had given instructions that either Lahing, the

murderer, or his father should be sent to Kuching to be dealt with. As

far as their lives were concerned, the deposit of money and the delivery

of the heads would render them safe, but some more certain pledge to

ensure peace for the future would be required, such as one or other of

the two men being detained as a hostage for some years in Kuching. Up to

recently the principal thing against the Orang Kaya and his followers had

been their untrustworthy characters, but now they were guilty of actual

murder. The immediate danger was that, having once committed themselves,

and having been well received since the commission of the offences at

Brunei, with its weak and anarchical state of government, they would,

if allowed to settle near Limbang, keep the peaceable inhabitants, who

depend upon Sarawak for protection, in a state of discomfort and alarm,

and this must be avoided at all hazards.

The members of Council gave their opinion that it was absolutely

necessary that these murderers should be treated as enemies, and

should be driven out of Limbang; and they hoped that the strongest

representations would be made to the Brunei Government to prevent a

recurrence of such conduct.

Towards the end of May a punitive expedition was organised, consisting of

sixty Malay and four hundred and sixty Sea Dayaks and two or three white

officials. They manned in all about forty boats.

The rebels held out a flag of truce, but the advance party on the

opposite side of the river could not see it, and it was not without much

trouble that the attacking force was checked. Only four men were killed,

and these lives would have been saved if the people had remained in the

house as they were ordered to do.

The Dayak portion of the expeditionary force having been restrained and

stationed to the rear, the Malays and Europeans advanced. Orang Kaya

Tumonggong Lawai was summoned to surrender himself, and warned that

should he refuse to do so the house would be attacked. After considerable

delay, during which he made several excuses, he came out and went to the

boats. The force then at once retired.

Lahing was found to be absent with a body of men in Baram, whither they

had gone to bring over the remainder of the property from their old house.

The rebels had received news of the advance of the expedition on the day

previous to its arrival. There were evident signs of an intention of

showing resistance, but the Government forces came upon the Orang Kaya

too suddenly for this, as he was not properly prepared, and many of his

men were away. The reason given for this attack upon the Pandaruan people

was that they had killed two Punans who were under the Orang Kaya; but

this story was false, the true reason being that the Long Patas heard

that the Kenyahs had killed several Sea Dayaks before, and they followed

their example.

* * * * *

Our men got up at daylight on Friday, January 20th, and lit fires. We

had breakfast about 6.45, and started again a little before eight. About

8.35 we were stopped by a tree that had fallen across the river, and it

took an hour to cut through it. Had tiffin about noon, as usual on a

shingle beach. Shortly afterwards we passed some low cliffs, and at three

were stopped by a karangang across the river; but the men by removing

the bigger stones soon cleared a passage, through which they dragged the

boats. Near here wild mangoes grow on the steep banks. The fruit has a

pleasant aromatic odour, but I did not much care for the flavour. Still,

a little fresh fruit was an agreeable change.

We had a very heavy day on Saturday, or rather the boatmen had, as the

Madalam was little more than a succession of shallows, up which the boats

had either to be poled or hauled. At one place there was a steep, rocky

rapid, indeed a cascade, where we had to unship all our baggage while the

boats were hauled up a miniature waterfall. All day the men were nearly

as often in the water as out of it; they worked very well and cheerfully.

We stopped that afternoon at the junction of the Trunan (or Trikan) with

the Madalam.

_Sunday, January 22nd._—The Trikan is a very narrow river—practically a

stream. We were now no longer bothered with shallows or rapids, but with

trees that had fallen across the channel. Some of these we crept under,

others were well above our heads, some we dodged round, while others had

to be cut away.

