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.
The journey was resumed as soon as the Dayaks had stored away the
gathered rattan in their boat and the tide had sufficiently risen to
float her from the mud-bed. They had at first to struggle against the
same obstacles that had beset them in the morning, but at length
reached a branch of the soengei Basarang; and although the difficulties
in their way were still numerous, the men could now resume their places
in the boat and continue their course. They rowed on all night and when
next morning the sun appeared above the horizon they were entering the
soengei Basarang.
Dalim proposed to stop here until night had fully set in again, when
they might reach the Kapoeas in a few hours. All concurring, the
travellers hid their boat among the thick shrubs overhanging the banks
and prepared and ate their meal.
When they had finished the repast the Dayaks put a small tea-pot on the
fire, the contents of which they subsequently proceeded to rub over
their bodies. Some also drank a few mouthfuls of the brew before
disposing themselves to sleep. Johannes enquired what the liquor was
and why they used it. He was informed that it was a decoction of
brotoali, a species of cactus which was a safeguard against the
mosquitoes. No person who drank a few cups of this mixture in the
morning would be troubled by those horrible insects. Similar impunity
could be secured by washing the exposed parts of the body with it. The
Europeans complained of their disturbed slumbers of the preceding night
and the Dayaks willingly allowed them to try the native remedy. As a
consequence, sound sleep was that night enjoyed by the entire party.
About midnight Dalim, who was on guard, woke them up; the canoe was
pushed in mid-stream and carefully guided through the soengei. Close to
the mouth our fugitives observed an open space in the forest surrounded
by some charred trunks of trees, which had been placed to command the
soengei as well as the main stream. They were the remains of a Dayak
fort built along the borders of that river. It was the first
fortification raised after the outbreak of the insurrection on the
south coast of Borneo.
All the while that the fugitives were sailing out of the soengei
Basarang they carefully scanned the broad surface of the waters of the
river. Only a few lights were visible in the south-east, and the dark
outlines of the fortress at the mouth of the Kapoeas. Nothing else was
perceptible to the naked eye. The river was safe and with strong
efforts they pursued their journey.
But alas! after their two days’ travelling they were now only at the
same spot whence they had originally started. If there, where those
lights shone so brilliantly, it were only known how near the reach of
their guns the fugitives were! But all remained silent; the
fortifications continued lost in the gloom; the midnight calm was only
disturbed by two beats of a gong indicating two A.M., and the low cry
of the sentries which proved that however quiet everything appeared to
be, the necessary vigilance was not neglected.
A few more strokes only and the fortress was lost behind Cape Koempai,
the first curve in the Kapoeas. La Cueille, who with eager eyes had
been looking at his former residence, now dropped his oar and heaved a
deep sigh. Johannes heard it and said:
“Are you sorry? Speak, it is not too late yet. We can land you at this
corner. A pretended drunken bout will sufficiently account for your
absence. You are at liberty to plead that excuse or any other you fancy
as long as you do not betray us. Say—shall we land you?”
“Return to those cheeseheads? Sacré nom de tonnerre! never!” the
Walloon cried energetically.
“Then stop your sighing; leave that to the women and children; men have
to act.”
“C’était plus fort que moi,” La Cueille muttered. “The stories I have
heard during the last two days come before me, and pardieu! when I saw
that fortress where we might repose as safely as on our mother’s lap,
far away from spectres, head-hunters, blood-drinkers, and so forth—that
fortress which we might have reached with only a few strokes; yes, I
own it, I did feel tempted just then. But it is all over now.”
And taking his oar again he vigorously assisted to make the boat spin
onward as fast as possible, so that the fortification was soon
altogether lost to view. The fugitives passed a group of small islets
called Poeloe telloe, and at day-break found themselves near the island
Kanamit.
Dalim thought it better not to continue the journey any further and
advised their taking refuge in a rivulet which runs into the right bank
of the Kapoeas behind the island. When the canoe entered the narrow
branch of this stream Johannes pointed to a spot and said:
“Just about there we once barely escaped from the canoes of the Dayaks.
Our vessel got wrecked and we were attacked by the treacherous natives.
Fortunately the Montrado arrived to our aid and drove them off by
firing a single gun.”
“But,” asked Wienersdorf, “how are the natives disposed towards us
now?”
