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.
Although the fugitives were again on their way, this was not the last
they were to hear of the adventure. Several men had been wounded in the
affray, and as the Dayaks were but indifferently acquainted with
surgery, they resolved to take the sufferers to the fort and seek the
assistance of the Dutch.
There could be no vengeance taken for the blood which had been shed, as
the strangers had departed, leaving no trace of the direction they were
pursuing. The Chief of the kampong, fearing that the vengeful feelings
of his people would involve him in serious difficulties with the Dutch,
told his people that the boat which carried our fugitives had sailed up
the soengei Mantangei, in order to reach the Doesson.
When the wounded arrived at Kapoeas they were immediately attended to
by the surgeon. Their wounds were found to be caused by bullets and
wholly different in character from injuries inflicted by the mandauw or
lance of the natives. This fact excited the greatest astonishment and
suspicion. The account furnished by the wounded men also gave grounds
for serious reflection. They described the incident of the boa
constrictor, and related how the men of kampong Mantangei had looked
upon the deliverers of their wives as head-hunters; how this mistake
had led to combat and how they were wounded and put to flight by a
heavy rifle-fire. The information that their assailants were Dayak
merchants who were working their way to the upper Doesson by means of
the Mantangei was not credited by the Colonel; on the other hand
neither did he suspect the presence of the deserters in that direction.
Only the day before he had returned from a journey on the Javan sea in
his efforts to recapture them. He had failed, but no doubt remained in
his mind of his having been upon their track.
On the morning following the desertion the Colonel had bestirred
himself early. Long before sunrise he had visited the Chief of the
district, Tomonggong Nikodemus Djaja Nagara. After taking some
preliminary measures he had placed himself at the head of a large
number of Dayaks, divided them into several canoes, and accompanied by
the Tomonggong had taken his course seawards.
Passing an islet in the Lesser Dayak river they encountered the canoe
which had been so terribly injured by the shots from the fortress the
night before. As, however, its crew were not in the secret of the
deserters no information could be gained from them. They could only
show their dead and wounded and explain how the canoe carrying the
coffin had disappeared in the dark down the stream. They had been
terribly frightened and even now had not lost all fear. After a long
palaver, however, they were convinced of their present safety and
assured that they might carry their wounded to the fortress to have
them surgically attended to.
Every creek, every soengei was examined, the islets thoroughly scoured,
but nothing of a suspicious nature was found. The Colonel, on nearing
the mouth of the Troessan, proposed to despatch part of his men through
that canal with orders to rejoin him again at the mouth of the Kahajan.
Had this order been executed our fugitives would have been caught. But
before the division of the men had been definitely made, a canoe
appeared at the mouth of the Troessan carrying the Chief of that
district, a trustworthy subject, who declared that he had not met with
a single canoe. It was therefore clear that the fugitives could not
have escaped that way. The voyage was continued to the mouth of the
Lesser Dayak. Their search in creeks and branches involved such loss of
time that it was late in the afternoon before they reached the Javan
sea.
The Colonel now carefully scanned the horizon and saw two cruisers
lying at anchor. On the south-west a prauw was working against the
wind, but as soon as it perceived the little fleet it spread all canvas
and tried to get away with all speed. This strengthened the Colonel’s
belief that the fugitives were on board of that prauw. Even the
Tomonggong declared that its appearance was not unlike that of the
prauw which had borne the cholera-stricken corpse. As to who the
oarsmen were he could form no conception. He knew the fear entertained
by his people of this terrible malady and this fact augmented his
uncertainty.
The Colonel ordered a few shots to be fired in order to attract the
attention of the cruisers and displayed the national colors from his
stern. Their respective commanders seemed to understand what they were
required to do. They immediately weighed their anchors and made sail
towards his little fleet.
The Colonel went on board one of them and ordered all sails to be set.
He also directed that three blank shots should be fired as a signal for
the prauw to lay to. But instead of obeying, the boat made more sail
and brought as many oars into play as possible. When first observed it
had appeared to carry about four oars, but now that it was in flight it
seemed to be crowded with men.
