HYDROPHOBIA--FUNERAL CEREMONIES--AT A PADDI HARVEST--ANOTHER TUBA-FISHING
EXPEDITION--THE CHARM OF PRIMITIVE MAN--INTERESTING CEREMONIES--ON
HEAD-HUNTING GROUND
Hydrophobia was raging at Long Pelaban, and during my stay one man and
seven children were bitten. For religious reasons the Dayaks do not like
to kill dogs, so in cases like this the canines that are ill are caught,
their legs are tied together, and they are thrown into the water to die
without being killed. Over forty were disposed of in this way. I saw one
of the hydrophobia victims standing in the water as if alive, a little of
the back showing above the surface.
The sounding of a gong one day signified the death of a woman. A party
immediately went out to procure a suitable tree from which to make the
coffin. Throughout the night we could hear without intermission the sounds
produced by those who hollowed out the log and smoothed the exterior. Next
day I was present at the obsequies of the dead woman. On the large gallery
men were sitting in two long rows facing each other, smoking their
green-hued native tobacco in huge cigarettes, the wrappers of which are
supplied by large leaves from two species of trees. A jar of native brandy
stood between them, of which but little was consumed. More alcohol is made
here from sugar-cane than from rice. The latter is the better and sweeter,
the former being sour.
At the end of the gallery stood the large, newly made casket, which was
open, the corpse covered with cloth resting inside. It was an oblong,
heavy box supposed to represent a rhinoceros, though nothing positively
indicated this except the large head of this animal at one end, which,
though rudely made, was cut with considerable artistic skill. The family
sat around the casket, one man smoking tobacco, the women wailing and
occasionally lifting the cover to look at the face of the corpse. One babi
(pig) that had belonged to the deceased had been killed and was served
with rice. In the afternoon, having partaken of food, a number of men
carried the heavy burden on their shoulders down to the river, preceded by
two women belonging to the family. It was placed on two prahus, which were
lashed together, and then taken down the river to be buried. After the
death of a relative women mourners cut off about two centimetres from the
end of the hair; the men cut an equal portion from the front.
Later in the afternoon the gong announced another death, that of a child.
On this account some sixty Malays who were camped here, bound for the utan
higher up the river, in search of rubber and damar, delayed their
departure as did some Kenyahs who were on their way to Apo Kayan, and the
people of the kampong did not go to their ladangs. The following day the
sound of the gong was again heard, but this time it was occasioned by the
fact that an adept had taken augurs from the flight of the red hawk, and
to him it was given that illness would cease.
It was difficult to hold the busy Dayaks in the kampong. At this time, the
beginning of May, their attention was absorbed in harvesting the paddi.
Every day they started up the river to their ladangs a few miles distant,
returning in the evening with their crops. I decided to visit these
fields, taking my cameras with me. In years gone by the kampong people
have gradually cleared the jungle from a large tract of country, but part
of this clearing was still covered by logs that had not been burned. Over
these hundreds and hundreds of fallen trees, down steep little galleys and
up again, a path led to the present fields higher up in the hills, very
easy walking for bare feet, but difficult when they are encased in leather
shoes. For over an hour and a half we balanced along the prostrate trunks,
into some of which steps had been cut, but, arduous as was the ascent, we
naturally found the descent in the evening a more hazardous undertaking;
yet all emerged from the ordeal with sound limbs.
We arrived a little before noon and found some of the natives busy
preparing their midday meal in and around a cool shed on top of a hill
from where an extensive view was obtained of the past and present fields
of the country. Near by was a watch-tower raised on top of upright logs.
At one side of it four bamboos of different sizes were hanging
horizontally over each other, which produced different notes when struck,
and probably had been placed there for the purpose of frightening birds
away.
The Kenyahs "take turns" helping each other to harvest, and on this
occasion they were assisting their chief. It was a scene of much
animation, as if it were a festival, which in reality the harvesting is to
them. The long row of men and women in their best garments, with
picturesque sun-shades, cut the spikes one by one, as the custom is, with
small knives held in the hollow of their hands. Assuredly the food which
they received was tempting to hungry souls. The rice, after being cooked,
was wrapped in banana leaves, one parcel for each, forty-four in all, and
as many more containing dried fish which also had been boiled. The people
kindly acceded to my request to have them photographed. They then packed
the harvested paddi in big baskets, which they carried on their backs to
the storehouse in the kampong the same afternoon. From planting time till
the end of the harvest--four or five months--a man is deputed to remain in
the kampong to whom fish is forbidden, but who may eat all the rice he
wants, with some salt, and as recompense for his services receives a new
prahu or clothing.
