FRONT OF THE CHIEF’S ROOM. ON THE LEFT, NEAR THE EDGE OF THE PHOTOGRAPH,
IS THE WOMAN WHO HAD BEEN ABDUCTED FROM HER HOME ON THE BARAM RIVER, AND
WAS AT THIS TIME BEING RETURNED TO HER FAMILY BY LAKI JOK ORANG, A CHIEF
OF THE REJANG RIVER (see p. 105). THE MAN RESTING HIS FEET AGAINST THE
SIDE OF THE HEARTH IS THE BROTHER OF ABAN AVIT. IN THE UPPER LEFT-HAND
CORNER IS THE RACK WHEREON THE PARANGS OF VISITORS MUST BE HUNG.]
Thus we sat as twilight faded in Aban Avit’s veranda,—in the home of
these people, whereof every detail made up their familiar, common-place
life, the only life from cradle to grave that they had ever known or
would know, while we by their side were aliens from a world twelve
thousand miles away, from a country that they had never heard of, and
of a race which many of them had never seen before. We were in the very
heart of the Bornean jungle, guests, in the house of a barbarous ‘savage’
and bloodthirsty ‘head-hunter,’—but, these terms, when applied at that
moment to our host, what misnomers! Could contrast be more emphatic than
the perfect peacefulness of our surroundings, and the thought that a man
as benignant and hospitable as Aban Avit should cherish as his highest
aim in life to add every year to that cluster of human heads hanging
from the rafters just above us, and gently swaying in the heat ascending
from the flames? Is it conceivable that this gentle-hearted man, and
his circle of good-humored friends, could take pride and pleasure in
recognising and rehearsing the slashes and gashes borne by each head?
The long gash there, on the left side of that skull, showing through the
piece of old casting-net, was made by Tama Lohong’s parang, the very one
with carved wooden handle that he carries to this day. The owner of the
next skull was fishing when he fell a victim to a stealthy thrust from
Apoi’s spear. This small one is that of a young girl who tried to escape
from the rear of a house when they burned out those Madangs, way over
near the Rejang River. Thus they can enumerate them all, chief and slave,
man, woman, girl, and boy. It all seemed so at variance with Aban Avit’s
genial, courteous hospitality, that I wondered if it were possible
to look at these skulls through his eyes, and to sympathise with his
thrill of pride and exultation in them. I waited until Aban Avit had his
cigarette fairly rolled and lit, and then, trying not to appear in the
least antagonistic, lest I should fail to elicit his genuine feelings,
I asked, ‘O Sabilah, [Blood-brother] why is it that all you people of
Kalamantan kill each other and hang up these heads? In the land I come
from such a thing is never known; I fear that it would be ill-spoken of
there, indeed perhaps, thought quite horrible. What does Aban Avit think
of it?’ He turned to me in utter, absolute surprise, at first with eyes
half-closed, as doubting that he heard aright, and letting the smoke curl
slowly out of his mouth for a moment, he then replied, with unwonted
vehemence:—‘No, Tuan! No! the custom is not horrible. It is an ancient
custom, a good, beneficent custom, bequeathed to us by our fathers
and our fathers’ fathers; it brings us blessings, plentiful harvests,
and keeps off sickness, and pains. Those who were once our enemies,
hereby become our guardians, our friends, our benefactors.’ ‘But,’ I
interrupted, ‘how does Aban Avit know that these dried heads do all this?
Don’t you make it an excuse just because you like to shed blood and to
kill?’ ‘Ah, Tuan, you white men had no great Chief, like Tokong, to show
you what was right; haven’t you ever heard the story of Tokong and his
people? He was Rajah of the Sibops and the father of all the Kayans,
and lived long, long, long ago.’ I was not acquainted with the story of
Tokong, so I begged him to relate it; then, squatting on the floor with
his forearms lightly resting on his knees, and his hands dangling in
front of him, he meditatively relit his cigarette, and, gazing lovingly
up at the cluster of skulls, began:—
‘It was in the old, old days, long before the Government came here, (by
the Government, I mean our Tuan Rajah Brooke,) it happened that on a time
the descendant of the heaven-born Katirah Murai, Tokong, and his men of
the Sibop tribe were on an expedition down-river to punish a household of
thieves who had stolen their crop of rice the year before, and had chased
Tokong’s women and children from the jungle-clearings. It was the time
of year when the fields had just been planted, and before the rice had
sprouted; so Tokong took out his warriors to teach these thieves that
this year there should be no more stealing. When they had gone down-river
to the great bamboo clump where they had to cross through the jungle,
they drew their canoes up to the bank, and, with Tokong leading, started
on their stealthy march. When the eye of day looked straight down at
them over their heads, they rested on the bank of a small stream which
ran round that great rock, (perhaps, Tuan, you have seen it,)—we call it
“Batu Kusieng,”—near the head-waters of the Belaga and Tinjar Rivers.
They had cooked, and eaten, and had drawn out the pegs of wood whereon
their rice-pots rested, and Rajah Tokong was slipping his head through
his war-coat and girding on his parang, when he heard, coming from under
the great rock, a squeaking, croaking voice, uttering, “Wong kokók teta
Batók.”[7] He paused, and, turning round to listen to the voice, saw a
large frog with its young ones about it sitting just under the edge of
the rock. “Greetings to you, Kop,” [Frog] said the Rajah. “What is the
meaning of your croaking?” and Kop replied, “Alas, what fools you Sibops
are! You go out to battle and kill men, but you take back with you to
ornament your shields only their hair; whereas, did you but know it, if
you took the whole head you would have blessings beyond words. Insooth,
you heavy-livered people know not how to take a head. Look here, and
I’ll show you.” Thus spoke Kop, and straightway seized one of his little
ones, and with one stroke of his parang cut off its head. Tokong was
exceedingly angry at the impudence and the cruelty of the frog, and,
paying no further attention to it, ordered his men to advance at once.
But some of the older men among them could not help thinking that perhaps
Kop spoke the truth, and that night, while they sat round the fire,
holding a council of war over the attack on the enemy’s house, close at
hand, they urged Tokong to allow them to follow the frog’s advice. At
first, Tokong, still very angry because Kop had called the Sibops “fools”
and “heavy-livered,” refused; but finally, seeing that many of his best
men were in favor of it, he granted their request. Next morning, when the
sky began to turn gray and the birds in the trees were just waking up,
the Sibops noiselessly carried armfuls of bark and grass, and placed
them beneath the thieves’ house, and set fire to them, and the flames
ran quickly everywhere. Out rushed the men and women, some jumping
into the flames, others trying to slide down the house-posts; but all
were met with slashes and stabs from the swords and spears of Tokong’s
men. Many were killed that day, and the heads of three were cut off
and carried away by Tokong’s party, who retreated at once, and, almost
before they knew it, were at the landing-place on the river. To their
great amazement, they found their boats all ready and launched! No sooner
were they seated than the boats began to move off, of their own accord,
right up-stream in the direction of home. It was a miracle! The current
of the stream changed and ran up hill, as it does at flood-tide at the
mouth of a river. They almost immediately reached the landing-place close
to their house, and were overjoyed to see that the crops planted only
fifteen days before had not only sprouted, but had grown, had ripened,
and were almost ready for the harvest. In great astonishment they hurried
through the clearings, and up to their house. There, they found still
greater wonders! those who were ill when the party set out were now well,
the lame walked and the blind saw! Rajah Tokong and all his people were
convinced on the spot that it was because they had followed Kop’s advice,
and they vowed a vow that ever afterward the heads of their enemies
should be cut off and hung up in their houses. This is the story of Rajah
Tokong, Tuan. We all follow his good example. These heads above us have
brought me all the blessings I have ever had; I would not have them taken
from my home for all the silver in the country.’
[Illustration: SKULL OF A CHIEF OF THE KELABIT TRIBE.
IT IS DRAPED WITH STRIPS OF PALM LEAVES, POSSIBLY TO REPRESENT HAIR, AND
ORNAMENTED WITH WOODEN EARS, EAR-PENDANTS, AND A LONG WOODEN NOSE. SUCH
ORNAMENTATION OF SKULLS IS NOT USUAL, AT LEAST IN THE BARAM DISTRICT.]
He turned to appeal to his people sitting near, and they, as many as
understood Malay, nodded their heads, glancing from him to us, and
murmuring ‘Betúl, betúl!’ [’Tis true, ’tis true] He paused to get an
ember out of the glowing heap of ashes to light his cigarette again,
which had become much crumpled during the narration of Rajah Tokong’s
first head-hunt, and after he had it once more in shape, I asked him if
he would not regard it as somewhat of an inconvenience if his own head
were to be cut off, just to bring blessings to an enemy’s house. ‘Tuan,’
he replied, ‘I do not want to become dead any more than I want to move
from where I am; if my head were cut off, my second self would go to
Bulun Matai, [the Fields of the Dead,] where beyond a doubt I should be
happy; the Dayongs tell us, and surely they know, that those who have
been brave and have taken heads, as I have, will be respected in that
other world and will have plenty of riches. When I die my friends will
beat the gongs loud and shout out my name, so that those who are already
in Bulun Matai, will know that I am coming, and meet me when I cross over
the stream on Bintang Sikópa [the great log.] I shall be glad enough to
see them. But I don’t want to go to-day, nor to-morrow.’ His faith seemed
immovable, but I could not resist the temptation of suggesting a doubt,
so I asked him what if the Dayongs were wrong, and there were no Bulun
Matai, and that when he stopped breathing he really died and knew no
more. He answered me almost with scorn for such a doubt. ‘Tuan, nothing
really dies, it changes from one thing to another. The Dayongs must be
right, for they have been to the Fields of the Dead and come back to tell
us all about it.’ ‘Don’t you feel sorry,’ I asked, ‘for those that you
kill? It hurts badly to be cut by a parang; you don’t like it, and those
whom you cut down dislike it as much as you do; they are no more anxious
to go to Apo Leggan or Long Julán [Regions in Bulun Matai] than you are.’
‘Ah, Tuan,’ he replied, with the suggestion of a patronizing chuckle in
his voice, ‘you feel just as I did, when I was a little boy and had never
seen blood. But I outgrew such feelings, as every one should. My father,
a very great warrior, and known and feared by the people of many, many
rivers, wanted his sons to be as brave and fearless as he was himself.
So one day he dragged out into the jungle old Bállo Lahíng, [widow
of Lahíng,] and tied her fast to a tree by rattans on her wrists and
ankles. She was a slave-woman, captured when she was a young girl, by his
grandfather over in the Batang Kayan country, and, at the time I speak
of, she was very old, and weak, and very thin, and couldn’t do any work
because she was nearly blind. My father told my brother yonder and me,
and one or two other boys, all of us, little fellows then, (I remember,
my ears were still sore from having these holes for tiger-cat’s teeth cut
in them,) well,—he told us we must go out with spears and learn to stick
them in something alive, and not to be afraid to see blood, nor to hear
screams,—then I felt just as you do. Besides, I was really very fond of
old Bállo Lahíng; she it was who tied on my first chawat [waist-cloth]
for me, I remembered it well, for she laughed a great deal at me, and
then I saw how few teeth she had, and she often used to sing me to sleep
with that song about “Tama Poyong with a twisted leg.” I couldn’t bear
the thought of hurting her, and sending her away off to Long Julán, so I
flatly refused to take a spear with me. But my father said I must; there
was no harm in it; that it was right, and I must take one; he pulled me
by the arm, and I had to follow. Then I was afraid she might see me, so
I sneaked round behind the tree and just pricked her with the point of
the iron, then she guessed what my father had tied her there for, and
screamed as loud as she could, “Oh, don’t! Oh, don’t! Oh, don’t!” over
and over again, and very fast; I pricked her a little harder the next
time to hear what she would say, but she only kept on shrieking the same
words. Then one of the other boys, smaller even than I, ran his spear
right through her thigh, like this, and the old people laughed and said
that was good; and the blood ran down all over the wrinkles on her knees;
and then I wanted to make it run just in the same way, so I pushed and
pushed my spear hard into her; and after that, I never thought whether
it was Bállo Lahíng or not, I just watched the blood; and we all ran
round her piercing her here and piercing there until she sank right down
on the ground with her hands in the rattan loops above her head, which
tumbled over to one side, and no more blood came out of her. Then my
father praised us all loudly, and me in particular, and said we had been
good boys and had done well! How could I feel at all sorry then for the
old thing? I thought only that I had obeyed my father and that I was a
great warrior and could wear horn-bill’s feathers, and tiger-cat’s teeth.
That’s the way to become a Man; a baby is afraid of blood, Tuan. My
father was right. No man can be brave who doesn’t love to see his spear
draw blood.’
I responded with many nods, drew furiously at my pipe, and fell silent.
Aban Avit believed that he had made a convert.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE BELLES OF ABAN AVIT’S HOUSE.
ACCORDING TO THE FEMININE FASHIONS OF THE BERAWANS, THE EAR-LOBES ARE NOT
ELONGATED WITH WEIGHTS, BUT ARE STRETCHED AROUND DISCS OF WOOD OR LARGE
MUSHROOM-SHAPED PLUGS OF SILVER-WORK, IMPORTED BY MALAY TRADERS FROM
BRUNEI, THE METROPOLIS OF NORTHERN BORNEO. FAINT LINES OF TATTOOING MAY
BE SEEN ON THE ARMS BELOW THE ELBOW AND ON THE INSTEP OF THE RIGHT FOOT.
THE YOUNG WOMAN WAS EXCEEDINGLY WORRIED BY THE APPEARANCE OF MY CAMERA,
AND ASSUMED, SO SHE DECLARED, THAT WITH IT I COULD SEE HER THROUGH AND
THROUGH AND KNOW HER VERY THOUGHTS.]
Aban Avit’s faith in a future life was invincible, and thoroughly
characteristic of the Oriental mind, which accepts that faith with an
assurance which should put to the blush an Occidental Agnostic. To be
sure, to attain the Oriental Paradise does not depend upon the adherence
in this life to that morality which distinguishes good and bad actions.
It is noteworthy, that in several of these Oriental languages there is no
word to express ‘sin.’ A cruel and vindictive man is to be shunned merely
because his actions are disagreeable or inconvenient to those about
him. But when he dies, and can then cause no more trouble, his memory
is as cherished as a Saint’s, and those who knew him will give him the
customary amount of profuse wailing, and believe that his spirit passes
as surely to the same ‘heaven’ as the kindest and gentlest of them all.
How greatly the faith of the Borneans in eternal life is indebted to
their surroundings can be realized perhaps only by one who has lived in
that boundless jungle, where, on every hand, Nature is in her wildest,
most exuberant, most lavish mood; where life dies and is renewed in an
hour. Is it any wonder that the Jungle people, with this eternal loss
and eternal gain ever present, think no more of cutting down a human
fellow-creature than of chopping down a tree or of plucking a gaudy
flower? The jungle is an ever-present ocular proof that life follows
life. Here beneath our cold skies we are every year reminded of decay and
death in the withering grass, the falling leaves, and the bare branches
of winter; the long waiting for Spring bids us look forward to a future
away from this scene of death. In the jungle there is no death, the
leaves fall while they are still green, and in a night, lo! new ones take
their place; an ancient tree falls, but the mighty trunk does not lie
arid and stiff to be slowly covered with pale leathery lichens; hardly
has it touched the ground before it is covered with a translucent shroud
of tender green, which seems but a renewal and continuation of its own
life; and before the burning sun shining through the gap can scorch the
delicate orchids, the gap is closed by a new eager growth and a young
tree springs from the earth upturned by the broken roots. Can any dweller
amid such scenes believe otherwise than that death is but an exchange of
life?
Of what can be called a religion the Borneans have little; they are,
to a certain extent, idolaters, and their projects are banned or blest
by omens drawn from certain birds and animals, but mainly by auguries
interpreted from the livers of sacrificed swine and from fowls; wherein
they are no more barbarous than the ancient Romans. But the one
custom, to which they all cling with a tenacity born of what is to
them its proved efficacy, is the taking of human heads. Can they not
recount indisputable proof after proof, drawn from their own veritable
experience, that these precious influences over the domestic hearth
bring the very purest of blessings, and health, and wealth to the whole
household?
[Illustration: THE DRUDGE OF A KAYAN HOUSEHOLD.
ONE OF THE OLD, WORN-OUT DRUDGES OF A KAYAN HOUSEHOLD, WHOSE DAYS OF
ACTIVE LABOR IN THE FIELDS BEING OVER, HER DUTIES CONSIST IN CARRYING UP
THE WATER FOR COOKING FROM THE RIVER. IT WAS SUCH AN OLD WOMAN AS THIS
WHO WAS SACRIFICED IN THE EDUCATION OF ABAN AVIT AND HIS BROTHER.]
Be it borne in mind that an enemy’s head is not like the scalp of our
American Indians, a mere trophy; it is an object of heartfelt veneration,
an earnest of blessing to the whole community. Such is the round of life
among them that a pretext for a head-hunt is readily found; the solemn
ceremony of putting off the mourning for a dead Chief suggests it; or
when a harvest is completed; or when a Chief takes a new wife, etc. In
all these ceremonies the acquisition of new heads is of prime importance,
and those, too, who did not participate in the hunt, and even very young
boys, may share in the glory of this acquisition, if they will merely put
on war-clothes, and before the heads are taken up into the house strike a
blow at them with a parang. [The ceremonies attending head-hunts I give
elsewhere.] Water sprinkled from the palm leaves, wherein the heads have
been wrapped, purifies women after periods of mourning, and they may
once more wear their ornaments, and bathe in the river, and the men may
thereafter shave their temples. When finally hung up in the house, the
heads have lost all semblance to life, and are mere blackened skulls, not
exactly ornamental, it must be admitted, but by no means as repulsive as
might be at first supposed.
Among the Kayans it is most strictly forbidden for any one, except the
very aged, to touch these heads. Sickness, possibly death, follows a
disregard of this rule; but the aged, who are at any rate on the brink
of the grave, may fearlessly handle them. At a harvest festival, it is
an Iban custom to take the old skulls down, and women then carry them,
together with the new ones, in their dances; rice is thrust between the
jaws, and arrack poured over them, that they also, to the extent of their
limited capacity, may share in the feast.
[This account of Aban Avit’s conversation is more or less composite;
the words which I have put into his mouth are not solely his, but there
is none of them that I have not heard emphatically expressed by other
natives; I have merely made one man the mouth-piece of several. The story
of the sacrifice of the old woman for the moral and physical training of
the boys, I have endeavored to give as I heard it.]
In the accompanying view of the veranda of Aban Avit’s house, the skulls
may be seen hanging in a cluster over the fireplace around which the
people are grouped. For this photograph a trap-door in the roof had to
be raised to admit light. Draped over the skulls, here and there, are
pieces of bark cloth and shreds of palm leaves; the framework whereon the
heads are hung is made of hoops of rattan, one inside the other, so that
these invaluable relics may be arranged in a thick symmetrical cluster.
Among some tribes it is customary to place the skull of a rhinoceros in
the centre of the group of human skulls. This animal is so ferocious and
so hard to kill that it is deemed worthy of the honor. Along the roof,
half across the open trap-door, is the board mentioned above, carved at
its lower edge into hooks, on which visitors hang their parangs while
they sit to talk or feast with the Chief. The man with his feet resting
upon the edge of the fireplace is the brother of Aban Avit, and will
probably succeed to the Chiefship; his word even now seems to carry great
weight in all councils. At the time of taking the photograph the house
was filled with guests,—a party of peace from the Baram River, on their
way to the head-waters of the Tinjar to give and take pledges of friendly
relationship, and to pay off and collect indemnities for the raids and
slaughterings of their fathers and grandfathers.
[Illustration: VERANDA OF ABAN DENG’S HOUSE ON THE APOH.
THE TROPHY-SKULLS ARE HUNG FROM A DECORATED BEAM, EXTENDING ALMOST THE
WHOLE LENGTH OF THE VERANDA. IN FRONT OF THE CHIEF’S DOOR SEVERAL SKULLS
ARE TIED TOGETHER ON A FRAMEWORK OF RATTAN; THESE ARE POSSIBLY HIS
PRIVATE COLLECTION.]
_A WAR EXPEDITION_
About a year and a half before my first visit to Borneo, a Chinese
trader, in the upper Tinjar River, had been killed solely for the sake
of his head. Killing is by no means uncommon in Borneo; but this was
a murder so cold-blooded, and the victim, moreover, a Chinaman, so
unprepared for the game of head-hunting, that an unusual effort was
made to find and punish the murderer. Although the head, just after it
was cut off, had been hung up in the veranda of a house, and although
the river-bank in front had been enlivened with a ‘Death-post,’ whereto
portions of the victim had been attached, by way of public notice that a
head had just been taken, the perpetrator of the deed showed, however, a
guilty reluctance in claiming any glory, or even in making himself known;
furthermore, not a member of that household, nor of any household on
the Tinjar River, would give the slightest clue to the identity of the
murderer. All the Chiefs, hitherto trusted, told endless lies about the
crime, and with such success that they believed that they had at last
baffled and befooled the ‘Prenta,’ the _Government_.