The Colonel ordered the gunners to load, determined to show that he was
in earnest. But the three-pound shells only rebounded on the water and
burst with loud reports; the distance was too great. The number of men
on board excited the suspicion of the Tomonggong also, but he declared
that it could not possibly be the canoe of the fugitives and that they
were on a false track. If that canoe had been manned at Kwala Kapoeas
with so many oarsmen it could not have remained a secret to him, the
Chief of the district.
At last the Colonel decided to despatch one of the cruisers in pursuit
of the fugitive boat, while the other was to remain behind to assist
him in examining the coast.
While giving his orders a cry was heard from one of the surrounding
canoes that it had a box in tow. This box proved to be the coffin of
the cholera patient which had been brought forth for burial on the
previous evening. One of the Dayaks recognized the body, while another
pretended to have himself made the coffin. The Colonel and the
Tomonggong looked at each other; both measured the distance between the
fugitive prauw and the mouth of the river, and as the coffin had been
found near the line between these two points all doubt was removed.
Even the Dayak chief now concluded that the coffin had been thrown
overboard from that suspicious prauw, which must consequently contain
the fugitives.
“Forward, forward!” was now in order.
All that day the pursued prauw kept its distance, now losing a little,
then regaining the loss. Towards evening the south-monsoon began to
drop and as is usual in those latitudes the land wind arose. The wind
blew from south-east to east by north and a thick mass of clouds
darkened the sky. Both cruisers, although in violation of the existing
rules, carried their lights and every boat of the Dayak flotilla was
also provided with a lamp. No lights however were visible from the
fugitive, and it was therefore impossible to keep it in view.
Nevertheless the combined fleets pursued their course west south-west
during the night, to find next morning that the prauw was only visible
as a dim black spot on the southern horizon. It had simply changed its
course in the darkness of the night, so as not to be too near Cape
Salatan.
By this manœuvre it would be enabled as soon as the wind should blow
again from the south-east, to run before it.
The Dutch cruisers endeavored to regain the lost distance in the lull
which generally prevails during the first hours of the morning, and as
soon as the monsoon reappeared at eight they set all sail; but the
result was the same as on the previous day. About two in the afternoon
a large schooner appeared on the horizon. This vessel, observing the
pursued prauw, showed the Dutch colors reversed, fired a shot, and
manœuvred to take the prauw in tow. This she speedily accomplished,
then lying to the wind she fired another shot, the charge of which flew
over the first of the cruisers, but struck the mast of the other and
sent it flying overboard. Considering the distance, the result of this
shot proved that she was armed with grooved guns. The Colonel, enraged
at the insult of the flag and at the shot, determined to continue his
pursuit; but the schooner was too fast a sailer, and within an hour she
had disappeared from view.
They then began to think of the return journey. Tomonggong pointed
towards the horizon and declared that the faint glimpse of land towards
the north was cape Poeding and the one a little higher up to the west
cape Kramat. The Colonel consulted his map and his face darkened.
“From this point we have to make about thirty-six miles against the
wind. A terrible affair; the deuce take them!” he exclaimed.
Giving his orders he arranged that the two cruisers should remain
together, while the dismasted one should be towed as far as the Lesser
Dayak river by six canoes. Once there, she would be able to manage with
her oars. This settled, the Colonel, accompanied by the Tomonggong,
went on board of one of the fastest boats of the fleet, manned her with
sixty picked oarsmen, and hurried on in order to regain his post at
Kwala Kapoeas, which he reached late at night after an absence of four
days.
He was welcomed on his arrival by the doctor who was surprised at not
seeing the fugitives return with him. His look of enquiry was answered
by the Colonel with the words,
“Gone, and forever! I saw them disappear on board of an armed schooner.
But how could they have put themselves in communication with her? The
more I think it over, the less can I make it out.”
He related his experiences, the sighting of the canoes, the finding of
the body, the pursuit, the fatal shot from the schooner and her
reversed flag, and concluded with,
“It is a mystery to me.”
“What kind of vessel was that schooner?” the doctor asked.
“How should I know? She carried European gear and I am positive that
she was armed with steel-bored guns. Perhaps she was one of those
British smugglers from the straits of Malacca which drive an impudent
trade in contraband opium and war ammunition. However, I am going to
make my report. By-the-bye, did you send off my former one during my
absence?”
