CONSULTATION—THE “BLAKO ONTONG”—A SALVO OF GUNS—THE OFFERING—A
NATIONAL DANCE—DOWN WITH THE TURBAN—A CONFERENCE DISTURBED BY TWO
RIFLE SHOTS—A FLOATING ISLAND—AN ATTEMPT AT SURPRISE—A FATAL
SHOT—THE SIEGE RAISED—THE EPISODE OF THE CROCODILE—JOHANNES
SPEAKS—A NEW CHIEF
“But, Tomonggong!” the Colonel interrupted, “after what has taken
place, any approach from our side will be impossible. Besides, your
life will not be safe.”
“You will not be offended with an ignorant race for having sinned
against the customs of the whitefaces. I know you too well to believe
that. As for my own person, not a hair of my head will be hurt. I am
Amai Kotong’s brother in the blood; we have often drunk each other’s
life stream and sworn to assist each other. I am known to every member
of the kotta, even to the children; I am the friend of all. Who would
molest an old man like me?”
“All this may be perfectly true, Tomonggong, but what and how, if one
of these deserters on sentry-duty should see you first? A bullet will
be your greeting.”
“I will run that risk; I am not so fully convinced that these
whitefaces, whom I have never harmed, will aim directly at my life. But
I intend to bend my steps towards the kotta before daybreak, when the
Europeans will be still asleep. Your countrymen, sir, as a rule are not
such early risers.”
“May Hatallah guide and protect you, Tomonggong!” the Colonel said,
after a few moments of reflection. “I believe your proposal to be the
best under present circumstances.”
The night passed by undisturbed, no act of hostility being attempted on
either side.
In the fortification, however, after the sentries had been placed, a
true Dayak festivity was held. It was the blako ontong which they were
about to celebrate, to invoke a blessing on the approaching nuptials of
the beautiful Hamadoe with Dohong, alias Wienersdorf. Harimaoung
Boekit, who loved his younger sister devotedly, was determined that the
festivities in honor of the occasion should be long remembered among
the inhabitants of kotta Djangkan.
As soon as the moon bathed the earth in her soft silvery rays, the
bride was conveyed from her residence by a guard of honor consisting of
seven young ladies who, like herself, were only attired in their saloi
or short sarong. Seven Poenans in full war dress also went to escort
Wienersdorf from his apartment. The betrothed pair were then led into a
large shed which they were made to enter simultaneously, though from
opposite directions. As soon as they appeared under the roof of the
shed, the priestesses began to beat their drums and to chant a hymn in
honor of bride and bridegroom, who in the meantime were conducted to
the centre of the apartment. Hamadoe now presented her intended with a
mandauw in token of claiming the protection of his valor. They then sat
down together, each on a handsomely ornamented rattan mat. Their seats
were so disposed as to leave a large space in the centre of the shed in
which the priestesses took their places and commenced the rites.
Two hymns were chanted, the object of which was to drive away all
misfortunes. These finished, each of the company present, including the
bride, took a large stick and, led by the priestesses, proceeded to
beat with all possible force against the posts, pillars, walls and roof
of the shed. All the other houses and buildings of the kotta were next
visited in turn and the same ceremony repeated in order to disperse
ghosts and spirits. The noise, as may be imagined, was deafening.
The part taken by our Walloon, La Cueille, the pseudo Sheik, was truly
comical. He had seized the branch of a tree and was beating about with
it like a madman, making more noise than any twenty-five of the others.
It amused the Dayaks to see the holy man so busily occupied, but an
attentive observer might have remarked how carefully La Cueille managed
to remain in the vicinity of one particular maid of honor, and how,
while beating with his branch, he was steadily playing the gallant and
trying to attract her notice. He was thus busily engaged when suddenly
from every gun of the kotta there burst forth a terrific discharge. Our
Sheik, almost dead with fright, turned a summersault, jumped up again,
and followed by the laughter of the Dayaks fled toward the bastions
where, as first artillerist of the fortification, he thought his
presence might be needed. He there learned what had taken place. It was
only Dalim firing blank cartridges in order to co-operate in the
dispersion of malignant spirits. The pervading superstition is that
evil spirits cannot endure noise and especially abominate the fumes of
gunpowder, seeking a safe retreat as soon as they smell it.