We passed some durian trees, and the ripe fruit was floating in the water

or had fallen on to the banks. Our men collected these with joy, and

soon we had the extremely unpleasant odour of durian around us. Durian

is a large fruit with long, hard spines. When ripe it is yellow and

red externally; the thick rind has to be chopped open, and within four

compartments are the large bean-like seeds, surrounded by a slimy paste

which has a variable and indescribable taste. The first durian we tasted

was on the steam launch going to Brunei; this was not quite ripe, and

the stink of the fruit, combined with the hot oily smell of the engines,

was not encouraging. We persevered, but the flavour was a mixture of

slime, onions, and phosphorus, and all that afternoon and evening we had

resurrection tastes of phosphorus. Wallace, in his _Malay Archipelago_,

and others, have written in praise of durian; so there is another side

to it, but our first experience was certainly not promising. The one I

tasted in the Trikan was nothing like so unpleasant as the first two

I tried. I made three attempts in all, and then gave up all hope of

becoming a confirmed durian eater.

In about two and a half hours we came to a narrow channel, about five

hundred yards long, cut by the Kayans for the passage of the war canoes,

as the stream itself runs under a large rock. Shortly after passing this

rock we heard a shout; we yelled, an answer was returned, and we were

rejoiced to find we had made connection with the party sent to meet us.

It appears that Hose had left for the interior before hearing from

Limbang that we had arrived. He took McDougall with him, as the famous

and powerful chief, Tama Bulan, was very ill. Mr. R. S. Douglas, the

Extra Officer of Baram, read Mr. Ricketts’ letter, and kindly came on

himself with some men to meet us. He had started on Tuesday, the 17th,

and arrived at the trysting-place half an hour before we did! He had

gone about a hundred and ten miles by boat, and we had gone about ninety

miles. The greater part of both our routes had been difficult travelling,

and yet everything was so well arranged by Messrs. Hose, Ricketts, and

Douglas that we synchronously arrived at the spot agreed upon in the

depth of the jungle.

We soon settled our plans and then had tiffin. At two o’clock we started

for our tramp across the watershed to the upper waters of the Malinau

River. For about half-way we followed the track cut by the Kayans, along

which they used to haul their canoes, and to facilitate this arduous

labour they had lain trunks and poles transversely across the track. We

had a rapid and interesting seven-mile walk through the jungle, and I

made my first acquaintance with land leeches. We diverged from the main

track to a narrower one, which led us several times over streams and

small rivers, across which we had to wade.

About five o’clock we had reached the hut that Douglas had previously

erected at the head waters of the Malinau. As the carriers could not

transport the whole of our luggage on one trip we had to wait over the

following day for them to fetch the remainder of our goods.

On the morning of January 24th we crossed the river and strolled in the

jungle. Being what is known as “Old Jungle,” it was much more easy to

walk in than “New Jungle,” as the tall forest trees, by cutting off light

and air, prevent a dense undergrowth from springing up. Wherever land has

been cleared and then allowed to revert to jungle the undergrowth has a

chance, and a practically impenetrable tangled mass of vegetation results.

For the first time I saw various species of pitcher plants growing wild;

some grow close to the ground, others climb to a height of about six

feet. We also came across the forest paths made by wild pigs and by deer.

Even in full sunshine the forests are dull and gloomy, and the lower

vegetation reeks with moisture.

These jungles are inhabited by the simple nomadic Punans, who build rough

shelters in which they sleep for a few nights, and then wander again in

search of game and camphor trees.

As the last of our baggage did not come till midday, we could not start

till after tiffin. Douglas and I went in the smallest boat, and it was

very interesting shooting the very numerous rapids. How different it

was going down stream compared with the laborious journey against the

current! The boatmen built in a remarkably short time a very large hut to

accommodate the whole party for the night.

We started at 6.30 a.m. on Wednesday, January 25th, passing Batu Jilama

about seven o’clock. The river here flows past fine vertical limestone

cliffs five hundred feet in height. The Dayaks have a legend about a

winged ghost-tiger (_remaung_), which is supposed to inhabit the caves

in these cliffs, and to fly from one side of the river to the other. The

Dayaks are very fond of these tiger stories, but as this is not the Sea

Dayak country we need not believe this particular yarn.

A short distance before the Malinau joins the Tutau there is a bluff in

which is an old burial cave called Lobang Tulang. Hose and McDougall had

already visited it, and had brought away two skulls and a great many

bones, which must have belonged to at least thirty individuals. Douglas

and I clambered up the cave and had a look round. The cave was a small

one; great stalactites depended from the face of the cliff, which was

largely clothed with vegetation. There was a beautiful view of the bend

of the river and of the Mulu range beyond. That evening we slept in a

Long-Pata house on the Tutau opposite the entrance of the Malinau.

