A DAYAK IRON-FOUNDRY—A PAIR OF NATIVE BELLOWS—HARIMAOUNG BOEKIT
DOWN WITH FEVER—WIENERSDORF BECOMES A PHYSICIAN—JOHANNES A
MAGICIAN—NEWS FROM KWALA KAPOEAS—ONCE MORE EN ROUTE—THE WIDOW’S
STONE—KIHAM HOERAS AND ITS PASSAGE—HALAMANTEK.
The four friends continued sitting together till a late hour, their
discourse dwelling upon the subject of gold seeking. La Cueille not
feeling particularly sleepy reminded Johannes of a promise to narrate
his experience of a Dayak iron-foundry.
“I am quite willing to kill another hour or so and shall be glad of the
opportunity to interrupt our conversation about gold seeking, as that
is a subject which only causes unnecessary excitement.
“But don’t expect to hear of processes and machinery as found in the
West. A Dayak foundry is of a very primitive nature, as you will soon
understand. This is what I personally saw in one of my expeditions:
“Near the spot where the ore had been originally dug and under cover of
a lofty roof, the Dayak iron-founders constructed on some small natural
or artificial mound a trough of plastic clay measuring about a yard in
diameter. The walls of this trough——”
“Had you not better first inform us of the spot where the ore was
found?” La Cueille asked.
“As you please. The iron ore is generally found near the coal
formation, both mineral products being met with together, and one layer
generally covering the other. Seldom is the one absent where the other
is found.”
“Parbleu!” the Walloon exclaimed, “that is extremely fortunate.”
“The layers containing the iron ore are generally visible at low tide
in the lower banks of the river. The Dayaks choose their opportunity
during the dry season and collect the necessary quantity of ore which,
as it is generally saturated, is somewhat of a doughy nature. They
first dry it in the sun, then cut it into lumps of the size of a walnut
and store it away for further use. The ore does not always present the
same appearance. It sometimes consists of a mixture of larger or
smaller pieces of dull or occasionally shiny brown iron, and is a kind
of iron oxy-hydrate of a yellowish-brown crystalline texture. Sometimes
it is in the form of brown ochre, caused by the partial decomposition
of the iron, and at other times in the shape of very hard sandstone in
which the ore seems to be deposited. Each pound of ore yields five and
a half ounces of pure iron. That is all I know about it, and that much
I have been able to gather from the reports.
“The walls of the trough,” Johannes continued, “were about four inches
thick at their edges, but increasing downwards and leaving not more
than thirty-five square inches inside for the diameter of the bottom.
This trough, called laboerang, formed their real melting furnace, and
as I was informed was dried in the sun for a fortnight, after which a
hole for the reception of the nose of the bellows was made about seven
inches above the bottom, while another hole, alier, was made in the
opposite wall for the removal of cinders and for drawing off the melted
iron. Our party just arrived when they were beginning to charge the
furnace, which had previously been bound around with hoops of rattan
and bamboo to prevent its splitting open. On the floor of the laboerang
they strewed a thick layer of very finely-powdered charcoal, leaving
free a square space, kakat, for the collection of the melted iron.
“Above the square space and in the hole arranged for it they placed the
nozzle of the bellows. This nozzle, called boetoeng, was made of baked
clay and reached half over the centre of the kakat. They then filled
the oven about three-quarters full of charcoal, over which they spread
the ore, previously roasted over large wood fires until it had acquired
a red color. The charcoal above the kakat was now ignited and the alier
closed with a layer of wet clay. The bamboo tube of the bellows was
next introduced and the fire kindled by first blowing it gently and
gradually increasing till the highest possible temperature was
attained.”
“You mentioned a bamboo tube just now; surely those bellows were of
European make,” La Cueille asked. “No native could manufacture such an
article?”
“Spoken like a European,” Johannes said somewhat bitterly. “These
bellows were decidedly not of European make. Listen and I will try to
explain their construction: In a straight wooden cylinder, usually made
of a hollowed-out tree of about ten inch diameter and two and a half
yards long, there moved a piston, the disk of which in order to secure
perfect exclusion of air was pasted over with feathers and a kind of
varnish composed of oil and rosin. The bamboo tube in question, called
passiong, was fixed underneath the cylinder and the air was forced
through this. The rod of the piston, eight to ten yards long, was fixed
to a long bamboo, which being placed horizontally considerably lessened
the labor of working it. This kind of bellows was called bapoetang, and
the workmen in order to obtain the required temperature made from forty
to fifty pulls a minute.