“They are very untrustworthy, and if they were to discover that we are
palefaces our lives would not be worth a moment’s purchase. But we are
Dayaks now. Hèlo mikèh, don’t fear,” Johannes continued smilingly. “At
all events we are seven, and we cannot do wrong in keeping our arms
under our own control.”
The boat now proceeded until it arrived in front of a large house.
Dalim, accompanied by one of his countrymen and Johannes, went ashore,
mounted a slanting notched tree, the usual kind of steps leading into
Dayak houses, and entered the dwelling. All those who remained behind
seized their rifles and kept themselves ready for action.
After a little while Johannes reappeared, made a reassuring sign and
called out in the Dayak language that they had met with friends. It
happened that a relative of one of the fugitive Dayak mutineers was
living here. It was an Islamite Dayak, that is one who has embraced the
Mohammedan faith; he had only done so recently and had changed his
Dayak name of “Mihing” into “Ali Bahar.”
The Dayaks, always ready for festivities, were only too delighted to
celebrate the auspicious event of a meeting between relations and
nothing seemed more natural than to welcome their kinsman and his
friends with a hearty dinner and drinking bout. All, including Sheik
Mohammed Al Mansoer, gave their ready consent, the latter adding that
“Allah is best praised with his own gifts.” Accordingly at mid-day,
they took their places, seated in a circle on a mat with their legs
crossed. An immensely large boar’s head roasted over the fire was
dished up and brought in, accompanied by a vast bowl of toeak.
Johannes bent over the Walloon and whispered something into his ear,
when the latter, visibly affected, cried out in angry tones:
“May the plague choke thee, cursed animal.”
The whole of the Dayak family got up, alarmed at this outburst, but
Johannes pacified them, declaring that the holy descendant of the
Prophet only expressed his surprise at the audacity of the
newly-converted family in preparing such food and drink, and especially
in offering them to him.
“See,” he continued, “how the holy man trembles at the horror of seeing
the unclean food so strongly forbidden by Ngabehi Mohammed.”
And really the pseudo-Arab moved backwards and forwards like a maniac,
muttering a curious mixture of Walloon, French and Dutch oaths. He knew
too well that in deference to the character he was personating he would
not be able to partake of the well-prepared boar’s head and the
aromatic toeak. Some time ago he had cultivated the acquaintance of the
toeak, a liquor prepared from fermented rice, pepper, betelnuts and
sugar, and had found its taste so agreeable that on seeing the bowl
appear, he had promised himself a goodly drink of its seductive
contents. But Johannes’ remark effectually deprived him of any share in
the potations. Meddling fellow! Why could he not keep silent? The
Walloon vented his indignation on his turban, which he turned around
again and again as if wishing to pitch this particular article into the
soengei. However, the hostess hastened to offer the desperate Arab a
fair portion of tambilok, delicately fried, seasoned and peppered,
besides a few slices of liendoeng, with some nice sour egg-sauce. After
the saint had said grace he peacefully set to work and finished his
meal with a good dose of fried koedjang, declaring that he found this
product of the art of Dayak cookery most delicious.
“I believe you,” said Johannes, smiling; “it was the choicest tidbit
they could offer you.”
La Cueille became alarmed at his ominous smile. “In heaven’s name, what
did I really eat?”
“Do you mean to say you don’t know, you stupid? Well, koedjang is a
kind of turnip abundantly found in lower Dayakland and which takes the
place of our potatoes.”
“I know I have often eaten them at Kwala Kapoeas. They are really
delicious fried in thin slices. But what did they call the viands?”
“Tambilok and liendoeng, you mean?”
“Yes, what are they?”
“Have you never observed those fat white worms found in the wood which
has been lying in the river for a considerable time? Well, that is what
the Dayaks call tambilok and of which they make such a nice dish.”
“Oh, Notre Dame de bon secours!” the Walloon shrieked, horrified.
“And the ‘liendoeng,’” Johannes continued immediately, “is a kind of
water-snake about three feet long and of the diameter of a man’s arm.
Its color is red with black stripes down the back. It has a very smooth
skin and is not poisonous. It is a special favorite with the Dayaks.”
“And I thought I was eating eels all the while!” La Cueille cried, with
disgust on his every feature.
