THE SCALY ANT-EATER--THE PORCUPINE--THE BLOW-PIPE--AN UNUSUAL ADVENTURE
WITH A SNAKE--HABITS AND CUSTOMS OF THE MURUNGS--AN UNPLEASANT AFFAIR
A Murung one day brought and exhibited to us that extraordinary animal,
the scaly ant-eater (_manis_), which is provided with a long pipe-like
snout, and is devoid of teeth because its only food, the ant, is gathered
by means of its long tongue. The big scales that cover the whole body form
its sole defence, and when it rolls itself up the dogs can do it no harm.
Unable to run, it cannot even walk fast, and the long tail is held
straight out without touching the ground. Its appearance directs one's
thoughts back to the monsters of prehistoric times, and the fat meat is
highly esteemed by the Dayaks. The animal, which is possessed of
incredible strength in proportion to its size, was put in a box from which
it escaped in the night through the carelessness of Rajimin.
A large live porcupine was also brought for sale by a Dayak woman who had
raised it. The creature was confined in a kind of bag, and by means of its
strength it managed to escape from between the hands of the owner.
Although she and several Dayaks immediately started in pursuit, it
succeeded in eluding them. However, the woman believed implicitly that it
would return, and a couple of days later it did reappear, passing my tent
at dusk. Every evening afterward about eight o'clock it was a regular
visitor, taking food out of my hand and then continuing its trip to the
kitchen, which was less than a hundred metres farther up the river bank.
Finally it became a nuisance, turning over saucepans to look for food and
otherwise annoying us, so I bought it for one ringit in order to have it
skinned. The difficulty was to catch it, because its quills are long and
sharp; but next evening the Murungs brought it to me enmeshed in a strong
net, and how to kill it was the next question.
The Dayaks at once proposed to shoot it with the sumpitan--a very good
scheme, though I fancied that darkness might interfere. However, in the
light of my hurricane lamp one man squatted on the ground and held the
animal, placing it in a half upright position before him. The executioner
stepped back about six metres, a distance that I thought unnecessary,
considering that if the poisoned dart hit the hand of the man it would be
a most serious affair. He put the blow-pipe to his mouth and after a few
moments the deadly dart entered the porcupine at one side of the neck. The
animal, which almost at once began to quiver, was freed from the
entangling net, then suddenly started to run round in a small circle, fell
on his back, and was dead in less than a minute after being hit.
It was a wonderful exhibition of the efficiency of the sumpitan and of the
accuracy of aim of the man who used the long heavy tube. The pipe, two
metres long, is held by the native with his hands close to the mouth,
quite contrary to the method we should naturally adopt. The man who coolly
held the porcupine might not have been killed if wounded, because the
quantity of poison used is less in the case of small game than large. The
poison is prepared from the sap of the upas tree, _antiaris toxicaria_,
which is heated until it becomes a dark paste. It is a fortunate fact that
these extremely efficient weapons, which noiselessly bring down birds and
monkeys from great heights, are not widely distributed over the globe. If
one is hit by the dart which is used when destined for man or big game,
and which has a triangular point, it is said that no remedy will avail.
Rajimin, the taxidermist, had frequent attacks of malaria with high fever,
but fortunately he usually recovered rapidly. One day I found him skinning
birds with his pulse registering one hundred and twenty-five beats a
minute. I engaged a Murung to assist in making my zoological collections,
and he learned to skin well and carefully, though slowly. Judging from the
number of long-nosed monkeys brought in, they must be numerous here. These
animals are at times met in droves of a hundred or more passing from
branch to branch through the woods. When old they cannot climb. One
morning this Dayak returned with three wah-wahs, and related that after
the mother had been shot and had fallen from the tree, the father seized
the young one and tried to escape, but they were both killed by the same
charge.