The mirth had not abated when the Sheik reappeared inside the shed,
where the betrothed had resumed their original places, surrounded by
their respective guards of honor.
The priestesses now spread upon a mat in the centre of the shed all the
offerings brought for presentation to the deities, which comprised
seven full-grown hens, one egg, seven parcels made of pisang leaves and
filled with boiled rice, seven joints of bamboo filled with raw rice,
seven pieces of sugar-cane each a fathom long, besides pastry,
confectionery, and fruits. The priestesses kindled two fires of green
wood which emitted dense columns of smoke. Having finished all these
preparations, they pronounced their incantations, the purport of which
was to compel the King of the Antangs to convey the souls of these
offerings, for the Dayaks believe that inanimate objects have souls, to
the Radja ontong.
During these incantations the young men gathered round the fires, where
they occupied themselves in blowing little poisoned arrows through
their blow-pipes into the midst of the rising smoke in order to prevent
the return of the unclean and evil spirits. The other guests, men as
well as women, formed a large circle around a post planted in the
northern half of the shed, to which a buffalo had been tied. Here,
holding each other by the tips of their fingers, they moved a few steps
backward and forward alternately, then bowed down as low as their
knees, to leap up again uttering fearful yells.
This was the national dance called bigal. When it had lasted for about
an hour the buffalo was gradually tortured to death by lance stabs. The
quivering flesh was then torn away by some old women, hurriedly roasted
and offered to the surrounding guests, who devoured it from their
fists.
Some of the blood of the buffalo was smeared upon the foreheads, chests
and hands of the bride and bridegroom. The priestesses next placed in
front of each of the candidates for wedlock a piece of rattan about
eight inches long, covered with a layer of dough made of rice meal
mixed with gold dust. They then took a cocoanut shell full of toeak,
drank a deep draught themselves, passed it over to the betrothed, both
of whom partook of it, when it was handed around amongst the company
for general delectation.
The Dayaks, men as well as women, are, as a rule, confirmed drinkers,
and as many a hearty cup was emptied and the delicious liquor was
liberally supplied, their revelry soon reached its climax. Johannes,
however, with Schlickeisen, Amai Kotong and Dalim, took good care to
restrain themselves within a certain limit of conviviality. Thus after
drinking to the health of the young couple they refrained from taking
any more of the alluring liquid.
Sheik Mohammed Al Mansoer was seated cross-legged on his little mat
looking on the gay proceedings with a mournful face. The smell of the
toeak irritated his olfactory nerves and with a disdainful look he
surveyed the tumultuous scene. He maintained his priestly character,
although it revolted against his Walloon nature; he had promised not to
soil the garb of the descendant of the Prophet and he would keep his
promise. He would show his companions that he also could sacrifice
himself if needed, for the common weal. He was sitting thus
disconsolate when suddenly a charming little face bent over his
shoulders and passed a bowl of toeak under his nose.
He jumped up and tried to catch the enchantress, but quick as lightning
she had outdistanced him in a moment.
“Mohammedans must not drink toeak,” she slily cried out from afar.
“Confound the consequences,” the Walloon cried, tearing his turban from
his head and throwing it across the shed.
He then rushed towards the girl and in another moment was tenderly
embracing her. He took the bowl from her hand and emptied it at a
single draught.
A loud hurrah followed and when the turbanless Arab looked around he
found himself surrounded by the guests, who with jovial and smiling
faces felicitated him upon his choice.
Midnight had now arrived and as soon as the moon reached the zenith,
the priestesses took the pieces of rattan put aside for Dohong and
Hamadoe, removed the dough, measured the sticks and declared them to
have grown longer, a favorable omen. The dough itself was now
inspected. The gold dust was separated from it by washing, and
carefully weighed, when it was found to be heavier than before.
Thereupon the general joy became boundless, for it was thus proven that
the invocation of the priestesses had been favorably received. The
omnipotent Radja balawang boelau had promised his assistance, and the
betrothed might rest assured that their impending marriage would be
lucky and prosperous. Both of them were charged to preserve their piece
of rattan by which their earthly fate had been revealed. Harimaoung
Boekit undertook to have the gold dust converted into two
wedding-rings, which both could wear forever. The Poenan chief also
paid the priestesses a princely sum for their priestly services and the
ceremony of the blako ontong was ended.
