THE SAPUTANS--HOW THE EARS OF THE CHIEF WERE PIERCED--AN UNEXPECTED ATTACK
OF FILARIASIS--DEPARTURE FROM THE SAPUTANS--DOWN THE KASAO RIVER--
"TOBOGGANING" THE KIHAMS
The Penyahbongs, men of the jungle, who left us to return home, had not
proved such good workers as the Saputans, who, though in a pronounced
degree smaller, mostly below medium size, are very strongly built. The
first named, nevertheless, are their superiors both physically and
morally. The more homely-looking Saputans, though friendly and willing to
assist you, try to gain an advantage in bargaining. They set high prices
on all things purchased from them and cheat if permitted to do so.
Although no case of actual stealing came to my notice, they are dishonest,
untruthful, and less intelligent than the tribes hitherto met. The chiefs
from two neighbouring kampongs paid us visits, and they and their men made
a somewhat better impression, besides having less skin disease.
The Saputans are a crude and somewhat coarse people who formerly lived in
caves in the mountains further east, between the Mahakam and the Murung
(Barito) Rivers, and migrated here less than a hundred years ago. Lidju, a
Long-Glat raja from Batokelau, who at one time was my interpreter and
assistant, told me that the Saputans had made a contract with his
grandfather to take them to the Kasao. This report was confirmed by the
kapala of Batokelau. The Saputans probably do not number over 500 all
told.
The custom of cutting the teeth, eight in upper front and six in the lower
jaw, is observed to some extent, but is not regularly practised. Both
sexes have shrill, sharp voices. The men admire women who have long hair,
light yellow skin, and long extension of the ear-lobes. The women like men
to be strong and brave on headhunting expeditions. Suicide is very rare.
They may use ipoh or tuba for the purpose. All animals are eaten without
restriction. The men are good hunters and know how to kill the tiger-cat
with sumpitan or spear. They also make good, large mats from split rattan,
which are spread on the floor, partly covering it. The women make mats
from palm leaves, and when the Saputans are preparing for the night's rest
the latter kind is unrolled over the rattan variety. Formerly sumpitans
were made in sufficient number, but the art of the blacksmith has almost
died out, only one remaining at the present time, and most of the
sumpitans are bought from the Bukats on the Mahakam River.
There appear to be more men than women in the tribe. Children are wanted,
and though the usual number in a family is four, sometimes there is only
one. There are no restrictions in diet for a pregnant woman beyond the
prohibition of eating of other people's food.
Only when the chief has a wedding is there any festival, which consists in
eating. There is no marriage ceremony, but having secured the girl's
consent and paid her father and mother the young man simply goes to her
mat. They then remain two days in the house, because they are afraid of
the omen birds. On the third day both go to fetch water from the river and
she begins to husk rice. Monogamy is practised, only the chief being
allowed to have five or more wives. The very enterprising kapala of Data
Láong, to the displeasure of his first wife, recently had acquired a
second, the daughter of a Penihing chief. While the payment of a parang
may be sufficient to secure a wife from among the kampong people, a chiefs
daughter is worth ten gongs, and in order to raise the money necessary to
obtain the gongs he set all the men of the kampong to work, gathering
rattan, for one month. Though each of them received something for his
labour, it was less than one-fourth of the amount accruing from the sale
of the product, leaving him sufficient to pay the price demanded for the
new bride. In Long Iram a gong may be bought for f. 30-80, and for
purposes of comparison the fact is mentioned that a Malay usually is
required to pay f. 60 to the girl's father to insure his consent to the
marriage.
April was rainy, with frequent showers day and night, and thunder was
heard every evening. Life there was the same as in most Dayak kampongs,
nearly all the people being absent during the day at the ladangs, and in
the evening they bring home the roots of the calladium, or other edible
roots and plants, which are cooked for food. The paddi had been harvested,
but the crop was poor, and therefore they had made no feast. There is no
dancing here except war dances. For a generation they have been gathering
rubber, taking it far down the Mahakam to be sold. Of late years rubber
has nearly disappeared in these parts, so they have turned their attention
to rattan.