“The postal canoe left while you were yet in sight.”
“Good; we may receive an answer to-day.”
Inwardly, the doctor was glad of the escape of the deserters; but his
joy would have visibly evaporated could he only have known where they
were at that moment.
The day following the return of the Colonel the report was spread in
the kampong at Kwala Kapoeas that Dalim and two other Dayaks, who were
all three under the supervision of the police, had been seen at soengei
Naning. Nobody knew that they had served as oarsmen to the funeral
canoe and when the Colonel spoke of their absence to the Chief of the
district he confirmed the statement that three Dayaks had disappeared.
The Chief also related the whole history of the crocodile hunt at
Poeloe Kanamit and declared that he had already sent out trustworthy
messengers to bring those men back again. On the Colonel’s enquiry
whether there was any connection between the disappearance of these
fellows and the desertion of the four Europeans, the Tomonggong laughed
good-naturedly.
“Impossible, sir! You saw the palefaces go on board that schooner with
your own eyes. What business could they have with these Dayaks, who
perhaps have been taking a holiday to soengei Naning? You know that
Dalim’s brother lives there.”
The Colonel shook his head, but remained silent.
When however two days afterwards the wounded from soengei Mantangei
were brought in and with Eastern exaggeration talked about the
rifle-fire as if a hundred men had been engaged—when too, the doctor
imprudently declared that he was unable to say whether or not the
wounds were inflicted by round bullets, but rather thought that they
looked more like wounds torn by explosive balls, the Colonel began to
reflect. He desired the Chief of the district to appear, talked the
matter over with him and finally ordered him to keep thirty Dayaks
ready. He also bade him send the Chief of the kampong, Damboeng
Papoendeh, to the fort to receive further instructions.
On leaving the fort the old Tomonggong met the doctor.
“It is all over with them now,” he said. “Their track is clear.”
“But, Tomonggong, how is it possible that these Europeans could have
fought in soengei Mantangei?”
“I cannot explain the possibility, sir, but I will swear that it was
they.”
“Take care,” the doctor laughed, “the palefaces punish false oaths
heavily.”
“I am quite at ease. None such devils are found in the whole of Dayak
country. First, that crocodile hunt; then the fight with a boa;
afterwards the heavy fire into the boats of the approaching inhabitants
of the kampong. Nobody here carries such weapons. I will lay you any
wager that the repeating rifles of the Colonel have played their part
in all these scenes.”
“Did you tell the Colonel?”
“Not yet; he is too much taken up with the notion that the palefaces
are on board that schooner. The finding of that coffin is a positive
proof to him that they have chosen that direction.”
“And do you not think so, Tomonggong?”
“I did think so once, sir, but not now. According to my view the
fugitives have gone higher up. If the Colonel would only listen to me
we should be on their track already.”
“What does he intend to do?”
“To let Damboeng Papoendeh find out first what was their object in
going to soengei Mantangei. But by the time he will have obtained
positive reports these men will be too far away.”
“Let them go, Tomonggong, let them go.”
“It is all very well for you to say that; but if we do not follow them
now, they will either fall a prey to the head-hunters of the upper
regions, or will settle amongst the Ot Danoms and render their capture
more difficult for my own people. In either case much unnecessary blood
will be spilt. I will return to-night and hope to find the Colonel in a
better mood for listening to my proposals.”
“But could you not wait a day or two? For instance, until we receive
further information?”
“My gratitude towards you, sir, begins to oppress me. I owe you the
life of my child, but the lives of many human beings are now involved.”
“I beseech you, have a little more patience.”
“Be it so! But be sure that this is the last time that I will do
anything for these fugitives. I feel that I am acting wrongly and that
if I had not listened to you from the beginning we should have been
saved all this trouble.”
A few hours afterwards three canoes, well manned and fully armed,
sailed up the Kapoeas. They were under the command of Damboeng
Papoendeh, a young Dayak chief eager to gain his first spurs under the
Dutch flag. When the Colonel informed him that the canoe which had
given battle to the people of soengei Mantangei had sailed toward the
Doesson, he smiled and said that he fully understood how to act.