The festivities however were continued; toeak and confectionery were
abundantly handed around after the religious ceremonies, and the most
liberal hospitality prevailed during the night.
The day was just breaking when Johannes and Schlickeisen from their
post of observation noticed a suspicious movement on the border of the
forest. They saw two men, one of whom they thought by his uniform to be
the Colonel, shake hands and separate, one making straight for the
kotta while the other retired within the forest. In order to prevent a
panic Johannes went down for Amai Kotong, who at once recognized the
Tomonggong of Kwala Kapoeas.
“It is one of my oldest friends,” he said, “and you must not harm him.”
“Certainly not,” Johannes replied. “He is too honest an old man. But I
refuse to admit him inside the kotta. You go and speak to him,
Harimaoung, and think of the gibbet which the whitefaces have promised
you.”
The Poenan smiled disdainfully.
Old Nikodemus in the meantime came nearer, carrying in his right hand a
small Dutch flag tied to a short stick, while in his left he bore a
handsome rattan walking-stick with a heavy golden knob, engraved with
the Dutch coat-of-arms. When arrived at the distance of about one
hundred steps from the fortification, he suddenly saw a head appear
above the ramparts and heard a voice addressing him:
“Be saluted, Father Tomonggong! what may you want here?”
Frightened at the voice, which seemed familiar to him, he looked
attentively and became alarmed on recognizing the well-known, smiling
face of Harimaoung Boekit, the Poenan chief, the tiger of the
mountains. What was he doing there? Was the Colonel right after all in
supposing an insurrection to be on foot in the upper country? The
Tomonggong was so terribly frightened that he quite forgot to answer
the question and remained fixed like a statue. Suddenly two rifle shots
aimed with remarkable precision carried away the flag from one, and the
walking-stick from the other hand. Johannes and Schlickeisen had given
a sample of their marksmanship, with the sole intention of frightening
and not harming the old man. They succeeded admirably, for he stood
still looking down at the pieces of his shattered cane which, being a
present of the Dutch Government, he valued more than all his other
possessions. But when he heard the voice of Harimaoung Boekit again
saying:
“Father, get away quickly,” he took to his heels, his flight being
accelerated by a few blank discharges from the Europeans.
“That has set the puppets going!” the Colonel said, on hearing the
shots.
He had scarcely uttered these words when the Tomonggong himself
appeared, terribly frightened and out of breath from running so fast.
The old Chief sank upon the trunk of a tree, and was for some moments
quite unable to utter a single word. At last, after having taken a
draught of brandy from the flask offered to him by the Colonel,
“The Poenan chief is there.”
Fear and horror were visible on the face of the Tomonggong of Kwala
Hiang on hearing these words, though the Colonel was at a loss to
account for his perturbation. Presently Nikodemus calmed down a little
and related his experience, concluding with the opinion that their
position had now become very alarming indeed.
“In what way, Tomonggong?”
“The Poenans are daring men, and I can only express my surprise that
the night has passed so quietly. They are unequalled in the execution
of night attacks.”
“Oh, Tomonggong! It won’t be so bad as all that,” the Colonel remarked.
“I am not at all alarmed.”
“But I am, sir!” was the solemn reply. “I attribute our escape from
some great calamity partly to the clear moonlight and partly to some
festivities celebrated last night inside the kotta. Did we not hear the
boom of their guns at nine, and the yells of the priestesses all night
long?”
“It is true, Tomonggong, that your countrymen are unequalled in keeping
up festivities. Being once together they will undoubtedly make a second
night of it. I therefore believe that we have an admirable opportunity
now to risk a well-directed assault on the kotta.”
The old Tomonggong shook his head sadly.
“Impossible, sir; to-morrow will be full moon, the night will be like
day; we should only cause unnecessary bloodshed.”
“We won’t act rashly, Tomonggong. We will only keep our men ready for
any emergency.”
“If once our men know that Harimaoung Boekit and his Poenans are inside
the kotta, nothing will make them attack it; and more, I sincerely
believe that they will even run away.”
“So do I,” said the Tomonggong of Kwala Hiang.
“But what business has this Poenan chief at kotta Djangkan?” the
Colonel asked.