“When the oven was filled the fire was kept up, a fresh supply of ore
being thrown in from above as the contents decreased by combustion. But
in order to supply the necessary fuel at the same time, they added ten
parts of charcoal to one of fresh ore. They opened the alier hourly for
the removal of the slag, but instantly closed it again with wet clay.
“At night the oven was cooled down, the alier opened and the iron thus
obtained removed by means of large wooden tongs with iron points. The
iron, now a shapeless tough lump of a brownish-red appearance, was then
thrown down on the floor which had been previously covered with pounded
slag and was belabored with wooden hammers into the form of a cube,
weighing about sixty pounds. Each of these was afterwards divided into
ten equal parts and hammered and purified from slag until fit for the
forge. That is the whole process of manufacture. I may add that the
iron from the Kapoeas regions is considered of the best quality, which
means a great deal, considering that Borneo iron is celebrated all over
the Indian Archipelago. The weapons made of it are highly prized
everywhere, and I myself have seen mandauws and swords from Nagara,
where the best arms of all are made, with which a nail of seven to the
pound was cut through without doing any damage to the edge of the
weapon. I have now told all I know and trust I have satisfied the
curiosity of our Walloon.”
The latter laughed and answered thankfully:
“I shall be able to sleep at last, good-night! By-the-bye, what is the
Dayak for iron?”
“Sanaman, and the ore they call batoe sanaman.”
“Many thanks, good-night.”
Shortly after midnight Wienersdorf was aroused by a Dayak who beckoned
him to come outside for a minute where Hamadoe was waiting to speak to
him. He found her crying bitterly. Silently taking him by the hand she
conducted him to the abode of Harimaoung Boekit, her brother, whom he
found raving in a paroxysm of fever. A profuse perspiration covered the
brow of the patient, his respiration was rapid and stertorous and in
his delirium he spoke of nothing but Johannes’ threat of sending the
fever home to him. This incident, so constantly repeated by the sick
man, spread among the Poenan companions gathered around his bed, and
murmurs of dissatisfaction, nay even threats were heard amongst them.
To play upon the credulity of a primitive race is rather a dangerous
experiment.
Hamadoe, full of alarm at the condition of her brother, had thought it
wise to summon her Dohong, having full faith in the omnipotence of the
art of healing possessed by the whitefaces. Wienersdorf being thus
created physician felt the patient’s pulse, looked at him with a sage
and dignified air and applied his hand to his forehead, arms and chest.
At length he ordered the body of the Poenan to be bathed with vinegar
and water and cold compresses to be applied to the head, with the
satisfactory result of reducing the temperature of the patient and of
soon restoring him to consciousness. He further prescribed an infusion
of akar pahit, the root of a native plant and a very good substitute
for quinine, with the addition of some honey, and ordered his patient
to take a draught of it occasionally. Whether from the effect of the
medicine or from natural reaction the patient soon fell into a healthy
slumber. Wienersdorf then went to inform Johannes of what had taken
place and was surprised to find his information received with a burst
of laughter.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” the Swiss said, “the situation is
too serious. Believe me I have heard the most horrible threats uttered
against you for sending the fever to the Poenan chief and you know best
what sort of people they are.”
“Don’t feel alarmed, my worthy Swiss! I will soon make it right again.
When next they call you in professionally, send for me and I will
accompany you.”
Early in the morning the Dohong was sent for again, and accompanied by
Johannes he soon entered the sick room, where he found preparations
being made for incantations to remove the disease by the aid of the
priestesses.
“For Heaven’s sake,” the Dohong cried, “stop this noise; it will make
him worse.”
Upon seeing Johannes the patient displayed an angry countenance and
reproached him with ingratitude.
“I pardon you,” he said, “for Dohong’s sake, but they have taught you
this ingratitude in Bandjermasin. What have I done to you to be treated
so badly?”
“Only a mistake, my friend,” Johannes answered. “I was tipsy last night
when the fever seized me. I had taken too much toeak and I intended to
send the fever to the Commander of Kwala Kapoeas. It seems that I have
made a serious blunder and mentioned your name instead. But you will
see that I have the power of removing the fever as well as of sending
it.”
And taking a handful of rice from a cocoanut shell which he had brought
with him he strewed the grains around the bed of the patient, chanting
in a loud voice: “O strewn grains, enter the house of the Sangiangs
together; enter noiselessly, ye golden grains, into the home of the
Sangiangs!”
Then passing his hand over the forehead of the patient and
gesticulating as if casting away something, he said:
“At last it is over. One hour hence the Commander of Kwala Kapoeas will
have the fever as badly as you have had it. Remain quiet now, drink the
obat—medicine—which Dohong will give you. In about half an hour’s time
you will experience some singing in the ears but don’t feel alarmed, it
will be the sign of the disappearance of fever for Kwala Kapoeas.”