“But never mind,” Johannes added good-naturedly, “I have wrapped a
large piece of the boar’s head in a leaf Dayak-fashion, and as soon as
you feel hungry again you shall have food more to your mind. But mind
you may have to swallow worse things than snakes or worms before you
reach home.”
La Cueille sighed but did not answer. He went to rest and was soon lost
in a deep slumber.
While Sheik Mohammed Al Mansoer lay asleep Johannes, Wienersdorf,
Schlickeisen and Dalim, accompanied by their host, Ali Bahar, entered
the forest fully armed. The two other Dayaks of the company kept watch
over the canoe, rifle in hand. Nothing suspicious however occurred, and
about an hour before sunset the others returned and brought with them a
large quantity of spades, pickaxes and other tools, besides two small
one-pounder bronze guns which they thought might be useful to them.
These tools and guns they had found in an empty hut. They had belonged
to a foundered vessel and had been picked up by the Dayaks. They had
yet to make another journey, for there was left behind a brass
powder-case such as is used on men-of-war, which still contained some
gunpowder. There were also about fifty shells for the guns and some
thirty fathoms of light chain which might be of immense value to them.
About eight o’clock everything was on board and La Cueille, who in the
meantime had waked up again, thought they were going to continue their
journey. Instead of this his companions sat down for a long chat with
their host. When at last the latter had entered his house and the
others had gone on board and prepared for rest, Johannes told the
Walloon that they intended to stay where they were all night and the
following day.
“But,” asked La Cueille, “is it not running a risk to stop so near the
Dutch fort longer than is absolutely necessary?”
“You see we must not be too hasty,” Johannes replied. “It is contrary
to Dayak custom and we must avoid exciting suspicion. You have heard
our host tell us that his old priest was devoured by a crocodile. He
has therefore begged us to assist him to-morrow in catching the
monster. It is an invitation which no Dayak dares refuse; it might
cause the most sanguinary scenes.”
“What a treat! Thank God, I don’t understand anything of such a hunt
and will remain quietly behind.”
“Wrong again; on the contrary, your presence is most urgently
requested.”
“I don’t care as long as we are not requested to eat snakes; if we have
to do so, I flatly refuse to join.”
“Don’t be so stupid. Listen; I have announced myself as Pangareran.”
“On my word I am a descendant of the Prophet; you now turn into a
Pangerang. I foresee the day when the Swiss will be converted into
Rajahs. Well, as long as we reach the north-coast I am satisfied.”
“You misunderstand me. I am not a Pangerang, but simply a Pangareran.”
“But then I don’t see of what use I can be.”
“Well, a Pangareran never goes on his errand without being accompanied
by a priest, who recites prayers; and, my dear Arab, that branch
belongs to you now.”
The Walloon gave a pull to his turban, meditated for a few seconds and
said,
“But I thought the Dayaks were heathen. A Mohammedan prayer will be
quite out of place.”
“Most Pangarerans are Malays, consequently Mohammedans. You know that
no Dayak is allowed to catch a crocodile.”
“Why not?”
“Because Djata, brother to Mahatara, the god of Dayaks, is the father
of all crocodiles. Not for all the riches in creation would a Dayak
kill one of these monsters unless compelled to do so by
blood-vengeance, that is, when one of his relatives, friends or
neighbors has been devoured. Then he pays a Malay to kill the culprit.”
“But how do they discover the real culprit? In these waters there is no
lack of crocodiles.”
“It is quite certain that in such a hunt many an innocent son of Djata
does perish, but the Dayaks don’t seem to mind that so much. They don’t
abandon the hunt until they have caught one in whose interior they find
some of the remains of the victim. Do you remember the time when that
dear little Dayak girl, little Biengies, was taken away by a crocodile
at Fort Kwala Kapoeas? I think we killed about fifty of these monsters
then, until at the end of six weeks we caught a huge fellow in whose
stomach was found a closely packed tuft of human hair and the brass
bracelets which the girl had worn. That brought the hunt to a
conclusion.”
“Don’t I remember it? Did I not assist the Javan soldiers to boil the
fat out of their carcasses to burn in their lamps at night? And how
soft that fat was, even softer than the finest lard. I meant to save a
little for my chilblains.”