We left early the following morning, had a halt for breakfast at 7.45,

and travelled steadily all day, not landing again till we reached the

Umu Belubu house. This long house was very similar to those we visited

on the Limbang River. In the evening we had some borak, a ginlike spirit

made from rice, and Ray gave the inhabitants some native songs on the

phonograph, and I copied some patterns. This was the first time I had

come across people belonging to the Kayan group. Douglas and I were

tattooed on the arm early next morning by Balu Long who is perhaps the

best tattooer in the Baram District; she is the old mother-in-law of the

chief. The pattern was printed on the arm in charcoal or rather soot by

means of a wooden slab on which the design was cut in relief, and then

the impression was gone over three times with a tattooing needle tapped

by an iron rod. The whole process took a little over an hour. It was by

no means painful, and as we had previously disinfected the ink with

thymol, the punctured skin healed quickly with very little inflammation.

The Kayan men have a device tattooed on the fore-arm and thigh; very

frequently there is a rosette or circular design on the shoulder. The

back of the hand and fingers are tattooed when the man has taken a head.

More than once up-country women have asked me when I was going to have my

hands tattooed!

The Kayan women are tattooed all over the fore-arm and over the back of

the hand. The thighs are richly tattooed and the upper surface of the

foot and toes.

We left our friends in this house about ten o’clock, and reached Batu

Blah about three o’clock. Here the natives were building a large

long-house, and in the meantime resided in comparatively small houses.

Close by the village was a small cemetery, in which was one pillar tomb

boldly carved with spiral designs below a human face. It was the funeral

post of a chief, whose body was pressed into a jar let into the top of

the pillar.

[Illustration: FIG. 30.

KAYAN TATTOO DESIGNS.

A little less than half natural size.]

We had tea here, and then proceeded on our journey. About six we reached

the elongated house of the Orang Bukit at Long Linai. The Orang Bukits

are a branch of the Kadayans, but, unlike the Kadayans of the coast, they

are not Mohammedans. The _Lucille_, the Government river steamer for the

Baram district, was waiting for us here.

After dinner we witnessed a most interesting Berantu ceremony, a magical

ritual, which was employed in this instance to cure a sick woman.

[Illustration: PLATE XXVI

ASCENDING A RAPID

HOUSE OF THE ORANG BUKITS AT LONG LINAI, TUTAU RIVER]

Towards one end of the long verandah the floor was covered with mats,

in the centre of which and depending from a rafter was a streamer

(_lare_) of the frayed leaves of the areca palm; beneath, and partially

covered by the ends of the _lare_, was a brass Brunei salver, on which

were placed various folded cloths and garments. Around the salver were

distributed the spathe of the blossoms of the areca palm containing the

flower spikes, some leaves of the serimbangung and daunlong (a caladium),

a wooden image of a woman (_anak jilama_), an empty whisky bottle, two

small Chinese saucers, and a _maligai_, or house for the spirit.

To one side was a row of eight or nine gongs, suspended from a long

horizontal pole raised three or four feet from the floor, and close by

were several drums and a set of _geling tamgan_, or hand gongs, which

were beaten with two sticks, one in each hand of the performer. At one

end of the cleared space was a torch (_lutong_) of dammar supported in a

ratan framework, and at the other end was a small lamp.

[Illustration: FIG. 31. BERANTU CEREMONY ON THE ORANG BUKIT]

The chief medicine-man, whom we will call “A,” came and sat with crossed

legs in front of the altar, as the arrangement of the objects may be

conveniently called. He hid his face behind a fan (_kipas_) and murmured

incantations, every now and again calling the spirit by a chirruping

noise.

He wore a _detta_ as a turban, a white _blatchu_ over the right shoulder,

a Javanese _sarong_, and striped silk _seluar_ (trousers).

After a little time another man and two women came. The man (“B”) brought

a salver containing some cloths. When he had deposited this near the

other he lifted up some of the cloths and burnt incense (_kamanyan_)

below them.

