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.
“Confound this stream,” La Cueille muttered to himself, “one can hardly
perceive that we are making any progress.”
It was indeed at the cost of much labor and fatigue that any way was
made through the water. The canoe seemed to glide backward and forward
without advancing a single yard, though the crew used their oars with
all the power at their command. This was the result of the numerous
obstructions which lay in their way. It required an intimate knowledge
of the river to be able to weather promontories, to cut off corners, to
avoid curves, to utilize currents and to steer clear of sand-banks. But
their chief danger lay in the vast quantities of dead trees that were
fixed in the bed of the river. Torn away from the banks by storms or
inundations, these trees are carried along by the stream a considerable
distance, until they become caught by some under lying shoal or sand
bank to which they attach themselves and become permanently planted.
Collision with such snags is one of the greatest dangers of river
navigation, as it generally proves fatal to the vessel. Dalim and his
compatriots kept a sharp lookout and by their vigilance and adroitness
prevented many a mishap which might have endangered their lives and
involved the utter destruction of the canoe.
La Cueille found this hard rowing peculiarly irksome. He looked at his
arm from time to time, but the cut made by Wienersdorf was healing well
without any inflammatory symptom. There was nothing to be seen but a
black circle, which Dalim informed him was always present after similar
wounds by poisonous weapons, whether the wounded person died or
recovered.
Upon Wienersdorf enquiring from what these poisons were made, Dalim
informed him that the two principal kinds used by the Dayaks were known
under the names of siren and ipoh. They were both vegetable poisons,
but no specific botanical name was known for the trees from which they
were obtained. About the preparation of the poisons, however, Dalim
after repeated requests gave the following account.
In the interior of Borneo, and especially along the slopes of mountains
and hills, there grows a tree called batang siren by the natives. Like
our oak this tree reaches the age of a hundred years and more. A white
milky fluid flows from it when tapped, which is collected in a little
bamboo cylinder. On contact with the air, this sap soon loses its
color, turns first yellow, then brown and finally black. When it leaves
the tree the fluid is perfectly harmless and only acquires its
poisonous properties after evaporation and admixture with other plants.
The sap having been properly treated and thickened is poured into a
stone jar while warm; upon cooling it soon coagulates. The Dayaks
always carry this jar with them fastened to the waistband from which
their mandauws depend. When required for use it is again heated in
order to liquefy it. The points of their arrows are then dipped in it
and speedily become covered with a thin layer of gum which dries
immediately.
The first symptom shown by the wounded is a copious vomiting. This is
followed by paralysis of the limbs, which continues for about ten
minutes, when death ensues amid violent convulsions.
The ipoh is prepared in a similar manner, but that poison is taken from
a creeper. The only difference between the effects of the ipoh and
siren poisons is that the former is not attended by vomiting.
Every Dayak knows how to prepare both these poisons, but as the plants
and the accessory ingredients are chiefly found in the mountainous
districts, the inhabitants of the upper countries are more expert in
their preparation than the natives of the coast.
About mid-day our travellers approached the soengei Moeroi. When trying
to row past it they saw a raft coming down this broad soengei. It
carried three men, who were employing all their strength in the effort
to stop the course of their unmanageable craft. One of them called for
assistance, and as according to the custom of the country a refusal was
not to be dreamed of, Dalim steered his boat toward the raft and was
soon moored alongside of it.
It was being rapidly carried away by the strong tide; therefore the
first thing to be done was to make for the shore and to moor it there.
Our adventurers soon produced their rattan cables, as well as the
anchor chains which they had taken with them from soengei Naning.
Having joined these firmly together, they fastened one end to a kind of
capstan on the raft while the other end was carried ashore in a
djoekoeng and tied around the trunk of a strong tree. The raft was
still drifting onward with the current when the cable being drawn taut,
its progress was suddenly arrested. The result was a violent shock
which pitched Schlickeisen and La Cueille headlong into the river; but
they were soon rescued by Dalim and some of his new friends.