“Well, listen now. By and by I will put out the hooks and you will have
to be present. You have slept long enough, have you not?”
“Yes, I have. But why do you need my presence when you are putting out
the hooks?”
“You will see that afterwards. Your duty will be light enough; only
mutter some prayers and as we shall be probably entirely by ourselves,
you may even omit that for my part. But mind! in case we catch a
crocodile you will have to pray properly to-morrow. You will actually
have to charm the monster, lest some mishap should occur to me. Here is
a well-fingered Malay sermon of Roorda van Eysinga; it will serve as a
Koran—I am sure it looks dirty enough.”
After this conversation both men followed the example of their
companions, enveloping themselves in their blankets and went to sleep.
When the “Taloetoek,” a small kind of owl with black downy feathers and
red wings and tail, sounded its melancholy koekh, koekh, at midnight,
Johannes signalled the Walloon and woke one of the two Swiss to look
after the general safety. They then entered a djoekoeng, in which they
found long rattans tied together and forming cables of thirty to forty
yards long, at the ends of which there were strong iron hooks of about
a foot and a half in length and about an inch thick. After having lit a
small lamp they proceeded to bait the hooks with live ducks. Both hooks
and ducks were fastened to a small raft of pisang trunks in such a
manner that the ducks remained floating on the surface. As soon as they
had finished Johannes extinguished the lamps. They then floated gently
and without the least noise down the soengei, being guided by the
myriads of little fire-flies which glittered on the leaves of the trees
lining the banks of the rivulet like solitary bright sparks.
They put out a few hooks in the main stream of the soengei and tied the
ends of the rattan cables to a heavy block of wood, which they fastened
to some branches on the bank in such a manner that at the least pull
they would break and set the wood floating. They also placed similar
tackle in the mouth of the river and on the western shore of the island
Kanamit. When all was arranged the two Europeans rowed quietly back to
their starting place and went to sleep.
As soon as the sun appeared again in all its glory the inhabitants of
the hut as well as the men in the boat were awakened by a couple of
boys who, having gone down the soengei, had brought tidings of the
disappearance of one of the decoy ducks stationed at the mouth of the
rivulet. They had also observed far up the stream a piece of wood which
seemed to be tugged forcibly against the running tide.
After hearing this report every man hurried forward, and as soon as
breakfast had been despatched they all took to their djoekoengs and
soon disappeared from the view of the two Swiss who remained behind on
guard.
The bait placed at the mouth of the rivulet had disappeared, hook and
rattan cable included. A sharp lookout was kept and presently a large
piece of wood was seen, which from time to time was pulled forcibly
against the tide to the north of the island, just as the boys had
described it.
In a very short time the djoekoengs reached the log of wood. All hands
grasped the cable and hauled in, when a monster at least twenty feet
long became visible. When the animal was brought to the surface it gave
a terrible leap, exposing the whole of its body to view, and tried to
tear away or break the hook. It lashed the water fearfully with its
tail and dashed forward with such force as to compel the men to let go,
in order to prevent their canoes being capsized. They had barely time
to throw the log of wood overboard again. They however took to their
oars, and following kept it in sight. When this wild race had continued
for half an hour the speed of the log began visibly to diminish, until
at last it lay quite still on the surface of the water. The djoekoengs
now approached again and their occupants recommenced their task of
hauling the crocodile from the depths of the river to the surface. The
monster renewed its struggles, turning the cable violently around and
around and lashing the water into foaming spray. Then starting forward
in mad fury it tried to drag the boats to the bottom. At last, however,
its speed diminished and the moment drew near for the Pangareran and
his acolyte to act their parts. The canoe in which they had seated
themselves approached the side of the crocodile. The Pangareran had now
to recite the excuses of the Dayaks for being compelled to kill a
crocodile, a child of Djata, brother to Mahatara, the omnipotent. He
had also to plead that they were compelled to take vengeance as one of
their relations had been killed. This form was necessary to satisfy
Dayak superstition.