On his head he had a Javanese _detta_, a piece of red _kasumba_, and a

piece of white cloth, the ends of which hung down his back; for the

rest he was dressed like the other medicine-man, but had in addition a

Sea Dayak bead belt (_tali pinggang marik_). The women were dressed in

the Mĕlanau fashion with Brunei sashes. One was a particularly beautiful

example of gold brocade (_kain benang mas_). This woman, whom I will term

“C,” had also a kasumba round her head.

During all this time the drums and gongs were beaten by women.

The man “B” and the women “C” and “D” sat down in this order, and

solemnly made their incantations with their fans in front of their faces.

The man “A” stood up, and while continuing his incantations he slowly and

gracefully waved his white cloth and fan, and occasionally put the edge

of the latter to his lips and chirruped to the spirit. He then walked

round the altar, left hand to centre, with a slow, dancing movement, the

body being held upright but the head bowed. The other three sat still

and covered their faces with their fans. To avoid repetition, I may here

state that during the whole time the incantations were made there was an

incessant booming, clanging accompaniment of drums and gongs.

The principal female attendant (“C”) and the other two got up and faced

“A,” who was seated now and slowly fanning himself. The latter arose, and

all gently swayed backwards and forwards, and very slowly processioned

round the altar. The movement consisted of a sedate walk, the heel being

slightly lifted two or three times at each shuffling step. After several

revolutions all sat down; later they stood up again.

The chief magician (“A”) took a mouthful of water and spat it over the

chest of the sick woman, who was sitting close by. He had previously been

chewing betel, so that he might be able to make a large red splash on the

woman’s bosom. He then patted her on the breast and head. He next took

the areca blossom from the spathe and held it over her head, and made

passes in front of her with it, ever and again stroking her head with it.

The attendants sat down while the chief woman (“C”) stood by the operator

(“A”); both then walked round the altar, the man still carrying the areca

blossom, which he solemnly waved about.

The whole process was repeated with the green leaves from the altar by

“B.” The others sat down and chirruped frequently.

The second female attendant (“D”) made passes over the chest of a boy

who was also ill. The two men (“A” and “B”) and the woman “C” then went

round the altar. The latter went to the female patient, while the others

continued their procession.

The medicine-man “A” took a knife and lightly pressed the edge of it

along the throat and chest of the patient, and placed it on the wooden

image. He then took the two saucers and, as it were, scraped the bad

blood from the wound supposed to have been caused by the knife, off

the chest of the woman with one saucer and poured it into the other.

Eventually the pretended blood was caught between the two saucers, which

were kept closed, the one on the top of the other, face to face. Having

put the saucers down, he waved the fan about and made passes over the

woman’s throat and chest, and finally he appeared to pick up the sickness

with the edge of the fan.

The two attendants (“B” and “D”) retired; later the female magician (“C”)

felt herself all over, and looked as if she had just awakened. When her

senses appeared to return to her, she took off her red and gold Brunei

sash, and then retired for a minute or two.

The medicine-man (“A”) next walked round the altar and took up the image

and the folded white cloth on which it lay; the latter he tied into a

sling which hung from his neck, and into this loop he placed the image,

which meanwhile had been held by the chief woman. He then stood in front

of the altar with his fan in front of his face.

The female magician (“C”) gave “A” a kris with which to fight the evil

spirit. His movements became rapid, and he jumped about flourishing the

weapon. While this battle with the unseen powers was taking place, the

woman put a pillow on the floor beside the altar, and placed on it the

flower of the areca palm. In front of the pillow she placed a basket, and

beside this the salver with cloths. “A” then placed the white cloth with

the image beside the basket. By this time he had slowly walked round the

objects and stood facing them on the far side. All the time the female

magician had been talking to him, telling him to make his incantations

thoroughly, so as to cure the patient; now she sat down and occasionally

talked to him.

The man next sat down, and later stood up and danced a little. He then

caught the wandering soul of the sick woman in his scarf over the salver

of cloths, and scooped it off the salver with his fan and poured it into

his scarf.