“I do not know, sir; it is above my conception. If I could only speak
with Amai Kotong.”
“But did you not see any Europeans during your visit to the kotta?”
“Not one, sir. I only noticed the smiling face of Harimaoung Boekit.”
“Who fired at you?”
“I do not know; for the shots were fired from behind the palisades and
through loop-holes. Their shots were badly aimed or they would have
killed me at such short range.”
The Colonel smiled.
“Believe me, Tomonggong, they aimed admirably. It must have been the
two Swiss who fired with the intention of not killing you.”
“May Hatallah bless them!”
“Amen,” the Colonel said smilingly.
They now decided to keep the presence of the head-hunters in the kotta
a profound secret and to invest the fortification as closely as
possible. Perhaps the stock of provisions in the kotta might not be
large and famine would compel the garrison to capitulate.
Two days and two nights passed by undisturbed after this attempt of
Tomonggong Nikodemus to interview Amai Kotong. Each night the moon rose
brilliantly above the edge of the forest and brightened everything with
her soft, clear white light, so that nothing could happen within a
radius of two hundred yards without being observed by the besieged. To
attempt an assault under such circumstances would have been sheer
madness. But in the same manner the moonlight protected the besiegers
from the attacks of the Poenans, for Harimaoung Boekit did not hesitate
to express his longing for a stormy night in order to wipe out his
debts to those whom he thought were bent upon his capture.
Shortly after nightfall of the third day it became quite dark, as the
moon would not appear above the horizon until about half-past eight.
Johannes was sitting in conversation with Amai Kotong, Dalim and
Harimaoung Boekit, when one of the sentries reported that a huge,
shapeless object was visible above-stream quietly coming down with the
current. They all started up in great haste, took their arms and
hastened towards the side of the river to see what was in progress
there. And truly at a distance of about 300 yards they observed slowly
advancing toward them an object much too ponderous for a canoe and too
irregular for a raft. It resembled more a floating island. The men were
called to arms and held prepared for any emergency.
While they were all busy looking at the advancing object and
speculating upon its nature, there suddenly arose from behind the kotta
a cry of alarm, immediately followed by several rifle shots. Profiting
by the general darkness the Colonel had succeeded in advancing with his
Dayaks close to the palisades, and while the whole attention of the
garrison was directed to the river an escalade was attempted and nearly
met with success. One of the women, however, saw a figure leap from the
ramparts into the darkness below. She had a hatchet in her hand and was
busily cutting wood. Before the intruder could recover from the effects
of his leap, she dealt him some violent blows on his head and arms,
which soon laid him defenceless and weltering in his blood. Some of the
garrison approached on hearing the cries of the woman just in time to
receive the assailants who now appeared above the palisades. They were
soon made acquainted with the Poenan mandauws and fell heavily wounded
on the sharp landjoes planted at the foot of the parapet. The two Swiss
and La Cueille, accompanied by the Poenans, now appeared on the
ramparts and at once opened a heavy fire, although they could discover
nothing in the darkness which reigned around.
They kept up their fire for some time, until the yells and cries
becoming lost in the distance led them to conclude that all immediate
danger was past. Proceeding to the spot where the escalade had been
attempted they found one dead body inside and four severely wounded
outside the fortification. It was impossible to prevent the Poenans
from beheading these unfortunates. In fact, during the prevailing
darkness and general confusion the Europeans gave no thought to Poenan
barbarities. When, however, in the succeeding calm they saw a fire
lighted in the square of the kotta, they knew what it portended, and as
soon as the flames shot up, they observed these wild men dancing with
the captured heads in their hands and besplashing everything round them
with the still oozing blood. Harimaoung Boekit in particular seemed
delighted; he had been amongst the first to sally from the fort in
order to dispatch the wounded. He now skipped about like a madman,
crying his “lēēēēh, lèlèlèlè ouiiit,” and held a captured head to his
mouth again and again, that the warm blood might run down his throat.
“They have not got the head-hunter yet!” he cried victoriously.
In a very short time the whole garrison of kotta Djangkan joined in the
really diabolical dance, and the heads were passed from hand to hand in
order to afford them all an opportunity of swallowing a few drops of
the delicious red fluid. After the blood had ceased to flow they
applied their lips to the bleeding necks and sucked them.