The priest, being the Pangareran’s assistant, had then to read a few
chapters from the Koran, after which both were required to mount on the
back of the exhausted crocodile, which was now lying motionless at the
side of the canoe. The Pangareran then had to close the fearful jaws of
the beast with a strong loop of rattan in order to render him harmless,
the priest assisting him with prayers during the operation. As a rule,
this kind of work is not dangerous if only carried out calmly and
resolutely. Johannes had already jumped bare-footed on the head of the
reptile and was preparing to muzzle his prey, when the Dayaks called
out to him to be careful as the priest had not yet followed him. Upon
this La Cueille summoned all his courage to his aid and mounted on the
slippery skin of the animal. His feet went from under him and he fell,
describing such awkward contortions that the Dayaks, solemn as was the
occasion, could not refrain from bursting into a roar of laughter.
The crocodile, enraged by this last shock and maddened by the increased
pain caused by the hook in his throat, summoned all his remaining
strength and pulled the fatal cable, lashing the water violently with
his tail. The Walloon endeavored in vain to keep on him, but owing to
the slippery skin and prickly spine, he lost his balance and was soon
in the river.
Johannes also tried to retain his seat by inserting his fingers in the
sockets of the monster’s eyes. Infuriated by agony the animal gave a
violent tug, broke the rattan cable to which the boat was attached and
disappeared with his rider beneath the water. This, however, was his
last effort, for shortly afterward huge bubbles mounted to the surface
of the river and the body of the crocodile was seen floating with its
yellow belly upwards, exhibiting the numerous wounds which the little
triangular knife had inflicted guided by the steady hand of Johannes.
When the latter reappeared on the surface he cast a rapid glance around
in search of his mate, the Walloon, whom he presently discovered
half-drowned. He swam to his assistance and soon succeeded in dragging
him into the nearest canoe.
La Cueille’s first action was devoutly to thank the Holy Virgin for his
escape. But alas! the poor priest had lost his Koran, rosary and
sandals. The sandals were fished up again a few minutes afterward, but
the holy book of the Prophet and the rosary had sunk to the bottom.
The carcass of the crocodile was landed and opened. In his stomach was
found a ball composed of human hair, a gold ring set with a handsome
stone and a rosary. These last were relics of the devoured Hadji and
proved beyond doubt that his murderer had been found and slaughtered.
Universal joy now prevailed. Vengeance was satisfied and the hunt
considered to be concluded. As a token of gratitude Ali Bahar presented
the courageous Pangareran with the ring, while the Arab received the
rosary in compensation for the loss of his own.
Johannes seemed greatly affected and muttered to himself while minutely
examining the ring.
“I will never part with this keepsake, by Heaven; it might have cost me
dear. I cannot boast of my luck at Poeloe Kanamit; this is my second
appearance here and both times I have had a narrow escape.”
La Cueille bowed devoutly, crossed himself and solemnly promised to
offer his rosary to the Holy Mother as soon as he should be restored to
his native country.
“You will have made a curious collection by that time,” Johannes said,
“and Notre Dame will look quite gay, provided you carry your head
home.”
“You may laugh, you coffee-colored heathen! I was really praying all
the time, and I am quite certain that but for my presence you would
have——”
“Been in the water just the same, my dear dusky Arab!” Johannes laughed
good-naturedly. “However, we have both done our duty; you with your
prayer and I with my knife; all is well that ends well.”
Noon was long past when the crocodile-hunters returned to the house of
their host. The natives occupied themselves in dissecting the captured
animal, which was soon accomplished. The skeleton was elevated on four
posts at a spot near the mouth of the river especially cleared for the
purpose. In order to make this trophy of victory more attractive, Ali
Bahar placed a human skull between the jaws of the gigantic head. Many
such mementoes of victory are found in the Dayak regions, on the banks
of the streams. There the bleached bones not only of crocodiles, but
also of wild boars, are set up to perpetuate the history of man’s
prowess in destroying them; even in the burial-grounds the skeletons of
such wild beasts are raised as fitting monuments to the memory of those
who have successfully hunted them down.
Nor are these trophies limited to such inferior animals as crocodiles
and wild boars. Even in these lower regions where the Dutch strictly
interdict head-hunting, human skulls are treasured up and exhibited
with pride as memorials of native prowess. When, however, a Dayak is
questioned respecting their origin, he invariably pretends that he has
inherited them from his father, an explanation which their appearance
and condition by no means confirm.
After partaking of a hearty meal the travellers prepared for the
resumption of their journey, and at sunset left to proceed further
north.