With solemn steps he quitted the apartment. Wienersdorf now produced a
bottle containing a solution of sulphate of quinine and gave it to the
Poenan to drink.
Without moving a muscle the latter swallowed the bitter draught, wiped
his lips with the back of his hand, but assured his doctor that he had
greater confidence in the magical performance of Johannes than in all
the bitter drugs in creation.
A quarter of an hour afterwards he had fallen into a deep slumber.
Previous to his departure from Kwala Kapoeas, Johannes with his
accustomed foresight had requisitioned some quinine from the doctor’s
medicine chest and this drug was now rendering him good service. Dalim,
however, warned him against making similar experiments upon the
natives.
“Threats,” he said, “have been heard and suspicions have been muttered.
Some of the people spoke of the danger of receiving total strangers
like yourselves in the kottas. Up to the present they have confined
themselves to murmurs. But only let them broach the word antoeën and
every mandauw will be unsheathed and you will soon be weltering in your
blood, your heads in the hands of the Poenans.”
“What is the meaning of the word antoeën?” Schlickeisen asked.
“It means the power of changing into an evil spirit in order to steal
the soul of a man and thus to make him ill,” was Dalim’s reply.
“I thought stealing a man’s soul was killing him?”
“Yes, but death only results when the soul remains away too long. With
the Dayak illness is simply considered a temporary absence of the soul
from the body and healing is therefore the restoration of the
abstracted soul in due time. Our priestesses are quite experts in these
matters. If you like I will tell you a legend relating to the subject.”
The four Europeans hereupon refilled their pipes and placed themselves
round the Dayak, who commenced his narrative:
“Once upon a time there lived a family of Dayaks who, while digging a
hole in the ground to fix a stake for one of their houses in course of
erection, found a large red water-snake which they killed and relished
for their dinner. The snake, however, called Lendong, belonged to the
family of Naga gallang petak and was a favorite with Mahatara.
According to Dayak tradition the first living being created by Mahatara
was a great water-snake upon which he gradually deposited mud and sand
and thus made it carry the earth. Hence the name Naga gallang petak, or
snake serving as the foundation of the earth. Each of its motions
caused the earthquake. The part of the world towards which its head
pointed had prosperity—that towards which its tail pointed misfortune.
“The God, incensed at the foul slaughter, turned everyone of those who
had partaken of the snake into an antoeën. The father of the family was
created chief of the antoeën and received the horrible title of radja
antoeën batoelang dohong, or king of the antoeëns with bones like
warriors’ swords. Thenceforward all that family remained antoeëns.
“I may add for your information, that once a person is suspected by the
Dayaks of being an antoeën, his life is not worth a day’s purchase. Not
only for the public safety is it considered compulsory to destroy him,
but the one who kills him is looked upon as a hero, to whom everybody
owes obligation and gratitude. I have good-naturedly advised you not to
pretend to be capable of causing illness to anybody.”
“No indeed, never more,” Johannes said solemnly. “But can this joke
with the Poenan lead to any evil result?”
“As long as the Poenan remains free of fever, it will not. All danger
then will be passed, for the only peculiarity of the antoeëns is that
they can never themselves undo the mischief which they cause.”
“My worthy Helvetian!” Johannes said, addressing Wienersdorf, at the
same time handing him a small paper parcel, “here are ten more grains
of quinine, let your brother-in-law swallow them by all means, for his
recovery is a serious consideration to me now.”
The second dose however was not necessary. After having peacefully
slept till an advanced hour of the day, the Poenan had awaked, and
feeling perfectly well had taken his mat and spread it under the shade
of a large tree outside the house.
He was now lying there drinking in large draughts of the fresh air.
When he saw Johannes and Wienersdorf approach he arose and cordially
shook hands with both; but his manner towards the former showed that he
felt a certain reverential fear for one who at his own will could
create and cure disease.
Harimaoung Boekit fortunately remained free from fever, whereby
Johannes’ prestige became increased in no small degree. There was
nothing now to interfere with the prosecution of their journey. The
deserters therefore pressed for a speedy departure. The Europeans were
becoming desperate, when fortunately something unexpected occurred to
put an end to their embarrassment.
A djoekoeng from the deputies arrived one morning with the message that
although the Dutch Government had accepted the submission of kotta
Djangkan, the Commander himself would come with a steamship to fetch
the new chief and conduct him to Bandjermasin, there to take the oath
of allegiance. This steamer might be hourly expected. Harimaoung knew
that if the Commander should arrive before his departure he might
prevent the emigration of the tribe and therefore their best course
would be to depart forthwith. Everything was made ready with despatch
and all hands were busy in the final preparations.