Disgusted at this scene the two Europeans sped away from the horrible
tragedy and looked for Johannes. He too, upon hearing the firing, had
gone to that part of the fort whence it had proceeded; but seeing that
everybody was at his post, that the whole male population was under
arms, he and Dalim had returned to the riverside.
The shapeless object came nearer and nearer, until they could
distinctly discern that it was constructed of recently cut branches
interwoven with long grass. Although the tide made for the opposite
bank, the island seemed as if steered by a human hand. When it entered
the circle which had been laid bare around the fortification it became
distinctly visible in the moonlight. Johannes now fancied that he could
discern something moving behind that floating mass and had already
shouldered his gun when a voice was heard coming from the surface of
the water.
“Ohoi! Amai Kotong.”
“Who are you?” cried Dalim loudly.
“Somebody from soengei Mawat. I bear a message from the people over
there.”
The island in the meantime had floated to the front of the kotta, a
narrow piece of water only separating it from the shore. Johannes and
his men were lying stretched out on the bank, guns in hand, prepared
for all emergencies. A native now appeared above the island, jumped
into the water, and was proceeding to swim ashore when suddenly a shot
sounded, followed by a loud shriek from the swimmer. The Colonel had
also been watching the floating island, and upon seeing the native take
to the water fired this shot after him. Before he could reload Dalim
sprang into the river and seized the native, who but for his assistance
would have sunk. He struck out for the shore supporting the wounded man
and succeeded in bringing him inside the fort.
Alas! the poor messenger had received a fatal wound in his chest. He
gave his message that the warriors of soengei Mawat, numbering about
fifty men, had arrived and were posted in the forest to the north of
the kotta, with the intention of attacking the besiegers that night.
This information given, the poor fellow expired.
The first act of the Dayaks of kotta Djangkan was to discharge their
duty to their deceased brother. The body was dressed in a new suit of
clothes and laid out on the floor of one of the dwellings of the kotta,
on a handsomely flowered mat. A burning lamp was placed at his head,
and the corpses of the four fallen enemies were ranged round him, their
dissevered heads being placed upon the chests of the bodies to which
they respectively belonged. Each had his talawang or shield in one hand
and his mandauw in the other. The Dayaks believed that by this
arrangement the souls of the beheaded enemies would be compelled to
recognize the deceased Mawat as their lord in the Dayak heaven and
there become his slaves. The titih now sounded the funeral knell, to be
kept up during the whole of that night.
When daylight began to appear the toending was commenced. This
consisted in gilding the nails of the hands and feet of the defunct and
in painting seven red spots on his forehead. He was then placed in the
coffin, and as he was known to have been a man of undaunted courage and
had fallen like a warrior, they also placed his weapons beside him.
In the meantime the besieged had observed some signs on the part of the
besiegers which clearly indicated their approaching departure. They had
also heard the sound of oars and were eager to learn what had taken
place.
At daybreak the sentries looked around, but could not find any trace of
the enemy; not even a cloud of smoke arose to indicate that they were
preparing their breakfast. A few men of the garrison crept outside,
scoured the neighborhood and returned with the report that the enemy
had departed. A loud hurrah greeted this piece of good news, the
Europeans congratulating each other warmly. A messenger was despatched
to the warriors of soengei Mawat to inform them of the departure of the
besiegers. As, however, that unaccountable retreat might be only a
ruse, due caution was not neglected and a lookout was again posted at
the angle of the river below the kotta. The stirring question now was:
What had driven the besiegers to quit the scene of battle so suddenly?
The solution of the mystery is as follows:
After the last skirmish the whole camp seemed downcast. The Colonel had
been amongst the assailants who had scaled the palisades, but
fortunately for him he had not yet acquired the art of climbing like a
monkey. He had, therefore, been outstripped in the escalade by the more
agile natives. While endeavoring to mount the barrier one of his men
was wounded and fell back against him, bearing him down to the earth.
His dress, but especially his boots, protected him from the sharp
points of the randjoes, so that he only received a trifling scratch in
the arm. The accident was witnessed by the two Tomonggongs, who
immediately raised him and bore him away in safety. A few seconds more
and nothing would have saved his head from the mandauw of Harimaoung
Boekit.