When they reached the Kapoeas they found the tide running fast. They
reckoned that by keeping only two oars going, sufficient speed could be
obtained to enable the boat to reach soengei Mantangei against the turn
of the tide. If even they should err in their calculations and ebb tide
should set in before reaching the soengei, it would only be necessary
to bring all oars into play and make up for lost time. They therefore
proposed that two of the Dayaks should row, while a third should steer.
A steersman was necessary as no rudder is ever attached to a Dayak
boat.
La Cueille could not forget how shabbily he had been treated in regard
to drinks and reproached Johannes for appointing him to play the part
of an Arab. “I am sure,” he observed, “a glass of toeak would have been
welcome after my soaking.”
“I dare say; but to violate the commandments of the Koran would
certainly have excited suspicion, and we were not quite far enough from
Kwala Kapoeas,” Johannes said solemnly. “But,” he continued, “now that
we are unobserved, I won’t grudge you a hearty pull, provided you leave
the bottle in my hands. You have certainly deserved a drink to-day.”
And suiting the action to the word, he produced a square bottle from
beneath the seat on which he was lying, poured out a glassful of its
contents and passed it to the Walloon, who took it readily and emptied
it at one draught, smacking his lips.
“By Jove! that is fine toeak; I never tasted anything like it before,”
he sighed, regaining his breath.
“It is doubly distilled,” Johannes answered.
“Do let me have another thimble full,” the Walloon begged.
“Patience, dear boy. The others must also have their turn. See how the
Dayaks look; ah, they are such tipplers.”
“From what do they distill this toeak?” asked Wienersdorf.
“Toeak is made from rice,” Johannes explained, “and especially from the
Ketan rice, a species which contains much gluten and becomes thick in
boiling. They manufacture it in the following manner: They first make a
leaven called ragi, consisting of powdered carrots, pepper, grated
pisang nuts and sugar. The Ketan rice is then carefully added to this
leaven in a large earthenware vessel and the whole mixture is exposed
to the heat of the sun for three days. They then pour water on it, in
the proportion of one gantang of water to each gantang of rice. They
now let it ferment in the heat of the sun for two days and then filter
the liquor through canvas. This liquor is the toeak.”
“But how is it possible for it to become as strong as that we just now
tasted?” Wienersdorf asked. “According to your explanation the process
is a brewing and not a distillation.”
“Listen; in order to make the toeak stronger, the Dayaks boil it in a
pan covered with leaves, among which a hollow bamboo has been put in a
horizontal position. The steam now travels through this tube and is
condensed, when the liquor is collected again in the earthen bowl.
Hence it becomes distilled. The Dayaks call it arak; and one of these
bottles of arak was given to me by Ali Bahar.”
When our travellers had finished their pleasant conversation about
toeak, Johannes repeated all the information concerning themselves and
their movements which he had been obliged to give their late host. He
had represented that they were on their way to the Upper Kapoeas, to
trade with the Olo Ott; that Sheik Mohammed Al Mansoer was following
them in order to inspect these regions, intending afterwards to return
with a cargo of chintzes and prints; that the two Swiss were his
servants and that Dalim and the other two Dayaks were hired as rowers
for the whole of the journey. To this programme he suggested they
should adhere whenever they met with strangers. It would not disturb
their friendship, for Johannes was not the man to abuse the trust
placed in him; while a thorough understanding would reign among them
should they be respectively thrown upon their own resources.
Thus the midnight hours passed by, and at about one o’clock in the
morning they reached the end of their journey for that day, the Kwala
Mantangei. Long before they sighted the mouth of the stream they heard
the tolling of the titih; and upon entering the soengei and approaching
the dwellings built along its banks other sounds became audible which
made them advance with caution.