A few minutes later the doctor tried to speak to him alone, but the
Dayak repelled all advances and proudly stated that “he had pledged
himself to bring back the fugitives, dead or alive.”
The post arrived at Kwala Kapoeas next day and brought a recommendation
to the Colonel not to leave any means untried to recapture the
deserters.
“But what are you to do?” asked the doctor, who as usual was spending
the evening with the Colonel and had witnessed the opening of the
official letters.
“What am I to do? For my part, the deserters may get clean off. I will
have nothing more to do with the matter. I have already exceeded my
duty as military commander. It is not my fault that these cruising
boats are so slow and can’t get along.”
While giving vent to his feelings the Colonel had almost mechanically
opened the other letters and skimmed over their contents. Most of them
were of an administrative nature and of little material importance. But
the one which he now held in his hand seemed to rivet his whole
attention. It was a communication from the Resident, that a schooner
carrying reversed Dutch colors and laden with salt, opium, gunpowder
and leaden and iron bullets had been captured by His Majesty’s steamer
Montrado, in the neighborhood of Poeloe Mangkop, south of cape Batoe
Titi. Most of the men had been killed during the fight. One European
only, seemingly an Englishman, appeared to have been on board. The
commanders of all stations along the coast were therefore advised to be
on the lookout, as similar attempts at landing contraband stores might
be expected.
“By the saints! it must have been that infernal schooner,” the Colonel
burst out. “And the deserters were not on board after all! Where else
can they be? Have we been following the wrong track? But how can we
account for that coffin in the Javan sea? It is above my comprehension
altogether. Old Tomonggong may be right after all that it was they who
caused that fracas in the soengei Mantangei. But how did they get
there?”
His excitement now became very great and he despatched a messenger to
the district chief, ordering him to be present at the fort on the
following morning with fifty oarsmen to accompany him to soengei
Mantangei.
The fugitives continued their journey from soengei Mantangei during the
night. They had now been fully seven days on their travels. The country
around gradually lost its alluvial appearance, and although the
elevation of the soil was not yet very important and our adventurers
could still clearly distinguish in the current of the river the regular
and marked appearance of ebb and flood, the riwoet haroesan, breath of
the stream, had totally ceased. The highest tide never brought the sea
so far up and its waters were here free from all brackishness.
About three o’clock in the afternoon the travellers reached a spot
called petak bapoeti, white sail, by the natives. This consisted of a
range of hills about forty feet high, formed of bluish-white sand,
mingled with numerous shells of a different kind from those in the clay
mud met with round the south coast of Borneo. In support of the
hypothesis that once upon a time this must have been the southern coast
of the island, similar hill formations are found at about the same
distance from the mouths of the Doesson, Kahajan and Mantawei rivers.
To stretch their limbs awhile on this white sand was a welcome
relaxation to our Europeans, for to sit for days cross-legged in a
canoe is exceedingly fatiguing to a person not accustomed to it. They
therefore moved about freely, occupying themselves in gathering some
dark red berries, not unlike our blackberries, which grew abundantly
here and which supplied an agreeable relish to their monotonous meals.
After they had walked an hour or two Dalim gave the signal for
departure, telling them that where they were such multitudes of
mosquitoes swarmed about at night that despite the use of any quantity
of “brotoali” sleep would be impossible. According to him it was the
spot where most of the mosquitoes of the island congregated; for which
he accounted by relating the following legend:
“The son of Sultan Koening, the Djata—or Crocodile—King of the Batang
Moeroeng, was going to be married to the daughter of Anding Maling
Goena, the Crocodile King of the Kapoeas River. The marriage was to be
solemnized at this spot; and the fishes, water-snakes, shrimps, frogs
and other inhabitants of the stream assembled to increase the pomp of
the ceremony. They brought with them some hundreds of pounds of
mosquitoes as the best present they could give the young married couple
in token of their affection. The present was graciously accepted; and
the descendants of those mosquitoes in a most disagreeable manner
impress the memory of that marriage gift upon any traveller whose
ill-luck carries him thither to spend the night.”