The cable stood the shock admirably; it remained stretched like a cord,
though the raft trembled under the pressure of the tide. Presently the
unwieldy structure swung around toward the shore, when they managed by
the aid of the capstan to bring it gradually nearer the tree, to which
it was eventually fastened by the cable.
Our travellers now learned that the owner of the raft, a native of
Kwala Kapoeas named Bapa Andong, had been collecting forest products in
soengei Moeroi and had been very successful. He now was on his way to
Lake Ampang, where he had various kinds of produce safely stored: but
being short-handed he was unable to take his raft there against the
tide. He now addressed himself to Johannes, whom he regarded as the
leader of the party, and proposed that they should all help him in the
navigation of his unwieldy craft. His son, with six hirelings, was
awaiting his arrival at the lake, and he felt anxious about their
safety. It was at length settled that our travellers should assist in
taking the raft to the lake and in embarking all the goods there
stored; that they should then bring the raft back again into the
Kapoeas stream, after which their further assistance would be
unnecessary.
Before concluding these arrangements the bargain was struck that when
they should separate the two hirelings should be transferred to the
canoes of our adventurers.
This contract concluded, work commenced. The raft being fastened by a
second rope, the cable was loosened from the tree and carried by a
djoekoeng up the stream as far as it would reach, when it was attached
to another tree. The capstan was again manned and the raft thus worked
further up stream against the tide. This manœuvre was repeated again
and again with success. One can imagine the difficulty of the task,
especially to the Europeans, who were quite unused to that kind of
work; but it gave them a clear insight into the activity of the people
among whom they found themselves, and exhibited the fertility of
resource possessed by the children of nature.
The raft on which they now stood consisted of two hundred logs of
timber of excellent quality tied firmly together by rattan cables. A
floor was laid over these logs and in the centre of the raft a roomy
hut was constructed. Under a roof extending from the sides of this hut
the products were safely housed. The raft carried nearly four thousand
trusses of rattan, a couple of thousand gantangs of rosin, a hundred
pikols of bees-wax, twenty pikols of India rubber and a small parcel of
birds’ nests. The last two Bapa Andong had exchanged for bees-wax with
some traders from the upper country. The other goods were the products
of his own labor. The rattan had been cut in the surrounding soengeis,
the rosin was partly gathered from the trees and partly collected along
the banks of the river.
It was quite evening when the raft shot the last projection and the
entrance of the channel which forms the junction between the lake and
the river became visible. The crew was exhausted with fatigue, rest was
accordingly absolutely necessary. As there was no earthly possibility
of steering the raft through the narrow canal in the darkness they
moored it to the shore, after which part of the crew landed to clear
the ground for some distance, so as to command an unobstructed view of
the surrounding country. The shrubs and trees thus cut down were formed
into a kind of entrenchment at the edge of the clearing to prevent the
possibility of a surprise. They further divided their men into two
watches, who would alternately take duty and keep a lookout, Johannes
taking care that he and La Cueille should remain with one party while
the two Swiss would join the other division.
As soon as daylight appeared our travellers resumed their labors, and
after an hour’s hard toil the raft was steered into the channel. The
sun had nearly risen above the horizon when they had their craft safely
moored against the landing-stage to receive the rest of its cargo. The
lading was executed so rapidly that by the afternoon everything was
ready on board for the resumption of their journey.
But a considerable task had yet to be accomplished. Since Bapa Andong
had originally begun collecting his forest products, a work which had
occupied him about six months, hundreds of swarms of bees had made
their nests in the trees growing on the western bank of the lake. The
trees chosen by these little insects are high, with straight and smooth
trunks and far spreading branches. The Dayaks call these wood-giants
“tanggirang,” and in favorable seasons from two to three hundred bees’
nests may be found in a single tree. From the moment Bapa Andong first
observed these industrious insects commencing their labor he had begun
to make his preparations for collecting their produce at the proper
time. He had daily driven spikes of hard wood into each tree at a
distance of about a foot and a half, until these primitive ladders
reached the lower branches. The task took him a long time to complete,
but it could not be hastened as the continuous hammering at the spikes
would undoubtedly have disturbed the bees and rendered an attack from
them certain.