It was immediately after this repulse that the arrival of this floating
island was noticed by the Colonel and his coadjutors, who regarded it
with the utmost suspicion and alarm. They were seated together on the
trunk of a tree, watching its advance. Deep gloom was depicted on their
countenances. They were conversing, but the subject of their
conversation was far from enlivening. Both Tomonggongs urged a retreat
on the plea that their condition had become alarming, especially now
that some messenger had reached the kotta on this floating island. Who
he was and whence he came they could scarcely guess, but certainly his
visit boded no good to them.
The Colonel thought that the kotta ought to be more closely invested.
Meanwhile he proposed to hasten to Bandjermasin, report the events and
return in a steamer with a reinforcement of soldiers to punish this
obstinate kotta.
Both Dayak chiefs listened to him with much consternation. That the
Colonel could leave them behind was beyond their conception and they
could scarcely find words to remonstrate. Tomonggong Nikodemus asked,
with a faltering voice: “And how long will you be away?”
“You may expect me back again in nine, or at most, in ten days.”
“It is not to be thought of, sir!” was the solemn reply of Nikodemus.
“When you return you will find us all killed.”
“But, Tomonggong!”
“I am in earnest, sir! Not a night will pass without our being
attacked, and in those constant raids we shall be exposed to terrible
losses. And when finally we are exhausted by these daily skirmishes and
by nightly watchings, the great battle will be fought which will
annihilate us altogether.”
“But are you not three to one, Tomonggong?” was the bitter reproach of
the Colonel.
“That means nothing against a well-entrenched army. And how long will
our superiority in number continue after the tribes of the upper
country shall have joined them?”
“But you forget that in ten days I will be here with a force
sufficiently large to deal with all the tribes of Borneo.”
“It will be too late then, sir!”
“Then what are we to do, Tomonggong?” the Colonel said, impatiently.
“Nothing but to let us go with you and return with you if necessary.”
“And in the meantime we allow the deserters to escape,” was the bitter
reply.
“Very possible, sir! but rest assured they will escape just the same
when you go away and leave us here.”
“But they are caged like mice.”
“Quite so, sir! But we are unable to keep the mice in their trap; they
can leave it whenever they choose.”
Although convinced of the correctness of Tomonggong’s argument, the
Colonel would not yield. For a moment he thought of remaining himself
and of sending one of the chiefs to Bandjermasin. But knowing that the
wavering character of the native would certainly involve a considerable
loss of time, and that at headquarters the authorities would demand and
expect the fullest information, he abandoned the idea. He was about to
try once more to persuade the Tomonggongs to remain when one of the
followers of the Chief of Kwala Kapoeas approached hurriedly and
whispered something into the ear of the old gentleman.
“As I thought,” the latter exclaimed, “the men of Kwala Kapoeas
recognized Harimaoung Boekit and his Poenans during the last fight.
They are terribly frightened and wish to leave. Most of them are
already preparing their canoes. I must go and see what it all means.”
“We will join you,” said the Colonel and Tomonggong Patti Singa Djaja.
On arriving at the encampment they found their men in the greatest
excitement. Terrible accounts were current of the ferocity and cruelty
of the Poenans. Most of the inhabitants of kotta Baroe had already gone
away and the others were on the point of taking to their canoes. The
Colonel begged, nay commanded them to stay; but the little troop was
panic-stricken. In a few moments he was left with only the two
Tomonggongs, the canoes having disappeared one after another behind the
first bend. The two Dayak chiefs exchanged looks and muttered a few
words, after which they deliberately seized the struggling Colonel by
his arms, forcibly carried him to his canoe and as soon as they had
entered it, it shot away. It was truly an ignominious flight, but
necessity compelled and they were forced to go.
As the canoe shot round the angle of the river the Colonel cast a
parting look in the direction of the fortification, and shaking his
fist exclaimed:
“I will return and be avenged!”
The siege had lasted only four days.
The joy of the inhabitants of the kotta was boundless. They all hurried
outside to enjoy their regained liberty, and the first want which each
of the inhabitants hastened to supply was a bath. It seemed as if
suddenly the people were metamorphosed into amphibious animals. The
whole population, men, women and children, splashed about in the clear
river, performing rare feats of swimming with evident enjoyment. Their
pleasure however was interrupted by a sudden cry of alarm, “Badjai!