From all sides shrieks of women and children were heard, indicating the
greatest consternation. Several torch-lights were seen in the distance,
and women wildly running in the direction of one of the houses, about
which they congregated, uttering cries of terror. The boat was quickly
hidden amongst the shrubs and Dalim landed to ascertain what was the
cause of the prevailing alarm. The others remained on board, lost in
conjecture as to the meaning of such a panic at such an hour. They all
perceived that something important was taking place and felt some fear
that they had fallen upon a party of head-hunters. This anxiety,
however, was soon removed by the reappearance of Dalim, who requested
his companions to land and to bring their mandauws with them. La
Cueille, as the boat could not be left to the care of itself, remained
behind with one of the Dayaks. The others joined Dalim and they all
crept forward in the direction of the torches, advancing under the
cover of the shrubs, and presently came in sight of some thirty women
and children, rushing about in the greatest fear. Upon approaching
nearer they saw a gigantic snake more than thirty feet long and of the
diameter of a man’s waist, wriggling about and displaying the most
curious undulations without seeming to move from its place. It appeared
as if chained within a circle. A closer inspection showed them that the
snake had been caught and was attached to a rattan cable which the
women had thrown around a tree. They had not dared, however, to pull
the cable tight, so that the snake retained sufficient liberty to move
in a large circle.
It was a boa constrictor of the largest size, and was twisting and
turning about terribly, trying, alternately, to break either the cable
or the tree. But its efforts were in vain. Its movements kept the women
at a respectful distance; for none of them could muster sufficient
courage to kill the reptile, although they all carried naked mandauws
in their hands.
While our travellers stood looking on in silence, the boa again made a
dart forward and grasped within its folds a little boy who had
approached too near. The poor child groaned and gurgled under this
fatal embrace. The women uttered horrible yells, while the unfortunate
mother of the child fell on her knees, threw up her arms, and implored
the animal to loosen its hold and not hurt her darling.
Lifting the child high up in the air the snake made efforts to reach
the tree. These failed at first, as the cable was not sufficiently
supple. At last, however, it succeeded in grasping the trunk, which it
encircled two or three times. Dalim, mandauw in hand, rushed forward
through the group of yelling women; but before he could reach the boa,
the crunching of broken bones was heard, mingled with a single shriek
of the dying victim, who was flattened against the tree as if in a
mill.
Dalim advanced undismayed toward the snake and aimed a blow at it
without inflicting any injury. Perceiving its new antagonist the
reptile rapidly unwound itself from the child, which fell lifeless to
the ground, and attacking the Dayak, encircled him with those fatal
living rings and compressed him with such force that he gasped for
breath. It seemed as if his chest was being screwed together by an
irresistible vise. In this desperate struggle for life he dealt several
blows about him without definite aim. One of these unfortunately
severed the cable and set the animal at liberty, when it coiled its
tail round the trunk of the tree in order to crush the Dayak as it had
crushed the child.
Dalim’s death would have been inevitable, had not Wienersdorf and
Johannes advanced to his rescue. They threw themselves upon the boa and
tried to divert its attention to them. The animal then unwound itself
from Dalim and sprang at Wienersdorf, biting him between his neck and
shoulder. Johannes now cut and lacerated the snake so severely that it
took flight and nearly succeeded in escaping, owing to the stupidity of
the women. These, in the confusion which prevailed, had dropped their
torches and left the party in complete darkness; but the time had come
for Schlickeisen to act. He had also approached to Dalim’s assistance,
but had paused in order to lift up the mangled child. Perceiving,
however, that nothing could be done for it he turned his attention to
the boa, now disappearing in the gloom. He suddenly passed the child
over to its mother, lifted one of the yet glowing torches from the
ground, and rushed after Johannes and the boa. A few well-aimed blows
with his mandauw, dealt by a vigorous arm, soon decided the contest,
the head of the snake being completely severed from the body and the
once powerful reptile converted into a motionless mass.
The three Europeans now shook hands together over the body of the boa
and congratulated each other on the result of this extraordinary
contest. Dalim also approached and thanked them cordially. He assured
his companions that as he owed his life to their timely aid they might
henceforth confidently trust in him; he would accompany them as far as
Singapore and remain with them until they could re-enter life as free
men.
After the snake had been duly skinned, the women of the kampong told
the travellers that their husbands were all absent gathering rosin. On
the previous night an old woman had been awakened from her sleep by a
sensation of pressure on her stomach; she stretched her hands out in
the dark to ascertain the cause and felt a cold and clammy object which
moved at her touch. She jumped up at once, uttering horrible cries and
shrieking for assistance. The neighbors were soon at hand, but the
glimmer of their lamps showed them nothing but a black mass crawling
along the floor and finally disappearing in the darkness. Upon entering
the room in which the old woman had slept they found her husband killed
by a wound under his lower ribs, large enough to receive a human head.