His hirelings now cleared the ground around the trees of every shrub
and weed; and all being ready for action they awaited a favorable
opportunity to commence operations. This soon came.
It was a boisterous night and the wind blew as if determined to uproot
every tree; the sky was covered with thick clouds and the darkness was
so great that everything seemed as if enveloped in black. They were now
seventeen men in all, including Bapa Andong’s son and the six hirelings
found on the borders of the lake. By means of the canoe belonging to
our adventurers and of the two additional djoekoengs, they crossed the
foaming waters of the lake to the other side where the bee trees stood.
Arrived there they stepped ashore and spread large linen sheets on four
posts in such a manner that the corners being raised up they formed
monster sacks. When these were ready they set fire to some previously
prepared torches of green resinous wood, of which each Dayak took one
and rapidly mounted the ladders. Only one man climbed each tree, while
Bapa Andong with the four Europeans kept watch in the dark beneath
rifles in hand.
The hirelings mounted rapidly and began to beat the numerous nests. The
bees, as if determined to drown the noise of the raging storm, came out
buzzing loudly to attack the intruders, but blinded by the light of the
torches and suffocated by the smoke they were driven rapidly away by
the violent storm and fell by hundreds of thousands on the other side
of the lake. As soon as the swarms had disappeared the men, armed with
bamboo knives, eagerly commenced to free the nests from the branches
and to drop them into the sacks beneath. All this took but little time
to accomplish and the men had already descended ere the Europeans
recovered from their astonishment. The sight of those naked brown
figures with flowing locks rapidly mounting the trees under the faint
glimmer of their torches, their bodies bending over the branches high
up in the air, the torches moving to and fro and enveloping everything
in a dark smoke; the noise of the storm and the hum of the millions of
bees—all these seemed so surprising, so weird, that they could fancy
themselves to be dreaming but for the numerous nests dripping with
honey which lay at their feet.
“They are brave fellows!” La Cueille burst forth.
“With quickness and dexterity, combined with cool calculation,”
remarked Schlickeisen, “not a single accident has happened to mar the
undertaking.”
The bees’ nests were speedily stored away in the boat and the whole
expedition returned long before midnight.
After all the nests had been placed upon a stage to drip, the
night-watch was re-established as on the previous evening and half of
the crew retired to rest.
Rest, however, seems a strange fiction in the Dayak countries.
Certainly the first hours passed undisturbed, but the woodcock, which
the natives call takakak from its note, had hardly sounded its morning
cry about three o’clock when young Andong fancied he heard a slight
noise from the side of the wood. He remained at his post as immovable
as a monument, listened and signalled to his mates without making any
audible sound. They all pricked up their ears and listened likewise. A
movement was heard like creeping bodies trying to force a passage
through the protecting wood-work and shrubs. Fortunately the storm had
abated, or the suspicious sounds would not have been heard. The
sleeping party was awakened with the least possible noise and
preparations were made for a fight. The Europeans kept close together,
having their fire-arms near at hand. But as these seemed almost useless
in the intense darkness they, like the Dayaks whom they were
impersonating, took each a strong mandauw, intending to make good use
of it.
Bapa Andong, however, whispered something to Johannes which was
answered with a smile and a nod; and as soon as the nature of this
communication was imparted to the others the entire party prepared for
action. The two Swiss took up their Remington rifles and La Cueille and
Johannes their breech-loaders, while each of them was additionally
provided with a revolver and the two remaining rifles were loaded for
use in case of emergency.
Everything being now arranged the defenders waited with beating hearts.
Nothing could be distinguished in the black darkness of the night; all
they heard was a shuffling noise or the snapping of small twigs.
Suddenly however about twenty figures rose as from the lake itself and
jumped upon the raft, shouting their usual war cry, “Lēēēēh lèlèlèlè
ouiiiit!”