A few days later, the chief having early in the morning taken omens from a
small bird, the inhabitants with few exceptions departed on a tuba-fishing
expedition to the Pipa, a small tributary to the Kayan River farther
north. The two kampongs, Long Pelaban and Long Mahan, combined forces, and
as so many were going I experienced difficulty in arranging to join the
excursion, but finally succeeded in securing prahus and men from the
latter place.
We passed a small settlement of Punans, former nomads, who had adopted the
Dayak mode of living, having learned to cultivate rice and to make prahus.
We found the people of Long Pelaban camped on a stony beach in two long
rows of rough shelters, each row containing many families under one common
roof of bark. The Long Mahan people had gone farther and camped on a
similar beach, and between the two I discovered a pleasant location in the
jungle by ascending the high bank of the river. Hardly had we finished
putting up our tents when a violent thunder-storm arose, which continued
unabated for half an hour, and thereafter with diminished force throughout
the night. Many of the Dayaks moved up to our position, and next day the
river ran high, so we did not make a start.
In the morning, after a fine bath, as I was about to take breakfast, a
large party of visitors from Long Mahan approached. They were unacquainted
with the Malay tongue and showed obvious signs of embarrassment, but by
distributing a little candy to the children and biscuits to the adults
harmony was soon established. Two unusually attractive small girls wearing
valuable bead necklaces, who at first had appeared takut (frightened),
unconcernedly seated themselves on their heels in front of me. The others
perched in a long row on two poles which they laid on the wet ground, all
of them preparing to watch me eat breakfast. Among other things the menu
included half a dozen small boiled potatoes brought from Tandjong Selor
and obtained from Central Java; they usually keep for four or five weeks
and are a valuable aid in maintaining good health in the tropics.
The Kenyahs had never seen potatoes before, and one man handed some of the
peelings to his wife for inspection, whereupon I gave her a potato, which
she peeled carefully, divided, and gave a piece to each of the two
children, with whom, however, it did not find favour. I opened a can of
milk and another of cream, for I was fresh from Europe and had plenty of
provisions. After helping myself from the cans I gave them to the
children, who greatly relished what was left in them, but they did not eat
greedily, behaving like white children who have not learned from adults to
eat hastily. The Kenyahs are very courteous. When a man passed my tent
opening he generally called aloud, as if announcing his presence.
In visiting the camps I found the Kenyahs, even on an occasion like the
present, busily engaged at some occupation, and seldom or never was
anybody seen sitting idle. The men were splitting rattan into fine
strings, later to be used for many purposes: for plaiting the sheath of
the parang; for making bottle-shaped receptacles for rice; for securing
the axe to the handle, etc. Women were doing the same work with bamboo,
first drying the stalks by standing them upright before a fire. These fine
bamboo strings are later used in making winnowing trays and for various
kinds of beautifully plaited work. When employed in this way, or on other
occasions, the women smoke big cigarettes as nonchalantly as the men.
Continuing the journey next day, we found it a laborious undertaking over
many small rapids. The water had already subsided, so we had to wade most
of the day, dragging the prahus, a task which we found rather fatiguing,
as the stones are difficult to step on in the water and very hot out of
it. The river was narrow, but here and there widened out into pools. Many
"bring" were erected over the stream, and I noticed that they were smaller
than those I had seen before, but the arrangements for beating the tuba
were far more elaborate.
On the river bank, as we approached the main camping-place, piles of the
light-brown root were often seen, resembling stacks of wood. The gathering
of these roots, I learned, was accomplished in one day. Our men had helped
in the work and they also put up a couple of "bring" near our camp for our
own use. Early in the afternoon two rather solid structures, built like
bridges across the small river, were erected; on these the beating of the
tuba was to take place next morning. In the middle, lengthwise, was placed
a long, narrow excavated log, longer than the bridge itself, for the use
of the beaters.
In the evening a large tree crashed to earth not far from my camp, and at
a later hour another, still nearer, thunderously broke with its fall the
silence of night. At two o'clock in the morning the beating of tuba began,
to the accompaniment of shouts and outcries, and though the noise was
considerable and unusual I did not find it intolerable, but fell asleep
again. I arose early, and after partaking of some excellent Dayak rice I
walked down to view the proceedings, and found the scene engrossing. Men
and women stood close together on each side of the long trough, crushing
the tuba with sticks in a similar manner to that adopted when pounding
rice. The trough had at one end a small compartment, open like the rest,
but the sides had been smoothed with an axe and when beaten served the
purpose of a gong. The bark was pounded into small pieces and then thrown
to one side upon large palm leaves which covered the bridge.
Boarding a prahu, I next visited Amban Klesau's bridge, a little lower
down, which was larger and more pretentious, with tall poles erected on
it, and from the top hung ornamental wood shavings. The end of the trough
here had actually been carved into a semblance of the head of "an animal
which lives in the ground," probably representing a supernatural being
usually called nagah. The owner himself was beating it with a stick on
both sides of the head, and this made more noise than the pounding of the
fifty men and women who stood working at the trough. At times they walked
in single file around it.
The pounding was finished in the forenoon, and all went a little farther
down the river to take the fire omen at a place where the river widened
out into a pool. A man with many tail-feathers from the rhinoceros
hornbill (_buceros rhinoceros_) stuck into his rattan cap seated himself
on a crude platform which had been built on upright poles over the water.
Some long pieces of tuba-root were lying there, and he squatted on his
heels facing the principal men who were sitting on the bank south of him.
A few minutes later the chief of Long Mahan made his way out to the
platform over some logs which loosely bridged the space to the bank of the
river, and attempted the fire-making, but after two unsuccessful attempts
he retired. Several other prominent men came and tried, followed by the
man with the tail-feathers in his cap, but he also failed; whereupon they
all stepped ashore, taking the fire-making implements and some of the
roots with them, in order to see whether they would have better luck on
land. The brother of the chief now came forward and made two attempts,
with no more success than the others. Urged to try again, he finally
succeeded; the assemblage silently remained seated for a few minutes, when
some men went forth and beat tuba with short sticks, then threw water upon
it, and as a final procedure cast the bark into the river and again beat
it. From the group of the most important people an old man then waded into
the water and cast adrift burning wood shavings which floated down-stream.
In the meantime the Long Mahan people had gone to throw the bark into the
river from their elaborate bridge, and those of Long Pelaban went to their
establishments. The finely pounded bark soon began to float down the river
from the bridges as it might were there a tannery in the neighbourhood.
Presently white foam began to form in large sheets, in places twenty-five
centimetres thick and looking much like snow, a peculiar sight between the
dark walls of tropical jungle. Above the first little rapid, where the
water was congested, a portion of the foam remained like snow-drift, while
most of it continued to advance and spread itself over the first long
pool. Here both men and women were busily engaged catching fish with
hand-nets, some wading up to their necks, others constantly diving
underneath and coming up covered with light foam.
The insignificant number of fish caught--nearly all of the same kind--was
surprising and disappointing. Even small fish were eagerly sought. There
was little animation, especially at the beginning of the sport, and no
spears were used. Several tons of bark must have been utilized, at least
eight or ten times as much as at the Isau River, and I regretted that they
should have so little reward for their trouble. Five days were spent in
travel, two days in making "bring" and gathering tuba, and they had
pounded tuba for eight hours, since two o'clock in the morning. After all
these exertions many prahus must have returned without fish. Possibly the
fish had been practically exterminated by the tuba poisoning of former
years. One man told me that many fish remain dead at the bottom, which
partly accounts for the scanty result.
I was desirous of having Chonggat remain here for a week of collecting,
but no Kenyah was willing to stay with him, all being deterred through
fear of Punan head-hunters, who, on this river, not so long ago, had
killed some rubber-gatherers from Sarawak. Besides, they also anticipated
revenge on the part of Kayans, eleven of whom had been killed by the
Kenyahs in Apo Kayan one and a half years previously. According to their
own reports and that of the Chinese interpreter, the heads of six men and
five women had been taken after a successful attack on the two prahus in
which the Kayans (Oma-Lakan) travelled. The Kenyahs (Oma-Kulit) who had
committed the outrage had been apprehended by the Company, as the
government is called by the natives. The brother of the chief of Long
Pelaban, who was with us fishing, three months previously had returned
from Samarinda, where he had spent one year in prison for having been
implicated in a minor way in this crime, while the main offenders were
serving labor terms of six years in Sorabaia, Java.
This report was confirmed by a Dutch officer whom I met a month later and
who came from Apo Kayan. The attacking Kenyahs were eighty in number, of
whom ten were punished. The affair took place in 1912 at a distance of six
hours, going down-stream, from Long Nawang. Though head-hunters are known
to travel wide and far, and distant Apo Kayan is not too remote for them,
nevertheless to me, as well as to Chonggat, the risks seemed unfounded;
however, there remained no alternative but for all of us to return to Long
Pelaban.