The riddle was now solved. The kampong had been visited by a boa, an
occurrence by no means frequent in these marshy regions. The women, not
being able to consult their better-halves, had bethought them of
setting a bait, in the shape of a live ape fastened to a hook—with the
result of finding the boa caught on the following evening. Disturbed at
his meal of the night before, his hunger remained unappeased and he was
readily snared.
After this narrative Johannes answered the questions of the women as to
whence they had come. He commenced to tell them that he was going up
country for trading purposes, when a piercing “lēēēēh, lèlèlèlèlè,
oeiiiit,” was heard in the direction of their boat, followed by a few
rifle-shots. This gave grave cause for apprehension. They hurried away
as fast as possible and found La Cueille and the Dayak engaged in a
fight with the occupants of several djoekoengs. Who the assailants were
could not for the moment be ascertained. Our friends leaped into their
boats, took their rifles and fired as if they meant to disperse a whole
army. Their vigorous attack soon put the assailants to flight.
After the retreat of the djoekoengs the adventurers endeavored to
discover whence the attack had proceeded.
Calling a few women who had been following them, Dalim asked whether
they knew who their assailants were.
“These men are rosin-seekers who have just returned home,” said one of
the women. Then raising her voice she called:
“Oōōōh Mihing!!” To this summons Mihing, probably her husband,
responded from the wood with a similar “Oōōōh.”
They quickly obtained all particulars of the mistaken aggression. A few
canoes had preceded the rosin-gatherers and on nearing the kampong had
heard the cries of the women. Fearing treason they had returned to
summon their mates and hence their number. They observed a canoe hidden
amongst the shrubs close to the kampong and they felt quite sure that a
troop of head-hunters had dropped down the Doesson and Mantangei and
were busily engaged in operating upon their wives and children.
The frightened men thereupon tried to approach this boat, but were
hailed by La Cueille who had observed them distrustfully. On replying
to his “Who goes there?” with a shout of defiance, he had fired into
the approaching mass. The Mantangese hereupon fell back frightened, but
soon collected again to resume the attack. They yelled their war-cry
and pushed on with their canoes, to be received by a second volley of
rifle-shots. Some of their number were seriously wounded and flight
again became general. Soon not a single djoekoeng remained visible; but
that their occupants were not far off was proved by Mihing’s ready
response to his wife’s call.
The Mantangese were thankful for the assistance rendered to their wives
by our fugitives in the struggle with the boa. Nevertheless Demang
Soerah shook his head doubtfully and thought that the travellers had
better get away as soon as possible. During that fatal firing blood had
been spilt, and “blood cries for blood,” he said. He strongly advised
them to hasten their departure in order to escape the results of the
passion for vengeance which would surely be kindled among the natives.
Our fugitives saw the wisdom of this advice and left the soengei
Mantangei before daybreak to pursue the journey north by the Kapoeas.
The bite of the boa in Wienersdorf’s neck proved more painful than
dangerous. After being attended to by Dalim, who poulticed it with
leaves, the pain was assuaged and the Swiss was again fit to handle his
oar next morning.
Dalim seemed to have escaped almost unscathed from the embrace of the
snake: he only complained of a little stiffness in the joints and
stretched out his arms and legs repeatedly, swaying his body backward
and forward several times. He then asked them for a hearty drink of
toeak and declared himself quite cured.
“I hope we shall have the luck to meet another boa,” said Schlickeisen.
“A fine wish; and pray, what for?”
“Because I regret leaving that dead one behind.”
“Upon my word! What would you do with it? We have scarcely any room as
it is.”
“Quite so; but we could skin it and make cigar-cases or purses out of
the skin.”
“If I had the skin,” La Cueille said, “I should——”
“Certainly, carry it away and present it to Notre Dame,” Wienersdorf
interrupted.
“In addition to the rosary,” Johannes went on, “I am sure that skin
would be an ornament to the altar; and how it would puzzle the
congregation!”
“Silence, worthless heathen! Don’t joke upon sacred subjects,” the
Walloon exclaimed. “We shall often be in need of Heavenly aid, and I
fervently pray our Holy Mother to take us under her protection.”
“Amen!”