The last night passed at kotta Djangkan was of marvellous activity, and
when day at last broke forth all was ready for departure. Only the guns
which for safety had been left in the batteries over night had to be
embarked. The lusty arms of our Europeans soon settled this difficulty,
and a leave-taking commenced which promised to be interminable, until
Johannes, pointing his finger towards the south, suddenly cried out:
“Banama Asep! Banama Asep!!” a fire ship, a fire ship.
A cloud of smoke was indeed seen above the edge of the forest towards
the south. All instantly took their places in the boats and in less
time than it takes to narrate, the ten rangkans, containing one hundred
and sixty five persons, the grand total of the emigration, had left the
shore with all their goods and chattels. The oars clave the waters
forcibly and the light vessels sped onwards. A hurrah was given by the
travellers and responded to by those their late companions, and the
kotta which had so hospitably received our adventurers was left behind.
The country gradually became wilder, the banks loftier, sometimes
hanging over as if threatening death and destruction.
The river still preserved its unruffled surface, indicating the
evenness of its bed. Although the stream rushed along with increased
speed it continued to be perfectly navigable; here and there whirlpools
were to be observed as the water rushed over detached pieces of chalk,
but these could be avoided with care. The Kapoeas was still a stream in
which a small steamer, drawing six feet of water, could find no
difficulty in manœuvring. After a couple of hours’ towing they reached
Batoe Sambong. Amai Kotong went ashore here for a few minutes to take
leave of the Chief of the Kampong, with whom he had lived in peace for
many years. The inhabitants of the kotta, interested in the travellers,
came out in a body and offered them cakes and toeak, both of which were
gratefully received not only by La Cueille but also by the women, who
according to their limited powers had taken their share in the rowing.
This pause on their journey did not occupy more than half an hour, but
it seemed an age to Johannes, who did not feel safe until they had
passed that barrier for steamers, the first cataract. Once beyond that,
an hour or so would be of little importance as the fugitives could be
no longer overtaken. Until then his motto was: “Forwards! forwards!!”
At a short distance from kotta Sambong they passed a solitary cliff of
chalk about fifty feet high, to which Johannes drew the attention of
his companions. Seen from a distance it appeared to resemble the form
of a gigantic woman in a kneeling position, wearing a cloth around her
head. Against the foot of this rock the Kapoeas beat with violence,
scattering around wild mountains of foam as if furious at the barrier
which forced it away from its course to seek a new direction. Johannes
informed his friends that the neighboring kotta had taken its name from
this stone: Batoe Sambalajong, abbreviated into Batoe Sambong.
“What is the meaning of Sambalajong?” Wienersdorf asked.
“Sambalajong is the name of a white head-dress worn by widows. As that
stone bears some resemblance to a widow in the native mourning it is
called batoe sambong, which may be translated widow’s stone.”
The cry of “halt” was now heard from the foremost rangkan. They had
arrived at Kiham Hoeras, the first cataract. A subdued murmur,
increasing more and more as they advanced, had been heard for a
considerable time, but it had scarcely been heeded by the Europeans who
were intently listening to the legend of Batoe Sambong. The narrator
now ceased talking and the tiktak caused by the movement of the oars in
the rowlocks being also suspended, the majestic sound of the waters
broke upon their ears. Looking up they beheld the river shooting
downwards from on high in a magnificent cascade. The lower part of the
fall consisted of massive rocks assuming the most fantastic shapes. At
the more elevated part this chalk formation was broken by plutonic
diorite, whose dark blue seams appeared between the white chalk on the
surface. Here and there were scattered huge black masses of stone which
seemed to have broken from the cliffs and to have been weather-beaten
into the nearly globular shapes they now possessed. The whole of the
upper part of the cataract presented to the eye an agglomeration of
similar masses scattered about in the wildest manner. The impressions
created by this scene of nature in her sublimity was most powerful. The
Europeans looked on in much admiration while their rangkans almost
danced on the foaming waters; they could scarcely find words to give
utterance to their thoughts.
“It is magnificent,” Wienersdorf said, deeply affected; “see over there
how beautifully these black and white layers of stones are intermixed;
look, a mosaic like that over yonder I defy any artisan to excel.”
“Observe that limestone beyond; does it not look as if carved? Only see
how beautiful and white it stands out against that black background; it
is like a gigantic piece of lace-work.”
“Only a little less fragile than your Brussels or Mechlen lace,”
Johannes added.