Badjai hai!” a crocodile, a large crocodile. The bathers thereupon sped
away from the water as fast as possible, but the monster had already
singled out its prey. It shot forward like lightning until it arrived
near the bank, where it seized one of the women by the leg and tried to
drag her under water. The poor victim’s shrieks were heart-rending.
Grasping the branch of an adjacent tree she clung to it desperately. A
horrible and fearful struggle now ensued. The crocodile had seized her
by the muscles of the thigh and it pulled and tugged away, determined
to tear its victim from her hold. The woman yelled fearfully, her body
describing the most awful contortions as her flesh was torn into
shreds. Still she clung desperately to the saving branch which, though
bent double, still resisted the vigor of the saurian.
But the poor woman, though struggling bravely, was fast becoming
exhausted by the loss of blood and the intense agony of her sufferings.
She must soon have succumbed but for the timely assistance which now
arrived.
Dalim had left the river before the appearance of the crocodile, but
when the fearful cry of Badjai reached his ears, he hastened back and
from among the randjoes planted at the foot of the ramparts he selected
a strong, sharp-pointed one, about two feet in length. This he firmly
grasped in his left hand and then enveloped the entire arm in his wet
saloi. His right hand he kept free for the use of the dagger which he
put in his belt. Thus armed the Dayak approached the crocodile, which
opened its mighty jaws to snap at the courageous opponent. Dalim
instantly pushed his protected arm within its mouth, keeping it in such
a position that when the animal sought to close its jaws, the points of
the randjoe became fixed in the soft parts of the palate and
effectually prevented their coming together.
An exciting struggle now followed which brought Dalim to the verge of
exhaustion, when La Cueille, armed with his gun, broke through the
circle of panic-stricken spectators. Availing himself of a favorable
opportunity he took aim and fired. The crocodile, hit in a vulnerable
part, gave a desperate leap, displaying his body five or six feet above
the water. This movement also compelled Dalim to let go. He disappeared
in the depths of the river, and almost at the same moment the monster
was seen floating on the surface.
Dalim soon reappeared, floating at the side of his late enemy,
motionless and insensible, but still grasping the randjoe. A djoekoeng
was hurriedly procured, the crocodile was attached to the stern and
both were thus conveyed ashore.
Wienersdorf vigorously rubbed Dalim with gin and soon succeeded in
restoring him. His fainting had only been the result of his prolonged
exertions and except a few slight scratches he had not received any
injury.
The head of the crocodile was carefully bared of all skin and flesh. In
the event of the death of the poor woman, it would serve as a fitting
monument to surmount her grave. Alas, that same evening she succumbed
to loss of blood. They tried to stop the bleeding but without success.
The titih for the fallen Mawat had scarcely ceased when it had to be
sounded again for this new victim.
As soon as the river drama was concluded the principal inhabitants of
the kotta assembled to consider what further action was now to be
taken. They had undeniably defied the authority of the Dutch; they had
defended themselves arms in hand, and during the encounter several
Dutch subjects had perished. How would all this be taken? That summary
punishment would be dealt out to them was only too probable. The only
way of preventing reprisals would be by the dispersion of the whole of
the inhabitants of kotta Djangkan and their retirement to the inner
country far above the falls, where whitefaces could not easily reach
them. This course was now suggested; but although the proposition was
applauded by the majority, it did not meet with undivided approbation.
It was true they were descendants of the Badjankans; but they had
intermarried with the neighboring tribes and had gradually become
identified with them. The graves of their parents were here, here they
had seen their first days and had had children born unto them; their
fields and homesteads were here; therefore, to emigrate would be
painful to all.
When the discussion had taken this shape and threatened to end in
discord Johannes rose. He had previously spoken to Amai Kotong, the
kotta chief, and to Harimaoung Boekit, the Poenan. He thus addressed
the multitude:
“It would be folly to quarrel about a point which can be satisfactorily
settled. One party desires to go away, the other insists upon
remaining. Believe me, those who wish to remain are right. What is the
origin of the quarrel with the Dutch? Your chief Amai Kotong has
refused to deliver up Harimaoung Boekit, his guest and the son of his
elder brother. At his command you have defended your kotta and have
kept the laws of hospitality intact. He, and he alone, is the culprit,
and he alone can be held responsible. The Dutch will never trouble any
one but him who gave orders for opposition. On their return they will
insist on the surrender of Harimaoung Boekit and of your chief, who has
dared to oppose them.”