“A queer present,” La Cueille remarked, “only a Dayak could suggest
such a wedding gift.”
“I heard Dalim speak of the island Kalimantan,” said Wienersdorf.
“Which island is that?”
Johannes hereupon told him that Kalimantan was the name given by the
natives to Borneo, and that the European name, derived from the word
Broenai, simply indicates a small division of the island situated on
the north-western coast.
“Does the word Kalimantan mean anything at all?”
“Kalimantawa is the Dayak name of the dorian or jack-fruit of Borneo,
the shape of the island being similar to that of the fruit, which
probably led to the adoption of the name.”
“That is quite impossible,” Wienersdorf rejoined. “Borneo is one of the
largest islands of the world, and to define the shape of so large an
island one requires a certain amount of knowledge which no people of
the Indian Archipelago are likely to possess.”
Dalim hereupon bent over to Johannes and whispered something in his
ear.
“You may be right,” the latter observed. “Dalim has just suggested
Kalliintan, river of diamonds. That may be the true origin of the name,
as intan means diamond.”
In discourse of a similar nature time was materially shortened and our
travellers soon reached kotta Towanan. This was a Dayak fortification,
such as is frequently found all over the inner regions of Borneo. It
consisted of a long square redoubt without projections; its parapets
were made of strong wooden piles of vast size, and was ornamented here
and there with life-size wooden images representing Dayak warriors in
every possible attitude of war.
Approaching nearer, but still covered by the last projecting bank,
Dalim advised that the kotta should be reconnoitred in order to
ascertain that it was not occupied by river pirates and head-hunters. A
party accompanied by Schlickeisen and La Cueille landed and penetrated
into the wood. They soon returned, however, and reported that they had
found nothing of a suspicious nature.
At first they proposed to pass the night in the kotta and enjoy sleep
on terra firma again; but after Wienersdorf had made a careful survey,
he remarked that both in the front and rear of the fort there were
large apertures, which would require to be guarded. It would also be
necessary to keep strict watch over their canoe, which contained all
their riches. The efficient defence of these several positions would
certainly be too much for their small number of men, none of whom had
yet enjoyed a good night’s rest. They therefore resolved to remain in
their boat, and by setting one man to do duty as sentry enable the
others to enjoy undisturbed repose. Evening had closed in and the
Dayaks took the first watch, the Europeans arranging to succeed and
relieve them later in the night.
But man proposes and God disposes. Their rest was fated to be
disturbed.
It might have been about nine o’clock in the evening; the Europeans had
enveloped themselves in their blankets and were already snoring. The
three Dayaks were sitting together in conversation, when Dalim made the
remark that their supply of wood was insufficient to keep such a fire
burning as would be necessary to command a thorough survey of the
territory. He ordered one of his mates to supply this want and pointed
out to him a heap of dry branches which he had noticed during his
examination of the fort some hours before. The Dayak made no demur
whatever but proceeded on his errand. His friends saw him land and
disappear through one of the apertures of the fort; when suddenly a
heart-rending cry was heard which summoned the watchers as well as the
Europeans to their feet. Wienersdorf and La Cueille were among the
first to seize their rifles and leap on shore; Dalim followed them
closely, while the others kept a sharp lookout, their rifles presented
and their fingers on the trigger.
Dalim and his mates carefully entered the fort, but Wienersdorf
suddenly stumbled over something, fell, and uttered a cry of horror.
Dalim who was behind him hastened to his aid. He bore a lighted torch
in his hand, by the faint glimmer of which they perceived the headless
corpse of their native companion. The body had been decapitated after
the Dayak fashion, the head having been severed from it at one blow.
As a rule, this decapitation is performed so suddenly that the victims
enter into eternity before they are aware of their impending fate. In
this case, however, the Dayak seemed to have realized his situation
during his last moments, as was proved by the cry he had uttered. He
seemed also to have clutched his assailant with his left hand, because
there was the fragment of ewah in his grasp, while his right hand still
held his mandauw. La Cueille perceived something lying on the grass not
far from the dead Dayak; he stooped and seized it, only to give
utterance to a cry of horror and dismay. Powerless to relinquish what
he held in his hand he raised it up. It was the head of their
companion, its eyes rolling and its jaw and lips moving in their last
agonies, as if they were trying to find utterance. At this horrible
sight Dalim cried out terrified as he moved backward,
“Quick, back!”
He had scarcely uttered these words when a whistling sound was heard
and La Cueille with a true Walloon curse cried out that he was wounded.
He shouldered his rifle without loosing his grip of the head; but Dalim
took him by the arm and hurried him toward the canoe, while Wienersdorf
covered the retreat, discharging the Remington into the surrounding
obscurity. Upon nearing the light diffused by the boat’s fire, La
Cueille thought he saw something move in the bush which skirted the
palisade of the fortifications. He tore himself away from Dalim, threw
the yet bleeding head into the canoe, and discharged his rifle in the
direction of the shrubs. The shot was quickly answered with a defiant
lēēēēh, lèlèlèlèlè, ouiiiit, and at the same time some figures emerged
from the darkness into the illuminated circle. Now, however, came
Johannes and Schlickeisen’s turn to interpose their aid. They had
remained in the canoe, awaiting a favorable opportunity for action.
Schlickeisen was armed with the other Remington rifle; Wienersdorf and
the Walloon took their position near the canoe, and a rifle-fire was
kept up which put the assailing Dayaks to rout. The first two shots
fired by the Europeans from the canoe seemed almost sufficient, for
these being delivered with a cool and steady aim two of their
assailants were instantly hors de combat; the others soon fled.
Nothing further could be seen ashore; our adventurers therefore ceased
firing and took time to recover themselves. La Cueille complained of
pain in his arm, upon which Wienersdorf examined it and found that the
Walloon had been wounded by a poisoned arrow. They all looked at each
other dejectedly, for they had learned enough of arrow poison to be
aware of its terrible consequences. Dalim took a handful of salt which
he rubbed into the gums of the patient until a profuse salivation was
produced. He was proceeding to rub it into the wound itself when
Wienersdorf pushed him aside, and opening his pocket knife made a deep
crucial incision over the small wound. He then produced a bottle of
liquid ammonia and poured a few drops of the alkali into the cut.
The Walloon roared with pain, writhing terribly and mingling many
forcible expletives with constant repetitions of, “Sainte Vierge, priez
pour moi!”
Although the situation was grave indeed, Johannes could not refrain
from pointing out to La Cueille how soon he had forgotten his part of
an Arab and strongly advised him to mutter a devout, “Lā ilāha illa
llāhoe,” instead of invoking the Holy Virgin. The Walloon, though
greatly incensed against his brown comrade, was in too much pain to
give vent to his feelings. At length after many sighs and lamentations
he fell into a deep slumber, which Dalim considered a favorable
symptom.
It was clear that the others must not think of going to sleep. They
knew that the enemy was in their immediate neighborhood. They therefore
remained, rifle in hand, watching the banks from under the roof of
their canoe in order to be prepared for a renewed attack. All remained
quiet for a considerable time. Suddenly they heard from behind them on
the river the well known but formidable lēēēēh lèlèlèlèlè ouiiiit! and
a hail of small arrows dropped amongst them over the canoe and under
the roof. Upon turning round sharply, they had just time to see a boat
shoot by in mid-stream, its occupants continuing their cry of defiance.
They thereupon discharged a few shots which seemed to be well aimed,
for the war cry suddenly ceased and gave way to shrieks of pain. These
continued to be heard for a considerable time in the stillness of the
night, but they gradually grew fainter until at last they were lost in
the distance.
La Cueille on first hearing the war cry and the ensuing noise of the
firing had jumped up from his sleep in a great fright. Feeling about
for some weapon he had seized hold of the head which a few hours ago he
himself had thrown into the canoe, but had quite forgotten. Being still
under the influence of the late tragedy his horror was extreme, and he
at once concluded that the head-hunters were on board and busily
engaged in their bloody work among his companions. Fortunately there
was no weapon near, else in the intense darkness he might have wrought
sad havoc among his friends. In his heedless passion of
self-preservation he grasped Johannes by the neck and tried to strangle
him, when the latter becoming enraged, dealt him a few smart blows in
return, saying, “This diabolical Walloon means to throttle me; I
believe he is mad.”