One day a man was seen running with a sumpitan after a dog that had
hydrophobia, and which repeatedly passed my tent. The apparent attempt to
kill the animal was not genuine. He was vainly trying to catch it that he
might tie its legs and throw it into the river, because the people believe
that the shedding of a dog's blood would surely result in misfortune to
their health or crops. After three days the dog disappeared.
In Data Láong few were those men, women, and children who had not some
form of the skin diseases usual among the Dayaks, which were rendered
still more repugnant by their habit of scratching until the skin bleeds. A
man and wife whose skin looked dry and dead, the whole body exhibiting a
whitish colour, one day came to my tent. Standing, or crouching, before
the tent opening they formed a most offensive picture, vigorously
scratching themselves, while particles of dead skin dropped in such
quantity that after some minutes the ground actually showed an
accumulation resembling snow. They were accompanied by a twelve-year-old
daughter who, strange to say, had a perfectly clean skin.
The belief about disease and its cure is identical with that of other
tribes I have met. The evil antohs are believed to be very numerous in the
mountainous region at the headwaters of the Kasao River, from whence they
visit the kampongs, though only the blians are able to see them. The dead
person is given new garments and the body is placed in a wooden box made
of boards tied together, which is carried to a cave in the mountains,
three days' travel from Data Laong. There are many caves on the steep
mountain-side and each kampong has its own.
The Saputans were shy about being photographed, but their objections could
be overcome by payments of coin. The kapala, always alive to the value of
money, set the example by consenting to pose with his family for a
consideration of one florin to each. But the risks incurred, of the usual
kinds hitherto described, were believed to be so great that even the sum
of ten florins was asked as reward in the case of a single man. A
prominent man from another kampong was preparing to make holes through the
ears of the kapala, and for a compensation I was permitted to photograph
the operation, which is an important one. It is the privilege of chiefs
and men who have taken heads to wear a tiger-cat's corner tooth inserted
in a hole in the upper part of each ear. The operation must not be
performed when the man in question has a small child.
Surrounded by four men, the kapala seated himself on the stump of a tree.
The hair was first cut away above the ears, a long board was placed
upright behind and against his right ear, and the operator adjusted his
tool--an empty rifle cartridge of small calibre, which was encased in the
end of a small piece of wood. After having carefully ascertained that all
was in order he struck the tool, using a loose axe-head with sure hand,
two or three times. The supporting board was removed and a bamboo cylinder
of exactly the same size as the empty cartridge, which was held in
readiness, was immediately put into the hole. The round piece of cartilage
which had been cut out was taken care of, lest it be eaten by a dog and
cause illness. Blood streamed profusely from the ear, and, strange to
tell, the robust man looked as if he were going to faint. The four
assistants closed round him, stroking his arms, and he attempted to rise,
but had to resume his seat.
Usually nothing untoward happens at such operations, but in this case an
evil antoh had taken possession of the kapala and was eating blood from
the wound. The principal blian was hastily sent for, and arriving
promptly, proceeded to relieve the suffering kapala. He clapped his hands
over the ear, and, withdrawing, opened them twice in quick succession,
then, after a similar third effort, a fair-sized stone (less than a
centimetre in diameter) was produced and thrown into the river. Slight
rain began to fall, and the scene was brought to a dramatic conclusion by
the exhausted chief being ignominiously carried away on the back of a
strong young man. At the house another stone was produced by the same
sleight-of-hand, but more strenuous measures had to be adopted in order to
remedy the uncanny incident.
A pig was brought up into the room, where blood from its throat was
collected. Part of it was smeared on the kapala, and part was mixed with
uncooked rice as a sacrifice to some good antoh, who is called upon to
drive the evil one away. Outside on the river bank four stalks of bamboo,
which had branches and leaves at the top, were placed in a slanting
position. From the stems of these were hung two diminutive bamboo
receptacles made in the form of square, stiff mats, on which was placed
the mixture of rice and blood for the antoh to eat. Also suspended were
two short pieces of bamboo cut open lengthwise so as to form two small
troughs, into which a little blood was poured for the same supernatural
power to drink.