A howl bursting forth like a thunder-storm was the immediate response
to these words.
“Do you think we are mad? Never! Never!”
“Silence! Allow me to finish. The Dutch, I repeat, will only demand the
extradition of Harimaoung Boekit and Amai Kotong, and—”
“But that is just what we will not consent to,” cried the whole host.
“I know it; I know that a Dayak is incapable of delivering up his
chief. Although high premiums are daily offered by the Dutch for the
apprehension of offenders, not a single Dayak has ever sought to earn
them, because there is not one among you who would buy his life with
such money.”
“No! No!!” was the enthusiastic cry.
“Good, that is how I like to hear you. Besides, such surrender will not
be necessary. Harimaoung Boekit will take care to get away with his
Poenans before the Dutch come back. Amai Kotong will accompany him; for
he has assured me of his intention to return to Miri, his native
country.”
Perfect silence reigned amongst the multitude. They all looked towards
the kotta chief as if eager to hear him avow his intentions. He simply
nodded and said:
“I go away with the whole of my family.”
“After this decision,” Johannes continued, “the solution of the
difficulty becomes more simple. You choose a new chief who sends a
deputation to Bandjermasin to convey to the Dutch his regrets for the
past, to explain all the circumstances, and to offer his submission and
that of the whole kotta Djangkan. The deputies will relate how after
the departure of the Kwala Kapoeëse, the population of kotta Djangkan,
assisted by the men of soengei Mawat, deposed their chief Amai Kotong,
and how he, in fear of being punished, saved himself by flight.”
“But that would be a falsehood,” cried the same voice as before.
“And would you tell the truth? Will you inform the Dutch that you have
deliberately fired at their soldiers, and that you are sorry you did
not continue to do so? As you like,” Johannes smiled defiantly, “but,”
he solemnly continued, “remember that if you do not act as I advise
you, you will in a couple of weeks have a whole fleet of steamers here,
which in half an hour will level your kotta to the ground. No, believe
me, and do as you are told. The advice I give you is good. An innocent
fib like this will not anger Mahatara. It will harm nobody and prevent
much mischief. Your souls, when led by Tempon Telon through the
fire-fall into the land of souls, will consider themselves happy; for
the roasting they will suffer will be too insignificant to complain
of.”
Johannes spoke mockingly and incisively, and he might have continued
his oration indefinitely without meeting further interruption. They all
gathered round Amai Kotong, who declared that he had long ago wished to
end his days in the home of his ancestors, and that he now rejoiced in
the opportunity of utilizing his departure for the welfare of the
inhabitants of kotta Djangkan.
All gave their sanction without further murmur.
A few hours afterwards, when the Mawattese entered the fortification,
they were informed of the proposed arrangement and the election of a
new chief was immediately proceeded with. The greatest number of votes
was given to a youth named Njawong, who consented to accept the title
and post of Amai. Under the guidance of Johannes, the new chief
selected a deputation consisting of two Djangkanese and two Mawattese,
all prominent men, to offer the submission of kotta Djangkan. Johannes
and Amai Njawong insisted upon the immediate departure of the deputies
in order to arrest the preparations for war by their appearance and
submission. They had strict orders not to overtake the departed
besiegers of kotta Djangkan, but to keep at a respectable distance in
order to prevent the Commander of Kwala Kapoeas from returning to kotta
Djangkan under the impression that an easy victory was now possible.
Johannes, like a good general, had thought of everything.
The sun had not yet sunk beneath the western horizon before the
deputies had started on their journey.
The inhabitants of kotta Djangkan, who during the last few days had
been in a whirl of excitement, gradually returned to their normal mode
of living. Nothing was left to remind them of the siege and its
incidents save the body of the poor woman, the victim of the crocodile.
While that remained in the kotta only the melancholy sound of the titih
would be heard. The noise and revelry of yesterday had given place to
silence and perfect calm, and the contrast seemed to spread an air of
desolation over the place.