They all fancied he was suffering from a sudden fit of mania caused by
the arrow poison; but when the Walloon told them how on awakening he
had taken hold of the head, they burst into hearty laughter and
congratulated the pseudo head-hunter on the spoil he had secured.
“We will dissect and clean it nicely for you,” said Johannes, “and you
may take it with you to Jupille. It will be quite a treasure to you,
and the Walloon ladies will almost besiege you when you tell them that
Dayak fashion you are able to lay a skull at the feet of your lady
love.”
They all laughed at this suggestion except La Cueille himself, who had
not yet wholly recovered from his fright. A good draught from the toeak
bottle soon restored him.
After such stirring events sleep was an impossibility, although Dalim
assured his companions they had nothing more to apprehend. It was,
however, resolved to continue watching until the sun should appear in
the heavens.
“We are getting on,” Schlickeisen observed; “our little force has
suffered one death and two wounded. If things continue at this rate, by
the time we reach the upper country few of us will be left to tell the
story of our adventures.”
“Ah, bah! Did you think to escape without even a scratch?” Johannes
asked. “If only half of us reach the Chinese sea we may think ourselves
lucky indeed. In real fact no one of us is safe.”
“Your predictions are certainly far from reassuring,” Wienersdorf said.
“He is always prophesying something horrible,” La Cueille muttered.
“This ugly fellow tries to make our lives more insupportable than they
already are.”
“You will have to take life as it comes, and to face its trials
fearlessly. Our position, however, is not quite so bad after all; we
certainly have to lament the loss of one of our companions, but
fortunately no one of us four has fallen yet. Wienersdorf’s wound
received from the boa has nearly healed, and since La Cueille is not
quite dead yet we may laugh at his pin pricks. What a noise our Walloon
made about it, did he not?” Johannes laughingly remarked.
“Since I am not dead yet you may enjoy your fun,” La Cueille said. “But
was I really in danger?”
“I did not entertain much hope for your life when I saw that arrow.
Those weapons usually act very rapidly indeed. First, you are taken
with a shivering fit, then your teeth begin to rattle, you talk at
random and with the vehemence of a drunkard; and then all is over
within half an hour. Since you have survived all these symptoms you may
consider yourself out of danger.”
The Walloon gave a sigh of relief.
“But Wienersdorf will have to be careful of that bottle of nasty
smelling liquid,” Johannes continued, “he has done wonders with it
indeed.”
“Dalim swears that his salt saved La Cueille.”
“Not a bit of it,” Johannes replied. “I have watched the Colonel at
Kwala Kapoeas in his experiments with arrow poisons on dogs, monkeys
and fowls. The salt antidote always failed; the poor animals invariably
died after it, while those treated by the application of the foul
smelling liquid were all cured.”
Wienersdorf was sitting, lost in thought, supporting his head with his
hand. “It is still a riddle to me,” he said at last, “how those men
came to leave a head behind them on the ground. I always thought that
the head-hunter seized his victim by the hair before giving the fatal
blow.”
“That is what I also cannot make out,” the Dayak assured him. “As a
rule the grasping of the hair and the blow itself take place so rapidly
that the victim has no time to utter a cry. Some instances of rapidity
have been recorded where the victims actually make a few steps onward
waving their arms about after decapitation. The Dayak boys of the upper
regions regularly cultivate head-hunting as a fine art. They first
place a cocoanut on the top of a thin post and practice until they are
able to cut the post clean through just under the point where the nut
rests upon it without injuring the latter. Later on, as they advance in
years and their strength increases, the post is replaced by an effigy
of a large boy, the neck of which is made of a piece of soft but
elastic wood, and in order to complete the illusion they adorn the nut
with a wig formed of the fibres of the arengpalm, which, when properly
made, strongly resembles the thin hair of the natives. Hence their
great dexterity.”
“To which I can add,” Johannes continued, “that the Dayaks of the lower
country are just as great experts in the handling of their mandauws. I
have witnessed at Kwala Kapoeas how, in the presence of the Colonel,
any Dayak, however weak in appearance, could without visible effort
divide in halves at a single blow a ripe green cocoanut, while none of
the Europeans could manage to penetrate beyond the fibre.”