When all this had been made ready the old blian, accompanied by two young
pupils, took position before the sacrifice. For about ten minutes he
spoke, with his face to the south, requesting a good antoh to come and the
evil one to depart, after which he, the young men, and the kapala, who
stood near, all repeatedly threw up rice in a southerly direction. This
was done in expectation that the good antoh, having eaten of the
sacrifice, would feel disposed to drive the bad one away.
In the middle of April I was seized with an attack of filariasis, a
disorder caused by the sting of a certain kind of mosquito. During the day
I had felt pain in the glands of the loins, which were swollen, without
giving the matter any particular attention. As I am not in the habit of
being ill, in fact, so far had prided myself on growing younger each year,
this experience of suddenly becoming very weak and miserable was most
unexpected. Vomiting set in, so I went immediately to bed, and slept
soundly during the night and also most of the next day, when I found
myself with an extremely high fever, much more severe than that which
accompanies malaria, a pernicious form of which I once passed through on
the west coast of Mexico. Until many months afterward I did not know the
nature of my disorder, but resorted to the simple remedy always
available--to stop eating, as Japanese soldiers are reported to do when
wounded. On the fourth day the fever abated, after which improvement was
rapid. Two days later my general condition was fair, although the lower
part of the right leg, especially about the ankle, was red and swollen. I
soon felt completely restored in spite of the fact that a painless swelling
of the ankle remained.
Two months later I had another attack, as sudden and unexpected as the
first. This was ushered in by a chill exactly like that preceding malaria,
but the fever that followed was less severe than on the former occasion,
and in a few days I was well again.
More than a year afterward hypodermic injections of sodium cacodylate were
attempted with apparent success, though the swellings continued. Many
months later an improvement in the condition of the leg was gradually
brought about, to which perhaps a liberal consumption of oranges separate
from meals, largely contributed. This affection is not common in Borneo. A
native authority in Kasungan, on the Katingan River in South Borneo,
himself a Kahayan, told me of a remedy by which he and eight other natives
had been completely cured. It is a diffusion from three kinds of plants,
applied externally, samples of which I took.
On the last day of April we were able to continue our journey down the
Kasao River, in seven prahus with twenty-eight men, twenty-four of whom
were Penihings, who, with their raja, as the chiefs are called on the
Mahakam, had arrived from below by appointment. Owing to my recent
distressing experience I was not sorry to say farewell to Data Laong,
where the women and children were afraid of me to the last, on account of
my desire to have them photographed. The Saputans are kind, but their
intellect is of a low order, and the unusual prevalence of skin disease
renders them unattractive though always interesting subjects.
A glorious morning! The river, running high and of a dirty yellowish-green
colour, carried us swiftly with the current in the cool atmosphere of the
morning mist which the sun gradually cleared away. Repeatedly, though for
a few moments only, an enchanting fragrance was wafted to me from large,
funnel-shaped, fleshy white flowers with violet longitudinal stripes that
covered one of the numerous varieties of trees on our way. Many blossoms
had fallen into the water and floated on the current with us. It was a
pleasure to have again real Dayak paddlers, which I had not had since my
travels in the Bultmgan.
We dashed through the tall waves of many smaller rapids and suddenly,
while I was having breakfast, which to save time is always taken in the
prahus, I found myself near what appeared to be a rapidly declining kiham.
A fathomless abyss seemed yawning before us, although the approach thereto
was enticing, as the rushing waters turned into white foam and played in
the strong sunlight. We passed a timid prahu which was waiting at one side
of the course, but had I desired to do so there was no time to stop my
prahu. That might have meant calamity, for we were already within a few
seconds of the rushing, turbulent waters. So down we went, with a
delightful sensation of dancing, falling water, strong sunlight, and the
indescribable freshness and swiftness of it all. The Penihing at the bow
looked back at me and nodded with a satisfied expression on his
countenance, as if to say: "That was well done."
There were kihams after kihams to be passed; at one place where the rapids
were long, from twelve to eighteen men helped to direct each prahu with
rattan ropes, preventing it from going where the water was deep and the
waves ran high. But my men, who appeared to be skilful, evidently decided
not to depend on the rattan but steered deliberately out into the deep
water; the prahu began to move swiftly, and, tossed by the big waves, the
large tins and boxes were shaken about and threatened to fall overboard.