All the objects being removed from in front of the pillow, the magician

made a number of quick movements, advancing towards and retreating from

the pillow. The pillow was next removed, and the man jumped over the spot

where it had lain. He returned to where he was before, and then walked

back to his original position on the other side of the altar, and went to

the patient, made passes over and in front of her, and took the spirit

from his sash and put it on her head.

The female magician tied a handkerchief round the patient’s head and

retired, the patient too slipped away into a private apartment.

As soon as he noticed the patient had gone, the medicine-man went about

in a blind sort of way to look for her; then he rummaged among the

objects which constituted the altar, and tossed the cloths about. The

female magician gave him the image, telling him this was the patient.

He dumped it up and down on the floor and flourished it about in a

very excited manner, apparently not at all satisfied with the repeated

assurances of the female magician that this was really the sick woman. At

length the patient was recalled, and the medicine-man sat in front of her

and gave her some charms.

What we saw was only one incident in a protracted ceremony. The whole

operation extends over some three weeks. The chief woman magician (“C”)

was an expert, but the other two (“B” and “D”) were admittedly learning

the business.

Hose afterwards informed me that the Berantu ceremony belongs essentially

to the coast tribes, and it is only near the coast that one sees it

carried out with the most complete ritual.

Like other expert medical treatment, this “cure” was very expensive;

probably the patient would have to pay as a fee a Chinese gong of a value

of some three or four dollars, plates, cups, and other articles, to say

nothing of numerous fowls.

It would require a prolonged study of the complete ceremony to understand

the meaning of the ritual. The portion that I saw may perhaps thus be

explained.

First the spirits who might assist in the cure were invoked; then the

magician ripped open the neck and chest of the woman and collected the

blood and picked up the spirit of the sickness with his fan. In the

meantime I believe the spirit of the woman was resting in the _maligai_,

the spirit, or soul, house.

With his kris the magician fought and conquered the evil spirits.

The patient’s spirit was next caught by the magician in his scarf, and

holding it safely he jumped across the spot where a pillow had lain, and

beside which the wooden image was placed. I do not know what this act

symbolised. Her own spirit was next returned to the patient.

The magician next appeared to be himself possessed by the spirit of the

disease, and he blindly and clumsily searched among the paraphernalia

of the altar, and tossed the cloths about, vainly endeavouring to

discover the victim. The female magician then offered him the wooden

image, telling him it was the patient herself, and, further to call his

attention to it, she bounced it up and down, making the Chinese bell,

which was tied round its waist, tinkle as she banged it on the floor.

Eventually he appeared convinced against his will, and the spirit of the

disease entered into the effigy.

The magician then came to himself, and going to the sick woman, who had

just returned, gave her charms to keep the evil spirit from returning.

We left Long Linai early on the twenty-eighth in the steamer and arrived

at Marudi (Claudetown) at eleven o’clock a.m.—very glad to be at our

journey’s end. The rest of the day was spent in unpacking, settling in

and reading a heavy mail.

In the evening Aban Tingan, the brother of the great Kenyah chief Tama

Bulan, and several of his countrymen turned up at the Residency, and we

had a great drinking evening in true Kenyah style, chanting speeches

while presenting a drink, moving the glass backwards and forwards till

the time comes for the actual drinking. Whilst the glass is being drained

at a gulp all shout in a peculiar manner. It was really a most effective

performance, and might with advantage be introduced at home.

I felt it to be an appropriate, though quite an unarranged, welcome to

Marudi. Ray gave a phonographic performance, and not very late in the

evening Aban Tingan arrived at a well-known garrulous stage, and, later

on, he did not realise that we should be glad if he departed.

CHAPTER XX

THE COUNTRY AND PEOPLE OF BORNEO

(_a_) THE GEOGRAPHICAL AND GEOLOGICAL FEATURES OF BORNEO

The centre of Borneo does not appear to be occupied by one great central

continuous range of old folded mountains, but by numerous more or less

isolated peaks and ridges which rise in linear series from a medley

of hills. These high mountain islands not only occur in the higher

hill-land, but many rise up from the low hills that merge into great

coastal plains.