“It seems a curious custom to offer one’s lady-love these human heads,”
Schlickeisen continued.
“Quite so; but yet it has a meaning,” Johannes answered. “Formerly it
must have been a proof of his valor given by the bridegroom to his
bride, to demonstrate that he was capable of protecting his wife and
children. What better guarantee than the head of one of his enemies
killed by his own hand could be offered by a primitive community? This
custom afterwards became degraded by turning skulls into an article of
luxury or of established traffic. Thus an institution originating in
the best intentions became the curse of the whole population.”
“But these atrocities cannot be practiced in the lower country, can
they?” Wienersdorf asked of Dalim.
“The Dutch will not allow them,” the latter replied.
“So that you only abandon the practice because it is prohibited. Don’t
you consider head-hunting an abominable occupation?”
“Who can say? Perhaps according to my views it is not,” was the
phlegmatic reply, proving that the perception of its horror had not
greatly impressed him.
While they were conversing in this strain the night crept on and day at
last reappeared, to the great delight of our travellers.
They examined the kotta carefully and found nothing but the decapitated
body of their late companion. A small pool of blood was discovered at a
little distance from it, while at one of the openings in the palisades
some bloody finger-marks appeared on the wood-work. They therefore
concluded that the enemy had also suffered loss, although to the utter
disappointment of the Swiss no bodies could be found.
“Do you think those blackguards got off scot free?” Schlickeisen asked
earnestly.
“Certainly not,” Johannes answered, “for I could follow traces of blood
as far as the river, where they took to their rangkan. We shall have to
examine the ground more thoroughly. But you must not forget that the
natives of the Dutch Indies consider it the greatest disgrace to leave
the bodies of their fallen brethren behind.”
After having examined the kotta the deserters passed outside through
one of the openings to scour the neighborhood. In their explorations
they reached a spot the long grass of which was trodden down. When
Schlickeisen had cut a way through the thick creepers and bushes he
found two bodies dressed in full war costume, with their coats of mail
made of rattan chain and caps of monkey skin on their heads, their
shields in their left hands and their naked mandauws in their right.
According to Dalim they were Poenans, a Dayak tribe belonging to the
interior of Borneo, near the sources of the Kahajan-Doesson and Kotei
rivers. Both of these men must have destroyed many victims judging by
the tufts of human hair which ornamented the blades and handles of
their mandauws. They were young men still, and yet Dalim averred that
one of them had killed four and the other seven people, facts which
were proved by the number of red rattan rings round the sheaths of
their mandauws.
The weapons and coats of mail of the dead were appropriated by the two
Dayaks, and their bodies were then thrown into the river as an offering
to Djata, the Chief of the Crocodiles. Their own fallen companion they
washed carefully and painted his forehead and nails, after which they
and the Europeans dug a grave and buried him, putting his head in
position above his trunk. They placed a mandauw in his hand and
deposited his lance beside him in the grave. Each of them then strewed
a handful of raw rice over the body, saying,
“Djetoh akam,” (this is for you).
They then strewed a second handful saying, “This we send to our
forefathers,” and finally a third one with the words, “This is for so
and so”—mentioning the names of some relations who had recently died.
This ceremony of strewing rice is never omitted at funerals.
After this the Dayak companions of the dead man uttered a piercing
shriek called tatoem, the lament for the dead, and then proceeded to
close the grave. In order to secure the body from being interfered
with, they had chosen a spot in the midst of thick herbage and had
carefully cut the sods and put them aside without breaking them. They
then collected the excavated earth upon a large sheet, taking care not
to drop a single handful. In filling the grave they tramped the earth
down as firmly as possible, planted a few short shrubs and then
replaced the sods so carefully that the most searching eye could not
discover where they had been divided by the spade. The remainder of the
superfluous earth was carefully carried to the river, into which it was
thrown, and the grave was copiously watered so as to preserve the sods
and plants from withering.
When all was finished the fugitives took to their canoes again, threw
out their oars, and left the spot which had nearly been their last
resting-place.