On account of adverse weather conditions most of the skins here spoiled,
in some degree at least, in spite of all efforts, especially the fleshy
noses of the long-nosed monkeys. A special brand of taxidermist's soap
from London, which contained several substitutes for arsenic and claimed
to be equally efficient, may have been at fault in part, though not
entirely, the main cause being the moist heat and the almost entire lack
of motility in the air. So little accustomed to wind do the natives here
appear to be that a small boy one day jubilantly drew attention to some
ripples in the middle of the river caused by an air current.
My Malay cook was taken ill, so I had to do most of the cooking myself,
which is not particularly pleasant when one's time is valuable; and when
he got well his lack of experience rendered it necessary for me to oversee
his culinary operations. One day after returning to my tent from such
supervision I had a curious adventure with a snake. It was a warm day
about half past one. All was quiet and not a blade stirred. I paused near
the tent opening, with my face toward the opposite side of the river,
which could be seen through an opening among the trees. Standing
motionless on the bank, which from there sloped gradually down toward the
river, more than a minute had elapsed when my attention was distracted by
a slight noise behind me. Looking to the right and backward my surprise
was great to perceive the tail-end of a black snake rapidly proceeding
toward the left. Hastily turning my eyes in that direction I beheld the
well-shaped, powerful, though somewhat slender, forward part of the
serpent, which, holding its head high, almost to the height of my knee,
made downward toward the river.
In passing over the open space along the river bank it had found its path
obstructed by some boxes, etc., that were in front of the tent opening,
and had suddenly changed its route, not noticing me, as I stood there
immovable. It thus formed a right angle about me scarcely twenty-five
centimetres distant. At first glance its shape suggested the redoubtable
king cobra, but two very conspicuous yellow parallel bands running
obliquely against each other across the flat, unusually broad head,
indicated another species, though probably of the same family.
The formidable head on its narrow neck moved rapidly from side to side; I
felt as if surrounded, and although the reptile evidently had no hostile
intentions and appeared as much surprised as I was, still, even to a
nature lover, our proximity was too close to be entirely agreeable, so I
stepped back over the snake. In doing so my foot encountered the kettle
that contained my bathing water, and the noise probably alarmed the
serpent, which rapidly glided down the little embankment, where it soon
reached the grass next to the river and disappeared. It was a magnificent
sight to watch the reptile, about two and a half metres in length, jet
black and perfectly formed, moving swiftly among the trees. The Malays
call this snake, whose venom is deadly, ular hanjalivan, and according to
the Murungs a full-grown man dies within half an hour from its bite. This
species appears to be fairly numerous here.
At times the natives here showed no disinclination to being photographed,
but they wanted wang (money) for posing. Usually I had to pay one florin
to each, or fifty cents if the hair was not long. At other times nothing
would induce them to submit to the camera. A young woman recently married
had a row with her husband one night, and the affair became very
boisterous, when suddenly they came to terms. The trouble arose through
her desire to earn some pin-money by being photographed in the act of
climbing an areca palm, a proceeding which did not meet with his approval.
There were three female blians in the kampong whom I desired to photograph
as they performed the dances connected with their office, but the
compensation they demanded was so exorbitant (two hundred florins in cash
and nine tins of rice) that we did not reach an agreement. Later in the
day they reduced their demand to thirty florins for a pig to be used at
the dancing, which proposition I also declined, the amount named being at
least six times the value of the animal, but I was more fortunate in my
dealings with the two male blians of the place, one of them a Dusun, and
succeeded in inducing them to dance for me one forenoon.
The two men wore short sarongs around their loins, the women's dress,
though somewhat shorter; otherwise they were nude except for bands, to
which numerous small metal rattles were attached, running over either
shoulder and diagonally across chest and back. After a preliminary trial,
during which one of them danced with much élan, he said: "I felt a spirit
come down in my body. This will go well." The music was provided by two
men who sat upon long drums and beat them with fervour and abandon. The
dance was a spirited movement forward and backward with peculiar steps
accompanied by the swaying of the body. The evolutions of the two dancers
were slightly different.