“Look,” Wienersdorf continued enthusiastically, “at those high steep
banks, in which chalk and diorite stones almost struggle for supremacy.
Observe how they are clad in the loveliest soft green of gigantic
ferns, crowned by the sombre foliage of the majestic primeval forest
like the proud gothic arches of a mediæval cathedral. See, higher up,
where the trunks lean over bending their branches, interwoven by the
creepers and forming a low cave from which the white foaming waters
escape as if from the mighty urn of the god of the stream.”
“And yet how still all seems, does it not? Nothing, absolutely nothing
but the noise of the fleeting waters; not the sound of a bird or animal
breaking this dead silence. Life seems almost extinct here.”
“Shut up!” was Johannes’ gay remark. “Morbid imagination, my boy,
nothing else. Our poet is absolutely seeing solitude where none is to
be found. The thunder of the cataract deafens all or you would soon
hear the harsh cries of the hordes of gray-green paroquets inhabiting
the tops of yonder trees. You might hear the piercing cries of that
herd of deer now grazing on the tops of the cliffs; you would hear
those small bakais or monkeys flying about with their long tails
through the branches of the trees, fern leaves and creepers which
overhang the abyss, whistling their lively ‘kirah, kirah.’ By heavens,
no! life is far from extinct here. On the contrary it shows itself in
its most powerful aspects everywhere around you, even in the waters,
where you may find the finest salmon disporting themselves. Presently,
when we shall have mastered this wild stream and travelled upwards, all
this life will disappear as if by magic. Then you will find all blank
and quiet about you just as you have pictured it to yourself. Do not,
however, blame nature for the change, but only men.”
While our deserters were thus philosophizing the Dayaks had taken steps
to accomplish the difficult and dangerous ascent of the kiham. Women
and children stepped on shore and began to climb the cliffs which
formed as it were a flight of steps leading to the higher territory
whence the Kapoeas descended. The four deserters, armed with their
unerring rifles, and five Dayaks with their lances and mandauws, served
as a convoy to the fair sex, all the while keeping an eye upon what was
going on on the river.
The rattan ropes cut at soengei Dahasan and soengei Basarang and the
chains found in soengei Naning were now produced and tied together.
This long cable was drawn up by eight men, who while performing their
task had successively to spring from cliff to cliff, to wade half
through the water and swim across some smaller branches of the river.
After two hours of hard work the upper end of the cable was attached to
a strong tree standing on the bank above the stream while the other end
was thrown across the river to the canoes. Two Dayaks now posted
themselves at the tree to guard the cable while six leaped into the
river and allowed themselves to be carried away by the strong tide,
grasping the cable as they sped along with astonishing rapidity. They
repeatedly disappeared beneath the foam of the whirlpools, and the
hearts of the Europeans beat faster as they witnessed each submersion,
but they soon saw the long woolly hair of the swimmers reappear on the
surface as they rose up gleefully and swam rapidly onwards.
The object of this manœuvring was to ascertain whether the cable had
became entangled amongst the trunks of the trees or rocks, thereby
imperilling the drawing up of the canoes. Although the cable was fully
six hundred yards long the expert swimmers reached its lower end in a
few seconds, when they wiped their faces as if nothing had happened.
Five of the men now took their places in each of the rangkans, one of
them steering while the four others took hold of the cable to draw the
boat up against the terrific tide. The dangerous journey was undertaken
by one rangkan at a time in order to prevent accidents arising from the
breaking of the cable or upsetting.
Thanks to the skill of the Dayaks and Poenans the rangkans completed
the ascent without any misadventure. The cataract now formed a
formidable barrier between the Dutch and themselves and further pursuit
was almost impossible.
The cable being wanted for other purposes had to be drawn up again, an
operation which took two hours to accomplish. The swimmers had to
exhibit their skill again in diving to unfasten it whenever it became
caught among the rocks.
The women, owing to the difficult path they had to follow in the ascent
of the cliffs, had not proceeded very far, although to these children
of nature a walk like this was nothing beyond an ordinary promenade.
They reached the top in about half an hour, where they sat gossiping
around a tree to which the cable was attached. The younger ones passed
their time in merriment while the elders lit several small fires to
cook the meals for the company. In the midst of all this female clatter
La Cueille’s voice was suddenly heard crying out:
“Nom d’un chien! what is there in my neck that itches so much?” And
tearing away the rag which protected his neck from the rays of the sun
he found it soaked in blood.
“I thought it was perspiration,” he cried, “trickling down my neck. Am
I wounded at last?”
His companions with several Dayaks approached, but the miscreants
simply burst out into hearty laughter. