RAN AWAY FROM THE DUTCH
OR
BORNEO FROM SOUTH TO NORTH
BY
M. T. H. PERELAER
Late of the Dutch Indian Service
Translated by MAURICE BLOK, and adapted by A. P. MENDES
LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON
St. Dunstan’s House
Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C.
1887
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
Bapa Andong’s Raft, Frontispiece.
The Night Funeral, 20
Johannes as a Pangareran, 72
An Ambassador from the Colonel, 190
Wienersdorf and Hamadoe, 239
Kiham Hoeras and its Passage, 261
Moving the Rangkans Overland, 302
Rescue of Schlickeisen, 325
Hunting for Gold, 333
A Sign of the Enemy, 354
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE.
A MILITARY REPORT—FOUR DESERTERS—BABA POETJIENG—A LETTER—A
COMPASSIONATE DOCTOR, HIS REFLECTIONS—FIRST INTRODUCTION
TO TOMONGGONG—THE TITIH—A CHOLERA FUNERAL—RIFLE SHOT AND
CANNON SHOT 1
CHAPTER II.
WHISPERING—LUCULLUS MISTAKEN FOR AN ANIMAL—JOHANNES’ PLAN—A
GRATEFUL SMUGGLER—JOHANNES A GEOGRAPHER—A MIRACULOUS HAUL OF
FISHES—LA CUEILLE’S PROMISE—DRINKING WATER—DEPARTURE 22
CHAPTER III.
A DRUNKEN MAN’S TALK—ON THE SEA—JOHANNES UP A TREE—UP THE
KAHAJAN—AN ÆOLIAN HARP—THE SOENGEI TROESSAN—IN THE DAHASAN—A
WOOD SPECTRE—A MOSQUITO CHARM—FURTHER PLANS—LOOK OUT FOR YOUR
HEAD—SUITS OF BLACK 35
CHAPTER IV.
A STRANGE DAYAK—PAINTING A COMPLEXION—SHEIK MOHAMMED AL MANSOER—
TOO HANDSOME FOR A DAYAK—IN THE FOREST MARSHES—DASSO AND DOETA—
TWO BOTTLES OF DOCTORED GIN—THE BIRDS WINGED 49
CHAPTER V.
ON THE JOURNEY—A PREVENTIVE AGAINST MOSQUITOES—THE SOENGEI
BASARANG—THE KAPOEAS—PAST POELOE KANAMIT—THE BOAR’S HEAD—A TRUE
DAYAK MEAL—FOUND IN THE WOOD—A PANGARERAN PUTTING OUT
FISHING-HOOKS—THE CAPTURE OF A CROCODILE—THE SOENGEI
MANTANGEI—FIGHT WITH A BOA CONSTRICTOR—A SKIRMISH—THE JOURNEY
RESUMED 59
CHAPTER VI.
THE WOUNDED GO TO KWALA KAPOEAS—THE MANTANGEI AND THE MENKATIP—THE
COMMANDER IN PURSUIT—AT SEA—PURSUIT OF THE FUGITIVES—THE
SCHOONER—THE RETURN—ON THE TRACK AT LAST—DEPARTURE FROM
MANTANGEI—WHITE SAIL—FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH THE HEAD-HUNTERS—LA
CUEILLE WOUNDED—A FUNERAL CEREMONY 85
CHAPTER VII.
JOURNEY UP THE RIVER—POISONS, HOW THEY ARE MADE—THE SOENGEI
MOEROI—THE MEETING WITH BAPA ANDONG—BEE-HUNTING—HEAD-HUNTERS
AGAIN—A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 110
CHAPTER VIII.
THE RESULTS OF THE FIGHT—DAMBOENG PAPOENDEH’S EXPEDITION—THE
MAROETAS—BACK AGAIN TO THE KAPOEAS—NIGHT FIRING—THE BEES TO THE
RESCUE—ASSISTANCE IN PERIL—THE SEPARATION—CIVILIZATION AND
BARBARISM 123
CHAPTER IX.
SOLITUDE—KWALA HIANG—THE ATTACK—RIFLE AND CANNON FIRE—THE GARRISON
TAKES FLIGHT—THE PILLAGE—AN ILLUMINATION—THE COMMANDER OF KWALA
KAPOEAS IN PURSUIT—HIS SEARCH AT SOENGEI NANING AND SOENGEI
MANTANGEI—HIS ARRIVAL AT KWALA HIANG—THE PURSUIT CONTINUED—A
GIGANTIC MAP—KOTTA BAROE—OUR TRAVELLERS AGAIN ON THE WAY—THE LEGEND
OF THE ELEPHANT—POENANS! POENANS! 136
CHAPTER X.
HARIMAOUNG BOEKIT’S NARRATIVE—EVENTS AT KOTTA BAROE—COUNCIL OF
WAR—COALS—ARRIVAL AT KOTTA DJANGKAN—TAKING IN AMMUNITION AND
PROVISIONS—A WOMAN CAGED—WIENERSDORF BECOMES DESPERATE—JOHANNES
REASONS 160
CHAPTER XI.
FURTHER MEANS OF DEFENCE—THE OATH OF ATONEMENT—JOHANNES AN
ORATOR—TWO GUN SHOTS—THE ATTACK—WIENERSDORF IN A FAINT—A GRATEFUL
POENAN—A DAYAK BEAUTY—AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE—WIENERSDORF IS ENGAGED
TO HAMADOE—AN AMBASSADOR FROM THE COLONEL—HE CARRIES BACK HIS
MESSAGE 173
CHAPTER XII.
CONSULTATION—THE “BLAKO ONTONG”—A SALVO OF GUNS—THE OFFERING—A
NATIONAL DANCE—DOWN WITH THE TURBAN—A CONFERENCE DISTURBED BY TWO
RIFLE SHOTS—A FLOATING ISLAND—AN ATTEMPT AT SURPRISE—A FATAL
SHOT—THE SIEGE RAISED—THE EPISODE OF THE CROCODILE—JOHANNES
SPEAKS—A NEW CHIEF 199
CHAPTER XIII.
PREPARATION FOR THE JOURNEY—AN EMIGRATION—THE FISHING—A DAYAK
TRIBUNAL—THE FINGER TEST—THE PROOF WITH THE LANCE—WIENERSDORF
FINDS HAMADOE A TREASURE—LA CUEILLE DISCOVERS A COAL BED—A
MISUNDERSTANDING—THE GOLD FEVER 225
CHAPTER XIV.
A DAYAK IRON-FOUNDRY—A PAIR OF NATIVE BELLOWS—HARIMAOUNG BOEKIT
DOWN WITH FEVER—WIENERSDORF BECOMES A PHYSICIAN—JOHANNES A
MAGICIAN—NEWS FROM KWALA KAPOEAS—ONCE MORE EN ROUTE—THE WIDOW’S
STONE—KIHAM HOERAS AND ITS PASSAGE—HALAMANTEK 247
CHAPTER XV.
A DAYAK BREAKFAST—THE HALT ON THE ISLAND—THE BOEHIES—A NEW
KIND OF SOUP—THE THUNDER-STORM AND ITS RESULTS—RUMORS OF
WAR—A NIGHT ATTACK—THE PARABOH—KOTTA HAMIAK BESIEGED—THE
BESIEGERS ROUTED 269
CHAPTER XVI.
CREMATION—THE SLAUGHTER OF PRISONERS OF WAR—A PRISONER OF WAR
SAVED—COUNCIL OF WAR—SCARCITY OF WATER—HAMADOE THIRSTY—WIENERSDORF
ATTACKED BY AN ORANG OUTANG—ON THE KAHAJAN—A BLOODY
BATTLE—SCHLICKEISEN LOST 295
CHAPTER XVII.
PURSUIT—A BAND OF DOESSONESE SURPRISED—ON THE TRACK OF
SCHLICKEISEN—HE IS SAVED—HARIMAOUNG BOEKIT MAKES A DISCOVERY—THE
JOURNEY RENEWED—GOLD HUNTING—LA CUEILLE MAKES A FIND—BARTER WITH
THE OLO OTTS 318
CHAPTER XVIII.
TRAVELLING APPOINTMENTS—THE DIAMOND OF THE SULTAN OF MATAM—DIAMOND
FIELDS—GEORGE MULLER’S DIARY AND SKULL—MARRIAGE CEREMONIES—AGAIN ON
THE ROAD—A NOVEL BURIAL-PLACE—ON THE EQUATOR—AN INKY LAKE—THE
ASCENT OF BATANG LOEPAR 343
CHAPTER XIX.
DESCENT OF THE BATANG LOEPAR—A BORNEAN WATERFALL—THE FRONTIER
PASSED—SIMANGANG—PARTING—ON BOARD THE FIREFLY—A SARAWAK FORT—
AT KOETSHIN—ON BOARD THE RAINBOW—AT SINGAPORE—DEPARTURE FOR
EUROPE 361
RAN AWAY FROM THE DUTCH;
OR,
BORNEO FROM SOUTH TO NORTH.
CHAPTER I.
A MILITARY REPORT—FOUR DESERTERS—BABA POETJIENG—A LETTER—A
COMPASSIONATE DOCTOR, HIS REFLECTIONS—FIRST INTRODUCTION TO
TOMONGGONG—THE TITIH—A CHOLERA FUNERAL—RIFLE SHOT AND CANNON SHOT.
“If you please, Colonel, four men have not answered to their names at
roll-call.”
“Who are they?”
“Schlickeisen, Wienersdorf, La Cueille and Johannes.”
“Two Swiss, a Belgian and a native,” muttered the Colonel. “And has it
been ascertained how late they were seen at the military kampong?”
“Impossible, Colonel, the gates close at six and after that hour may
not be reopened without your permission.”
“Let a corporal and three men be immediately despatched to enquire
after them. Then close the gates and double the guard so that means may
be at hand to send out aid if required.”
“Right, Colonel.”
“Let me also have a full report of the search in the kampong and its
results.”
“Right, Colonel! Any further orders?”
A negative being indicated by a shake of the head, the sergeant saluted
and quitted the apartment.
The Colonel rose from his rocking-chair. A sudden anxiety seemed to
possess him. But a few moments before his face had seemed to be cast in
bronze. Not a muscle had moved. Now, however, he had become restless
and perturbed. He turned up the flame of his lamp and going to a safe
took down a large volume. This he placed on the table and began to read
attentively. The book contained extracts from the army register, that
wonderful description of the whole of the Dutch Indian force which is
kept posted with the most laudable exactitude at the war office in
Batavia.
“Schlickeisen,” read the Colonel; “a Swiss born at Steinbach, in the
canton of Glarus, twenty-one years old. Father a priest.” He turned
over another leaf.
“Wienersdorf, also a Swiss; born at Winterthür, in the canton of
Zürich, twenty-three years old. Father a professor of natural
philosophy.
“La Cueille, a Belgian, born at Cheratte, in the province of Liege,
twenty-six years old. Father a miner in the coal mines of Jupille.
“Johannes, born at Padang, island of Sumatra; about thirty years old.
Father unknown. Mother the Niasian woman, Ma Troeni.”
The Colonel closed the book; he could obtain from it no further
information.
“A curious affair,” he muttered, “and one that will cause endless
trouble unless it should prove to be only a drunken brawl.”
Taking another large folio from his collection of books, he turned over
a few pages and read:
“Schlickeisen and Wienersdorf were recommended at the registry to be
educated as officers. They were subsequently dismissed from the college
for taking part in the insurrection of the Swiss at Samarang. The one
was a candidate for the bar, the other had finished his curriculum at
the Realschule and had received his diploma as teacher of natural
philosophy and chemistry. Both had studied at Zürich. Nothing seems to
be known of La Cueille. He has said that he was once assistant to a
gun-maker at Meester Cornelis, but had been dismissed for drunkenness.
And Johannes, another of those Indian products of animal passion, whose
birth is almost a misfortune to him.”
Thus far had the Colonel read and commented when a knock was heard and
the sergeant again appeared. In correct military attitude he waited
until his superior officer should interrogate him.
“Well, are they found?”
“No, Colonel, we have scoured the whole of the military kampong. It is
quite deserted. All we have found is this letter, addressed to you by
Johannes and left by him in his hut.”
The Colonel received the letter with an air of indifference, opened it
and just glanced at the signature. Then dropping it carelessly on the
table, he asked,
“Have you discovered whether the missing men had procured any drink?”
“Not any, Colonel.”
“Who commands the guard?”
“Corporal Greenwood.”
“Ahem; also an old drunkard. Ascertain from him and from the sentries
whether Baba Poetjieng has been in the batang.” The sergeant withdrew.
Baba and Kee are used to designate the Chinese in the Dutch Indies. The
former is the more complimentary. Kee is humiliating and almost a
nickname.
Baba Poetjieng was a sly Chinaman who had managed to make himself
indispensable to the garrison by the sale of such merchandise as
tobacco, needles, thread, beer, canned meats and vegetables, paper,
pens and ink, etc., all of the first quality and unmistakably cheap.
His prices, compared with those of the European merchants of
Bandjermasin and even of Java, could not possibly have yielded him the
smallest profit. It rather seemed as if he actually lost by his
transactions. This he swore by the coffin of his father and grandfather
was really the case; alleging that it was a real pleasure to him to
serve his good friends the Hollanders. One day the Colonel happened to
pick up outside of the fort an empty sardine box, and upon examining it
became struck by its peculiar trade-mark and by an extraordinary smell
which seemed to cling to it. Finding a second box on a subsequent
occasion, he again detected the same odor, and the idea struck him that
the boxes had contained opium. He also noticed that among both the
Indian and the European soldiers of the garrison there was a certain
amount of excitement whenever Baba Poetjieng was at the pier with his
wares. But all efforts to entrap the sly Chinaman had proved
unavailing. His tins when opened for examination were always found to
contain the finest sardines or California fruits; and with a satisfied
grin our Baba asked the Colonel whether he had enjoyed his purchases.
He had “most carefully selected his wares for the toean.” The reader
will now perceive why the Colonel had expressed a wish to know whether
Baba Poetjieng had been seen at the pier.
The sergeant returned with a report that nobody had seen the Chinaman
that day.
Orders were then given that the sergeant and six soldiers should go to
the kampong and invite the Chief of the district to visit the Commander
immediately. “Proceed cautiously,” said the Colonel. “The gates will be
guarded until you return. The sentinels must redouble their vigilance
and keep a sharp lookout. I shall presently go around myself to see how
all goes on.”
After the departure of the sergeant, the Colonel took up the letter,
which he had thrown on the table, and read:
“High-born and Honored Colonel.—We shall be a long way off when
this letter is read by you. You will undoubtedly use every effort
to recapture us, but all will be in vain. Our measures have been
well taken and you will never see one of us back alive. We have had
enough of the Dutch service.
“We thank you most cordially, dear Colonel, for the noble treatment
we have received at your hands. If any one could have reconciled us
to our condition and prevented our embarking on our present
dangerous enterprise, it would have been you. But who can assure us
that you will remain in command over us! The time we have yet to
serve is long and men’s characters are not alike. We Swiss have
been cruelly deceived by the recruiting officers of the Dutch army.
We refrain from saying where the deceit lies. You are able to
fathom our misery in all its extent. We have been enticed from our
lovely valleys under the most wicked pretences; we were promised
the greatest advantages, but of all these promises nothing has ever
been realized.
“But why should we write all this to you—you who are entirely
blameless for the miseries we suffer? We know that you have done
all you could to render our fate supportable and on that account we
do not wish to appear guilty in your eyes. We will be called, and
we certainly are, deserters; but we do not deserve the ignominy
which will cling to our names. You at least could not misjudge us.
We might have considered ourselves bound to the Dutch government,
but when we perceived that we were the victims of foul duplicity
our contract did not appear binding upon us. In transactions of
such a nature it is not fair that one side only should fulfill its
duties, while the other is left free to carry out such part of its
engagement as is found convenient.”
“Poor wretches,” said the Colonel.
“But,” he continued reading, “some excuse might well be offered by
us for our desertion, and on that score our consciences are easy.
Necessity compels us to act as we are doing. Judge for yourself.
You kindly lent us your theodolite, field-glasses, sextant and
compass in order that we might keep up our knowledge of surveying.
Some of those instruments we have decided to take with us. The last
two are especially indispensable to us, since without them we
should soon be lost in our proposed journey. The theodolite we will
leave in Johannes’ cabin. Pray pardon us this dishonesty. You may
rest assured that we will either return the borrowed instruments or
forward the cost as soon as we find ourselves once more among
civilized nations. And now, dear Colonel, may God reward you for
the kind treatment we have received from you. We feel that a hard
chase after us is about to commence. God protect us. Farewell.
“Schlickeisen,
“Wienersdorf.
“P. S.—If we should perish in our efforts to regain our liberty our
fate will not remain long concealed from you. We entreat you by
everything you value, by the memory of your lamented mother, to
inform our parents of our end. You will find full particulars of
their addresses in our military pass-books. Once more, farewell.”
“Poor devils,” repeated the Colonel, wiping away a tear as if he felt
humiliated by his emotion. “What a miserable fate these men have gone
to encounter.” He then laid the letter on the table, giving vent to a
deep sigh and became wrapt in meditation. He was interrupted by the
entrance of the garrison doctor, who rushed into the room with an angry
and excited countenance.
The doctor was a tall, slender man, with bristly red hair and a pair of
yellow mustaches, the points of which were kept well waxed so that they
stood out as if trying to reach behind his ears. He also had received a
letter which he held in his hand.
“Himmelskreuz! The rogue has bolted.”
He was evidently a Prussian or South German.
“What? Who?” asked the Colonel.
“Der Wallon, das Vieh, and he has taken my instruments and revolvers
with him.”
La Cueille had likewise left a letter behind to explain the theft of
the doctor’s instruments and arms, which as he was a gunsmith had been
entrusted to him for repair. He had also begged to be excused to the
Colonel, whose two Remington rifles he had carried off.
“One cannot risk such a dangerous journey quite defenceless,” the
Walloon had reasoned. “The Colonel was sure to know of the dangers they
would have to encounter.”
The Colonel showed the doctor the letter which he had received.
“Then they have bolted together.”
“Very probably.”
“Poor fellows! But what will you do now?”
“I have sent to the Chief of the district. It may be that he has some
information. Upon his communication will depend my course of action.”
“Do you mean to pursue them?”
“Certainly,” replied the Colonel.
“But the safety of the post entrusted to you?”
“Oh, my dear sir, I will not endanger that.”
“How so? The garrison is not strong. You cannot take any men away from
it without danger.”
“Oh, I will leave the garrison intact. I will have them hunted down by
a native detachment.”
“That would be cruel. To be hunted down by Dayaks!”
“I must own that those fellows are not over-scrupulous; but what else
can I do? As you say, I dare not take any of the garrison and I cannot
very well remain inactive. However, it is impossible to decide what
steps are to be taken until I have seen the Chief of the district. It
may be that the deserters have already been seized by the kampong guard
and that our anxieties are premature. I am now going to visit the
posts, will you come with me?”
“Donnerwetter! it is no treat to grope about in that Egyptian
darkness.”
“Well stay behind and wait for me. The Chief may be here directly and I
should like to have you present at our interview. I shall not be long.”
The Colonel went out. He had only a short distance to go, the fort
being very small.
The sentries were found duly posted and peering sharply into the
surrounding darkness. The bridge over the moat had been let down and
the gates stood ajar; but outside at the further extremity of the
drawbridge there was stationed a picket of six men, whilst behind the
gate the whole garrison was drawn up with shouldered rifles. The
Colonel, satisfied with his inspection, was about to return to his
quarters and his guest when he was accosted by a corporal.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
“The rifles of Johannes, Schlickeisen, Wienersdorf and La Cueille are
missing from the gun rack and most of the men’s cartridge boxes have
been emptied.”
“Ha! ascertain how many cartridges are lost and let the artillery
sergeant replace them immediately from the magazine.”
The Colonel had scarcely finished speaking when the corporal of the
mess approached to report that four bags of rice and a bag of coffee
were missing. These too he ordered replaced and turned away, his mind
engrossed by the desertions and their consequences. The men who had
deserted, thought he, did not seem to have any quantity or variety of
provisions, but they were brave men who would certainly levy toll upon
each kampong they passed and find food on every river they traversed.
They had weapons and ammunition and could face any danger; they had
also instruments whereby they could direct their course. Thus there
could be no likelihood of their perishing in the virgin forests of
Borneo.
“Yes,” said he to himself, “we have here a job which will set both feet
and pens in motion and I am afraid, with the writing mania already
existing in India, pens are going to beat feet. But those poor, poor
devils!”
In the meantime the doctor had stretched himself on a rocking-chair and
soon became lost in deep reverie. He regretted that these men had taken
so desperate a step; but he could not blame them altogether. He was
full of fear for the issue of their undertaking, yet if he himself had
not been bound by oath, he would have been inclined to join and become
their guide and counsellor. But—he belonged to the Dutch Indian
Officers’ Club; he had sworn allegiance to the Dutch crown and
submission to the military régime of the Dutch army.
He considered himself bound, irrevocably bound, but how had he been
treated? They had told him he would be able to live and put aside from
his pay a respectable fortune; that in five years he would have three
thousand dollars and he had hoped then to return and marry his darling
Clara. And now? His income, everything included, had never exceeded
sixty dollars a month, a sum barely sufficient to maintain him, so that
the fortune of three thousand dollars remained where it had been
born—in his imagination. He took from his pocketbook the portrait of a
young girl and looked at it until a tear rolled down his cheek. It was
the portrait of his Clara.
“Thou wast tired of waiting,” sighed he. Heavy footsteps approaching
from without he replaced the portrait in his pocketbook just as the
Colonel entered, accompanied by the Chief of the district—a Dayak of
agreeable countenance, known as Tomonggong Nikodemus Djaja Nagara.
“Take a seat, Tomonggong,” said the Colonel, pointing to a chair,
“while I get some cigars.”
The Tomonggong, however, approached the doctor, bowed his head,
presented his hand and uttered the greeting,
“Tabeh toean, saja harap toean ada baik”—Good-day, sir, I hope you are
well.
The doctor raised himself from his comfortable position, stepped
forward to take the outstretched hand and pressed it cordially.
Availing himself of the brief absence of the Colonel, he whispered to
the Chief, “They must be saved, they must not be allowed to fall into
the hands of the Dutch.”
Tomonggong cast a penetrating look on him. Used to treason and
falsehood the first feeling of an East Indian, however honest he
himself may be, is one of distrust. He suspects that a snare is being
laid for him.
Hence the surprise of the Tomonggong when he heard the doctor’s words.
“That would be difficult, sir. The Colonel is sure to take strong
measures and I,”—after a moment’s hesitation, he continued—“I must
obey.”
“By Mahatara! Tomonggong, save them, save them, I beseech you. If you
think you owe me any gratitude, don’t refuse my prayer. They are my
countrymen.”
The doctor stood before the Dayak with his hands pressed together in
the attitude of supplication. He had a claim upon the gratitude of
Tomonggong of which the Chief was not insensible. Kambang, his eldest
and favorite daughter, had some years before been bitten by a very
venomous snake. The father sent out for one of the antidotes of the
country, but while they were seeking the plant the doctor sucked the
poison out of the wound, which he then cauterized with a piece of
burning charcoal. His address and promptitude saved the child’s life.
The grateful father now bethought him of this and putting aside all
distrust seized the doctor’s hand and muttered something which was
rendered inaudible by the return of the Colonel to the room. He brought
a well filled cigar case from which he presented each of his guests a
full flavored Manilla. He then lit one for himself and resuming his
seat addressed the Tomonggong on the subject of the recent deserters.
“And not a soul in the kampong has discovered anything about their
flight?”
“No, sir.”
“It is strange, very strange. But, Tomonggong, they must have obtained
some kind of a vessel, since flight by land was impossible.”
“If any one had missed a djoekoeng the loss would undoubtedly have been
reported to me. Besides the escape of white men from the garrison would
when known arouse so much excitement that I must have heard of it.”
The Colonel meditated for a while. He seemed to be in doubt. At length
he resumed, “Tomonggong, I must recapture these men, if only to prevent
the example from spreading among our troops. If those poor fellows get
among the natives of the upper country they will unquestionably be
attacked and perhaps killed.”
“Yes, sir, they will be. The head-hunters will not spare them. But do
you think they have risked going inland?”
“Their flight seaward is almost impossible,” replied the Colonel. “Two
cruising vessels are stationed at the mouth of the river and the whole
south coast is blockaded by steamers. Suppose they manage to break
through the cordon. What then? Dare they risk a voyage on an open sea
in a miserable canoe, especially at this season, when the westerly
gales blow with such fury? That would be tantamount to
self-destruction. And then whither could they go. To Java? If they
should by chance succeed in reaching the island, they would fall into
the hand of the police, who are exceedingly vigilant. No: my theory is
that they have gone to the interior. They will avoid all inhabited
parts and try to reach Sarawak.”
“Could they not do that by sea?”
“Well, yes; but they would have then to elude the cruisers and the
blockading steamers. That accomplished, as soon as they rounded Cape
Batoe Titi, they would fall into the line of our vessels running
between Eastern Java and Singapore. Then should they reach the open
Chinese Sea, at this season of the year a thousand dangers would still
stare them in the face. The chances would be a hundred to one that they
would either perish or be captured. Yes; they will make for Sarawak—but
only straight across the island.”
“But that is a very long way, sir,” said the Tomonggong, “and the
dangers are not slight in that direction, as you well know.”
“I know all that, Tomonggong, but those are dangers which they may hope
to surmount; for believe me, they are bold and brave men who will
venture anything. Come, we must not delay. Every moment is precious.
Return to your dwelling and summon without loss of time the chiefs of
the nearest kampongs. Let them collect about fifty men provisioned for
a few days. They must all be fully armed and ready to start in two
hours. I will come down to inspect and will then give further
instructions.”
“But, sir, will they be easily captured?”
“I doubt it and that is why I am ordering arms to be taken. I wish to
capture them alive and unharmed. If, however, they defend themselves
and use their weapons, then—” the Colonel hesitated—he knew the weight
of his words.
The doctor stood pale and with clenched fists. After a few moments of
reflection the Colonel resumed in a loud voice:
“If they use their weapons you are permitted to use yours. Let one of
your most influential chiefs, such as Damboeng Papoendeh, lead the
expedition. Send him here at once for orders.”
The Colonel spoke with decision, like one accustomed to command. His
spirit seemed to infect the Tomonggong, who rose to hurry away. A look,
however, at the doctor, whose face showed anxiety and despair, made him
pause. He passed his hands over his sarong as if the folds of the
garment were hurting him and again seated himself.
“By your leave, sir,” he said quietly but firmly, “it won’t do, it is
already very late and such orders as you direct will cause great
commotion in the kampong.”
“Well! and what if they do?” asked the Colonel.
“The women and children will be alarmed and the object of these
movements may be misunderstood. You know, sir, that in spite of your
efforts to pacify the people, we cannot trust a great part of them.
Besides there are rumors about. I mentioned yesterday that rangkans
filled with head-hunters of the Doessan have been seen in our
neighborhood. I cannot say that I believe in these reports, but they
are not unlikely to be true because several of our families left their
houses last night to seek refuge in the woods.”
“But, Tomonggong,” interrupted the Colonel.
“Believe me, sir,” the Chief continued solemnly. “Believe me. You know
that I am a faithful subject of the Dutch. The object of this night’s
expedition will be misunderstood by the people. They will all be
alarmed and especially the families of those who are sent on this
service. Besides where are they to go? You say that the fugitives have
not fled seaward. You will pardon me, pardon me a thousand times when I
say that I cannot share your opinion. But supposing it could be proved
beyond doubt that they have gone inland, I yet repeat my question,
Whither shall my Dayaks go? The island of Borneo is very large. Who
will lead them on the right track in this darkness?”
“What then is to be done?” asked the Colonel with impatience.
“Wait,” was the cool reply. “By to-morrow morning I shall know how your
soldiers have escaped and I assure you I will soon be on their track.
They could not have left the district unobserved. But while now, in the
dark night and with evil reports abroad, you can only spread alarm by
taking any steps, to-morrow, when the sun brightens the skies, I shall
be better able to act. The natives will clearly understand the object
of our expedition and all misapprehensions be rendered impossible. I
shall then have no difficulty in getting the requisite number of
volunteers for the service. I should also like to command the
expedition myself, if you will allow me to do so, and I could not
undertake to start to-night.”
The Colonel reflected for a few moments. The room was in complete
silence, the only sounds audible being the hurried respiration of the
doctor. At length he seemed to have arrived at a decision.
“You are right, Tomonggong, perfectly right, and I thank you for your
advice. Nevertheless, I should have liked to commence the search
to-night, for the sooner those poor fellows fall into my hands the less
they will have to suffer. They will have to pay dearly enough for this
excursion; it may perhaps cost them their lives.”
“Yes, sir. Hatallah only knows how dearly,” said the Chief with
solemnity.
“Well,” said the Colonel, “till to-morrow then. I shall expect news
very early. But stay, I had better come to you and thus save time. I
will be with you before daybreak, Tomonggong. I will now give orders
for your departure.” Thus saying, he left the room.
The doctor, left alone with the chief, rushed toward him and seized his
hands. “They will have a start of six hours,” he said with emotion.
“It is not much,” suggested the Dayak.
“Sufficient, let us hope. Oh, how can I thank you!”
The Colonel re-entered at that moment and their confidence was
interrupted.
After the Tomonggong had taken his leave, the two friends remained
together to empty the bottle which had been opened.
“An awkward business,” observed the Colonel, “devilishly awkward for
those poor fellows, but scarcely less so for me. Besides the dangers
which may attend my pursuit after them, I shall have to weather the
reprimands from headquarters. You know our authorities always turn
these matters against us. Whenever the Dutch government has a
difficulty the first impulse of all in power is to look out for a
scapegoat.”
“But our Commander-in-Chief is not the man to do that.”
“Oh, I am not afraid of him. The bother will come from higher sources.
From Batavia will go the report to the war office of the Hague, that
through the negligence of a colonel four European soldiers have
escaped—in war time. They will be careful to add, ‘Colonel severely
reprimanded.’ Then the Hague authorities will be satisfied because none
of them can be held responsible.”
“Not responsible,” said the doctor, passionately, “not responsible. Why
then the whole blame rests with the Hague for——”
“Tut, tut; no politics, I beg,” said the Colonel. “Even if you are
right, you are wrong; that is my experience in life. Come, it is late;
let us retire, for day will begin early for us to-morrow.”
They shook hands and the doctor left the room to seek his couch, but
the Colonel, before retiring for the night, went the rounds once more
to assure himself that all was safe.
For a moment he paused at the southern bastion. This work commanded the
whole expanse of water formed by the confluence of the rivers
Poeloe-Petak and Kapoeas-Moeroeng, about twelve hundred yards wide at
this point. The night was lovely; the stars glittered in the dark blue
sky and were brilliantly reflected in the water. The woods which
bordered the banks stood out boldly against the dusky horizon. On the
eastern banks of the river Poeloe-Petak the outlines of the Dayak
dwellings could be traced between the green herbage and here and there
the flame of a lamp glittered among the trees and shrubs.
Silence reigned around, broken only by the distant barking of some
watchful dog and by the soft murmur of the river.
While the Colonel stood leaning against the parapet and gazing upon
this charming scene the sounds of the titih were suddenly heard. The
titih is the death bell of the Dayaks. The sounds are produced by a
series of strokes upon four metal basins of different sizes. The first
knell is struck when a death occurs; the second when the body is
coffined; the third when the corpse is being carried to the grave, and
the parting knell when the grave is closed. The titih is struck
continuously during the progress of the funeral, but on the other
occasions there are intervals of four or five minutes between the
sounds, just like our passing bell. The continuous strokes of the
funeral knell are gentle at first but are interrupted every two minutes
by a loud bang, and the echo of that ting, ting, toong, along the broad
streams of Borneo sounds extremely mournful and disposes one to
melancholy.
The Colonel pricked up his ears at the first knell and tried to
recollect whether anyone had died in the kampong; but his thoughts soon
returned to the deserters. When the titih continued without
intermission, he knew that a funeral was in progress and this somewhat
excited his curiosity. Not that it was of rare occurrence for the
Dayaks to bury their dead at night. But the Colonel had recently
requested the natives not to have any nocturnal funerals during war
time except when absolutely unavoidable. This request, or rather
command, had been hitherto respected, but now, now—it was very strange!
“Aha! I know,” he said to himself, “I know. Tomonggong told me
yesterday of two cases of cholera. One of the sufferers has perhaps
succumbed; they are quite justified in disposing of their dead without
delay.”
A little while afterward two canoes were seen coming down from the
kampong, decked out with bunting and illuminated by torches. As they
drew nearer the hymns of the priestesses could be distinguished,
accompanied by the muffled sounds of the small drums. Their elegy was
borne across the river.
“Fly, soul of the departed, rise on the clouds. Fly, spirit of the
dead, float upon the waters.”
Everything was in the usual order. The song and the drumming proceeded
from the first canoe. Immediately behind followed another boat
containing the coffin. In order to be prepared for any emergency the
Colonel called the guards and stationed them on the bastion, where he
joined them. He also directed a non-commissioned officer to reconnoitre
the approaching canoes and to be doubly watchful. His hail, “Who goes
there?” was responded to and his order to land was immediately obeyed.
He searched the first canoe, joked with the priestesses, but failed to
discover anything suspicious. Neither did he see anything unusual on
the second boat. A faint odor peculiar to the victims of cholera
induced him to shorten the investigation. The canoes left the pier and
soon the fort was well behind them. The Colonel followed them with his
eyes for a long time and became lost in meditation when suddenly a head
was seen to protrude from beneath the roof of the second boat and a
voice was heard exclaiming:
“Enfoncés les Hollandais—les têtes de fromage!”
The Colonel instantly perceived how matters stood—the fugitives were
hidden in the funeral cortege. He cried aloud to the oarsmen:
“Stop! Come back! Turn immediately!”
Again was heard the opprobrious epithet; this time followed by a rifle
shot which wounded a Javan soldier. The Colonel ordered the four-inch
gun to be turned toward the canoes, placed it himself at the proper
elevation and fired; but the night hung dark and no sure aim could be
taken. The shot struck the water in the rear of the second canoe,
bounded over it, passed through the roof of the first boat and as it
struck the water raised so great an upheaval as to nearly capsize both
canoes. It was followed by a volley of rifle shot from the ramparts,
which killed two of the oarsmen. But the current swept the boats
rapidly away and before the soldiers had time to reload they had become
lost in the intense darkness.
“That discharge has hit them,” said the doctor, who had left his bed to
see the cause of the commotion. “I heard a distinct cry from the
canoes.”
“Yes,” replied the Colonel, “it has hit them, but—that is only the
first part of the play. I ought not to have allowed myself to be talked
over by the Tomonggong into postponing the pursuit until to-morrow.
Perhaps what has just happened ought to have been prevented. Have you
seen Troenosmito’s wound?”
“Yes, it is only a graze.”
“Well, let us retire. I know pretty well whither the deserters are
bound. Early in the morning we will start in pursuit.” The two men
shook hands and soon a deep silence reigned through the fortress
interrupted only by the regular tread of the sentry.