In October a patrouille of seventeen native soldiers and nine native
convicts, under command of a lieutenant, passed through the kampong. In
the same month in 1907 a patrouille had been killed here by the Murungs.
It must be admitted that the Dayaks had reason to be aggrieved against the
lieutenant, who had sent two Malays from Tumbang Topu to bring to him the
kapala's attractive wife--an order which was obeyed with a tragic
sequence. The following night, which the military contingent passed at the
kampong of the outraged kapala, the lieutenant and thirteen soldiers were
killed. Of course the Dayaks had to be punished; the government, however,
took the provocation into account.
The kapala's wife and a female companion demanded two florins each for
telling folklore, whereupon I expressed a wish first to hear what they
were able to tell. The companion insisted on the money first, but the
kapala's wife, who was a very nice woman, began to sing, her friend
frequently joining in the song. This was the initial prayer, without which
there could be no story-telling. She was a blian, and her way of relating
legends was to delineate stories in song form, she informed me. As there
was nobody to interpret I was reluctantly compelled to dispense with her
demonstration, although I had found it interesting to watch the strange
expression of her eyes as she sang and the trance-like appearance she
maintained. Another noticeable fact was the intense attachment of her
dogs, which centred their eyes constantly upon her and accompanied her
movements with strange guttural sounds.
With the Murungs, six teeth in the upper front jaw and six in the under
one are filed off, and there is no pain associated with the operation. The
kapala had had his teeth cut three times, first as a boy, then when he had
one child, and again when he had four children. The teeth of one of the
blians had been filed twice, once when he was a boy and again when he had
two children.
If a man has the means he is free to take four wives, who may all be
sisters if he so desires. As to the number of wives a man is allowed to
acquire, no exception is made in regard to the kapala. A brother is
permitted to marry his sister, and my informant said that the children
resulting from this union are strong; but, on the other hand, it is
forbidden for cousins to marry, and a still worse offence is for a man to
marry the mother of his wife or the sister of one's father or mother. If
that transgression has been committed the culprit must pay from one to two
hundred rupias, or if he cannot pay he must be killed with parang or
klevang (long knife). The children of such union are believed to become
weak.
When twelve years of age girls are regarded as marriageable, and sexual
relations are absolutely free until marriage; in fact, if she chooses to
have a young man share her mat it is considered by no means improper. If a
girl should be left with child and the father cannot be found she is
married to somebody else, though no man is forced to wed her. Marriage
relations are very strict and heavy fines are imposed on people at fault,
but divorces may be had provided payment is made, and a widow may remarry
if she desires to do so.
When a person dies there is much wailing, and if the deceased is a father
or mother people of the same house do not sleep for three days. The corpse
remains in the house three days, during which time a root called javau is
eaten instead of rice, babi and bananas being also permissible. The body
is washed and wrapped in white cotton cloth, bought from Malay traders,
and placed in a coffin made of iron-wood. As the coffin must not be
carried through the door, the house wall is broken open for it to pass on
its way to a cemetery in the utan. Sometimes as soon as one year
afterward, but usually much later, the coffin is opened, the bones are
cleaned with water and soap and placed in a new box of the same material
or in a gutshi, an earthen jar bought from the Chinese. The box or jar is
then deposited in a subterranean chamber made of iron-wood, called kobur
by both Malays and Murungs, where in addition are left the personal
effects of the deceased,--clothing, beads, and other ornaments,--and, if a
man, also his sumpitan, parang, axe, etc. This disposition of the bones is
accompanied by a very elaborate feast, generally called tiwah, to the
preparation of which much time is devoted.
According to a conception which is more or less general among the Dayaks,
conditions surrounding the final home of the departed soul are on the
whole similar to those existing here, but before the tiwah feast has been
observed the soul is compelled to roam about in the jungle three or four
years, or longer, until that event takes place. This elaborate ceremony is
offered by surviving relatives as an equivalent for whatever was left
behind by the deceased, whose ghost is regarded with apprehension.