The central mountains radiate from Gunong Tebang, which lies in lat. 3°

N. and long. 115° 3′ 25″. From this central watershed an axial ridge

proceeds north-eastwards, and culminates in Kina Balu, 4,175 m. (13,698

feet), the highest mountain in the island. A south-east ridge ends at

Cape Kaniongan. An irregular southerly chain terminates in the Island

Pulo Laut and in Cape Salatan. A broad south-westerly series of mountains

stretches toward Cape Sambar; a more westerly branch of the latter

system curves round to the north and terminates at Cape Datu. The latter

watershed constitutes the boundary between Sarawak and Dutch Borneo.

On account of the peculiar configuration of mountain masses and divides,

Borneo contains a number of extensive and distinct river basins, which

radiate from the eccentric mountain centre.

The mountains proper are surrounded by hill-land, which gradually becomes

lower towards the plains. Schwaner states that “these hills do not form

ranges inclosing plains and valleys, nor are they very defined as regards

height and form. They may be described as an aggregate of rounded or

extended masses, often with very steep sides. Their usual height seldom

exceeds 200 to 300 feet; only in the neighbourhood of the divide do they

become higher and give the country a more mountainous character.” The

hill-land also sends spurs into the low-lying plains, which appear as

outliers.

[Illustration: GEOLOGICAL SKETCH MAP OF BORNEO. AFTER POSEWITZ]

The great plains extend from the hill-land to the sea. Towards the hills

there is dry flat land which gradually passes into swamps. Several

travellers describe swamps and marshes at the foot of the hills and

even in the mountain land. “On the other hand,” as Posewitz points out,

“outlines of the dry flat land stretch far into the swampy lowlands, and

isolated high-lying districts are then formed in the middle of marshy

low-lying plains.”

THE GEOLOGY OF THE “MOUNTAIN LAND”

_PALÆOZOIC_

Very little is accurately known about the geology of the “mountain

land” of Borneo. The mountain chains and their spurs are composed of

crystalline schists, the so-called “old slate formations,” which may be

of Devonian age, and the igneous rocks; among the latter are granites,

diorites, gabbros, and serpentines. The two latter appear to belong

rather to the spurs.

Verbeek distinguishes in Sumatra between an “old slate formation” and a

“younger slate formation” which he includes in the Lower Carboniferous

Culm Measures. He is of opinion that perhaps part of the schists of the

older group are of Archæan age, but that the greater part are Silurian or

Devonian, or a mixture of both.

In Borneo there are hornblende schists, mica schists, and quartzites,

which are likely to be Archæan, as there is no evidence for including

these rocks as Devonian. A part of the quartzite schist and phyllites are

perhaps Archæan, while another part may belong to the Devonian.

In Sumatra it is not always possible to separate the Culm Measures

sharply from the slates of the “old slate formation.” On the other hand,

the unconformity between the limestone facies of the Lower Carboniferous

and the “old slates” is clearly visible. Indeed, part of the “old slates”

in Borneo perhaps belongs to the Culm Measures in such districts as

British North Borneo and Sarawak.

The old crystalline rocks are very generally gold-bearing.

Deposits of the Carboniferous Formation usually form a broad zone

flanking on their northern aspect the older Palæozoic rocks that

constitute the backbone of the island. The Carboniferous rocks consist

mainly of sandstones and limestones, which must not be confused with

those of the Eocene Formation.

The older sandstone is coarse grained, and not very ferruginous: it rises

to 4,000 feet; while the Tertiary sandstone, as far as is at present

known, only constitutes a “hill-land” of very moderate altitude.

The older limestones are characterised by their hardness and bluish

colour; usually they do not contain fossils, except in isolated

localities; and the rocks are traversed by numerous calcite veins and by

ore-bearing quartz veins. In Sarawak the veins mostly contain antimony;

in Sabah iron pyrites and copper pyrites. Like the Tertiary coral reefs,

the older bands of limestone are full of caves, which, by-the-by, contain

edible swifts’ nests; but while the Tertiary rocks only attain a height

of 200 to 300 feet, the Carboniferous limestones reach as much as 1,200

feet. In places greenish or reddish slates are intercalated in the

limestone, or the latter alternates with sandstone.