The occupants of the raft knew that they were outnumbered and if their
stratagem failed a fight for life or death would be unavoidable,
probably resulting in their annihilation. It was a demoniacal scene to
see those wild Indians leap to and fro crouched behind their shields
with mandauw in hand and to hear them loudly challenging their
adversaries, from whom however not a sound proceeded. This silence
seemed to baffle the assailants.
Suddenly a few figures were seen to appear in the dark at the end of
the raft upon which the defenders were located. These leaped into the
midst of the assailants, dealt a few smart blows among them and then as
quietly disappeared. The enemy again shouted their war cry, banded
themselves closer together and covered by their shields ran along the
planks which communicated with the raft. A couple of figures presented
themselves as if they wished to dispute their passage, but these also
disappeared rapidly; when suddenly a brightly burning flame ascended
from the top of the heap of rattan trusses stored in the centre of the
raft and at the same moment a heavy rifle fire was opened upon the now
visible assailants. Wienersdorf and Schlickeisen fired their Remingtons
lustily against the enemy, who had crept almost against the muzzles of
their guns. La Cueille and Johannes forming the second file first
discharged their rifles and then followed up with the fire of their
revolvers, while it almost rained mandauw blows from the heap of
rattan. It is impossible to describe the consternation amongst the
enemy caused by this sudden and strong illumination and the subsequent
destructive firing, very few bullets of which missed their aim. An
undulating movement was observed, first backwards, then forwards; cries
of rage and pain intermixed proceeded from every direction; it seemed
as if the furies themselves had broken loose. At length the small
number remaining divided themselves into two parties, the larger one of
which took to flight, leaped ashore and disappeared in the obscurity,
while the other, jumping across their own slain, made a last and
desperate effort in a hand to hand fight. Shots fell uninterruptedly;
the brave little band became smaller and smaller until the last
remaining two of them threw themselves on the floor and by creeping
along endeavored to reach their opponents with their naked mandauws.
One of them was almost immediately staked to the floor of the raft by
Schlickeisen. The other creeping cautiously forward raised himself and
lifted his mandauw to deal a fatal blow at Wienersdorf who, seeing no
chance of averting the stroke, suddenly dropped his rifle and grasped
the wrists of his adversary so tightly as to compel him to relinquish
his weapon. A terrible struggle now took place between the two men, who
knew that the life of one of them was at stake. A few inches only
separated them from the water. They were struggling breast to breast
with such rapidity of movement that any interference from the others
must have endangered the one as much as the other. At last the strength
of the less muscular Dayak became exhausted. Wienersdorf noticing this
kicked the fallen mandauw into the lake, and making a last violent
effort lifted both arms of his enemy and bending them forcibly
backwards compelled the panting Dayak to sink upon his knees before
him.
“Blako ampoen!” I beg for mercy! cried the native.
The Swiss hearing these words uttered in a soft and imploring voice
released his enemy and offered him his hand, which the native still on
his knees hesitated to take. His chest heaved violently and his eyes
shone like fire. At last he leaped to his feet, took the offered hand,
placed it on his head and bent his proud neck as a token of submission.
While doing this he gave utterance to some words which were not
understood by any of his hearers.
The son of the forest remained standing thus for a few moments. He then
suddenly lifted his head, took his knife, made a slight wound in the
flesh of his arm, collected the flowing blood in the palm of his hand
and smeared some of it upon the forehead and lips of Wienersdorf, who
stood looking on as if paralyzed. He then slightly wounded the Swiss,
collected his blood also and rubbed it over his own forehead and lips,
after which he swallowed the remaining drops. He again took the hand of
the conqueror, pressed it fervently and brought it to his lips, plainly
uttering the words “Harimaoung Boekit,” tiger of the mountains. Then
before any one had time to prevent him he leaped into the lake, the
dark water of which closed above his head.
Just at that moment, as if nature desired to contribute to the escape
of the savage, a wind squall suddenly extinguished the burning flame
and enveloped the occupants of the raft in total darkness.