Fortunately the Murungs were then preparing for such an observance at the
Bundang kampong higher up the river where I intended to visit. They were
making ready to dispose of the remains of no less a personage than the
mother of our kapala. A water-buffalo would be killed and the festival
would last for a week. In three years there would be another festal
occasion of two weeks' duration, at which a water-buffalo would again be
sacrificed, and when a second period of three years has elapsed the final
celebration of three weeks' duration will be given, with the same
sacrificial offering. Thus the occasions are seen to be of increasing
magnitude and the expenses in this case to be on a rising scale. It was
comparatively a small affair.
About a month later, when I stopped at Buntok, on the Barito, the
controleur of the district told me that an unusually great tiwah feast had
just been concluded in the neighbourhood. He had spent ten days there, the
Dayaks having erected a house for him to stay in. More than two hundred
pigs and nineteen water-buffaloes had been killed. Over three hundred
bodies, or rather remains of bodies, had previously been exhumed and
placed in forty boxes, for the accommodation of which a special house had
been constructed. These, with contents, were burned and the remains
deposited in ten receptacles made of iron-wood, those belonging to one
family being put in the same container.
Some of the Dayaks were much preoccupied with preparations for the Bundang
ceremony, which was postponed again and again. They encouraged me to
participate in the festivities, representing it as a wonderful affair. I
presented them with money to buy a sack of rice for the coming occasion,
and some of them went at once to Puruk Tjahu to purchase it. Having
overcome the usual difficulties in regard to getting prahus and men, and
Mr. Demmini having recovered from a week's illness, I was finally, early
in November, able to move on. Several people from our kampong went the
same day, and it looked as if the feast were really about to take place.
We proceeded with uneventful rapidity up-stream on a lovely day, warm but
not oppressively so, and in the afternoon arrived at Bundang, which is a
pleasant little kampong. The Dayaks here have three small houses and the
Malays have five still smaller. A big water-buffalo, which had been
brought from far away to be sacrificed at the coming ceremonial, was
grazing in a small field near by. The surrounding scenery was attractive,
having in the background a jungle-clad mountain some distance away, which
was called by the same name as the kampong, and which, in the clear air
against the blue sky, completed a charming picture. We found a primitive,
tiny pasang-grahan, inconveniently small for more than one person, and
there was hardly space on which to erect my tent.
There appeared to be more Siangs than Murungs here, the former, who are
neighbours and evidently allied to the latter, occupying the inland to the
north of the great rivers on which the Murungs are chiefly settled, part
of the Barito and the Laong. They were shy, friendly natives, and
distinguished by well-grown mustaches, an appendage I also later noted
among the Upper Katingans. The people told me that I might photograph the
arrangements incident to the feast as much as I desired, and also promised
to furnish prahus and men when I wished to leave.
The following day Mr. Demmini seemed worse than before, being unable to
sleep and without appetite. The festival was to begin in two days, but
much to my regret there seemed nothing else to do but to return to Puruk
Tjahu. The Dayaks proposed to take the sick man there if I would remain,
but he protested against this, and I decided that we should all leave the
following day. In the evening I attended the dancing of the Dayak women
around an artificial tree made up of bamboo stalks and branches so as to
form a very thick trunk. The dancing at the tiwa feast, or connected with
it, is of a different character and meaning from the general performance
which is to attract good antohs. This one is meant to give pleasure to the
departed soul. The scene was inside one of the houses, and fourteen or
fifteen different dances were performed, one of them obscene, but
presented and accepted with the same seriousness as the other varieties.
Some small girls danced extraordinarily well, and their movements were
fairylike in unaffected grace.