The bundle of one of the Dayaks actually dropped into the water. There
were only four men in the prahu, and the one at the bow, on whom so much
depends for safety, seeing that it was his bundle, immediately jumped
after it, leaving the boat to its fate. Luckily there was no reason for
the others to do likewise, and I escaped with drenched legs and a wet
kodak.
New kihams soon compelled us to take out half the load and make double
trips, which proved slow and tedious work. I sat on the rocks waiting, and
ate luncheon, which consisted of one small tin of macquerel in oil, put up
in France, very convenient for travelling. In front of me on the other
side of the river a lonely Malay was working eagerly, trying to float a
big bundle of rattan which had lodged in the midst of a waterfall against
a large stone, and which finally he succeeded in loosening. Suddenly it
floated, and as suddenly he leaped upon it, riding astride it down the
foaming waters.
The prospect for some smooth sailing now appeared favourable, but scarcely
had I made myself comfortable, lying down in my prahu, before I was
drenched by furious waves into which we had plunged. We soon got out of
them, however, and continued our swift travel downward. In the distance
most of our prahus could be seen in a calm inlet on the other side, where
Mr. Loing was awaiting our arrival; but my men continued on their course.
In a few seconds we entered the boiling waves of the rapids, down which we
went at thrilling speed. We literally jumped a small waterfall, then,
sharply turning to the left, passed another. More than a third of the boat
was in the air as we leaped over it. The Dayaks stand in the prahu and
every nerve is at full tension. The man at the bow shouts and warns. They
are daring, but manage to avoid the hidden rocks with which the course of
the river is studded, now steering slightly to the left, now more to the
right. Thirty or fifty centimetres one way or the other may make all the
difference between safety and disaster. Three men in a small prahu which
follows immediately behind, seeing that they cannot avoid dashing against
a rock, jump overboard, pull the boat out of its course, and save it.
Ahead was another turn in the river where the third kiham in succession
awaited us, and after some moments of comparative quiet we again dashed
down into turbulent waves, and making a swift turn to the right on a
downward grade glided into smoother waters. The excitement was over and
the experience had been as delightful as it was unexpected. It reminded
one of tobogganing in Norway and was great fun, although the enjoyment was
always mingled with feelings of anxiety concerning the cameras and
instruments.
The luggage was unloaded from the prahus which were waiting at the head of
the last rapids, and was carried on the backs of natives who afterward
took the empty boats down. Although the men had worked incessantly for
nine hours, on the advice of the chief it was decided to proceed to
Samariting, the first Penihing kampong. Half the goods was stored near the
beach, to be called for the following day, and the now comfortably loaded
prahus made ready for the descent of the next rapids, which he said were
risky. He therefore was going to walk himself and advised us to do
likewise. Rain began to fall. On the high river bank I waited to see them
off. The first prahu had to return and take another course; the men all
seemed to be hesitating. Finally it made a fresh dash forward. Near the
end of the long rapids it almost disappeared from view, appeared again,
steering first to right then rapidly to left again. There was the
dangerous place, and having in this manner seen most of them pass
successfully, I walked on and shortly afterward boarded my prahu, which
carried us swiftly down to Samariting.
The river bank on which the kampong is built is lower than usual, and the
place is clean and attractive. All the people look strikingly more healthy
than the Saputans, and I saw a few very nice-looking young girls. The men
swarmed round me like bees, all wanting in a most amiable way to help put
up my tent. During the day I had lost the cover of my red kettle--annoying
enough when it cannot by any means be replaced--but even a more serious
loss would have been compensated by the delightful experience of the day,
which was without other mishaps.
Our goods having been safely brought in, the next day about noon we
started in fully loaded prahus. All went well with the exception of one of
the smaller boats which, timidly working down along the bank, suddenly
turned over and subsided on a rock. The men did their best to save the
contents, the rapid current making it impossible for us to stop until we
were a hundred metres further down, where the Dayaks made ready to gether
up boxes and other articles that came floating on the current. Nothing was
lost, but everything got wet.