Although the Carboniferous Formation is clearly marked off from the

Tertiary beds above it, this is not the case, as has been already noted,

with its lower boundary. In many cases beds of the Culm type cannot

at present be distinguished from the “old slate formation.” There is

much doubt as to the horizon to which in any given case a quartz schist

or slate belongs, and the same is the case with the old sandstone. In

Western Sarawak, which, with the “Chinese Districts” of West Borneo,

forms an immense mountain island, the sandstone is certainly Devonian,

and it may be of interest to note that these beds contain quicksilver.

_MESOZOIC_

No Secondary Formations have been described from Sarawak, though Jurassic

and Cretaceous rocks occur in Dutch Borneo.

THE GEOLOGY OF THE “HILL-LAND”

_CAINOZOIC_

The Tertiary “hill-land” forms a belt round the mountain land, which in

some places reaches to the sea, but in others is separated from it by

wide alluvial plains. It has been mentioned that the hill-land not only

surrounds the mountain land, but also penetrates within it, connecting

the separate chains; and it also surrounds isolated mountain chains.

From a geotectonic standpoint, the Tertiary hill-land only averages 200

to 300 feet. Towards the border of the mountains the hills become higher

where they are of Eocene Age; towards the plains their height diminishes,

and they form low ranges of Miocene or Pliocene Age.

Verbeek systematised as well as added to the labours of Horner, Schwaner,

and C. de Groot, and established a threefold division of the older

Tertiary beds for the south of Borneo.

1. _Sandstone Stage._—The lowermost beds are predominantly sandstones,

and contain the “Indian coal” seams. The sandstones are usually of a

white or yellow colour, and always contain flakes of a silvery-white

mica; the cement is argilaceous. They are probably derived from mica

schists. Alternating with them are bands of shale, carbonaceous shale,

and coal. The sandstone beds are much pierced and faulted by younger

eruptive rocks.

2. _Marl Stage._—Among yellowish-white sandstones are the following beds:

bluish-grey “Letten” and shales without fossils; bluish-grey “Letten”

with crustacean remains; grey Marl, with marl-clay nodules, often of the

large size and very full of fossils. The percentage of lime in these beds

increases from below upwards.

3. _Limestone Stage._—This stage consists of a hard whitish or bluish

limestone rich in fossils, and contains numerous nummulites.

All the above strata are pierced in numerous places by basalts and

hornblende-augite-andesites, the intrusion of which has disturbed their

bedding. The andesites are always accompanied by widespread deposits of

tuffs and volcanic agglomerates.

Verbeek[3] has recently recast his original allocation of these beds,

and now he regards the “Sandstone Stage” as Eocene; the “Marl Stage” as

Oligocene (Nari group of India); and the “Limestone Stage” to the later

Miocene.

Above the andesites are later Tertiary shales and sandstones, which were

previously regarded as of Miocene Age, but Verbeek now assigns them to

the Pliocene. A lower band of shales and an upper series of sandstones

can be distinguished; beds of a true brown coal are often present.

The Tertiary geology of Sarawak has chiefly been elucidated by A. H.

Everett, but a great deal more remains to be done. In the district of the

Sarawak River a hilly formation, comprising sandstones and limestones,

extends from the coast to the mountains at the boundary. Exact details as

to its composition are as yet wanting; we only know that the coal-bearing

sandstone of the Eocene occurs, and that there are Tertiary coral reefs.

The limestone beds, which appear to occur sporadically in Sarawak, are

penetrated by numerous caves; they dip at a high angle and contain many

fossils.

Intrusions of andesite have been found in the district of the Upper

Sarawak River. These recent eruptive rocks have often disturbed the

bedding of the coal-bearing strata. They are described as basalts and

felspar-porphyrites, occurring in hills, or as dykes in the lowlands.

In the Bay of Brunei the Tertiary coal-bearing sandstone hills extend

down to the coast. Coal is now worked at a mine close to Brooketown,

whence it is exported.