Enjoying the very pleasant air after the night's rain, we travelled
rapidly down-stream on the swollen river to Tumbang Marowei, where we
spent the night. There were twenty men from the kampong eager to accompany
me on my further journey, but they were swayed to and fro according to the
dictates of the kapala, who was resolutely opposed to letting other
kampongs obtain possession of us. He wanted to reserve for himself and the
kampong the advantages accruing from our need of prahus and men. To his
chagrin, in the morning there arrived a large prahu with four Murungs from
Batu Boa, who also wanted a chance at this bonanza, whereupon the kapala
began to develop schemes to harass us and to compel me to pay more.
Without any reason whatsoever, he said that only ten of the twenty men I
had engaged would be able to go. This did not frighten me much, as the
river was swollen and the current strong, so that one man in each of our
prahus would be sufficient to allow us to drift down to the nearest Malay
kampong, where I had been promised men some time before. At first I was
quite concerned about the loading of the prahus, as the natives all
exhibited a marked disinclination to work, the kapala, as a matter of
fact, having ordered a strike. However, with the ten men allowed I was
able by degrees to bring all our goods down to the river bank, whereupon
the kapala, seeing that I was not to be intimidated, permitted the rest of
the men to proceed.
It was an unpleasant affair, which was aggravated by what followed, and
was utterly at variance with my other experiences during two years among
the Dayaks. I was greatly surprised to observe that some of the men who
had been loitering near our goods on the bank of the river had begun to
carry off a number of large empty tins which had been placed there ready
for shipment. These are difficult to procure, and being very necessary for
conveying rice, salt, and other things, I had declined to give them away.
The natives had always been welcome to the small tin cans, also greatly in
favour with them. Milk and jam tins are especially in demand, and after
they have been thrown away the Dayaks invariably ask if they may have
them. As they are very dexterous in wood-work they make nicely carved
wooden covers for the tins, in which to keep tobacco or other articles.
Returning from one of many tours I had made back to the house from where
our belongings were taken, I caught sight of three Murungs running as fast
as they could, each carrying two large tins, the kapala calmly looking on.
I told him that unless they were immediately returned I should report the
matter to the government. This had the desired effect, and at his order no
less than sixteen large tins were promptly produced.
This was surprising, but as a faithful chronicler of things Bornean I feel
obliged to tell the incident, the explanation of which to a great extent
is the fact that the natives here have been too susceptible to the
demoralising Malay influence which has overcome their natural scruples
about stealing. It must be admitted that the Dayaks wherever I have been
are fond of wang (money), and they are inclined to charge high prices for
the articles they are asked to sell. They have, if you like, a childish
greed, which, however, is curbed by the influence of their religious
belief before it has carried them to the point of stealing. Under
continued Malay influence the innate longing for the possession of things
very much desired overwhelms them and conquers their scruples.
We afterward discovered that several things were missing, of no great
importance except a round black tin case containing thermometers and small
instruments, which without doubt had been appropriated by the owner of the
house where we had been staying. Two or three weeks previously he had
begged me to let him have it, as he liked it much and needed it. I said
that was impossible, but evidently he thought otherwise. Perhaps the
Murungs are more avaricious than other tribes. I was told in Puruk Tjahu
that they were greedy, and it seems also as if their scruples about
stealing are less acute than elsewhere in Borneo. The reputation of the
Dayaks for honesty is great among all who know them. As far as my
knowledge goes the Murungs are mild-mannered and polite, but not
particularly intelligent. The higher-class people, however, are
intelligent and alert, manifesting firmness and strength of mind.
It was one o'clock before we were able to start, but circumstances
favoured us, and after dark we reached the kampong at the mouth of the
Laong River, where we made ourselves quite comfortable on the landing
float, and I rejoiced at our recent escape from an unpleasant situation.
The following day we arrived at Puruk Tjahu. After a few days' stay it was
found expedient to return to Bandjermasin before starting on the proposed
expedition through Central Borneo. A small steamer belonging to the Royal
Packet Boat Company maintains fortnightly connections between the two
places, and it takes only a little over two days to go down-stream.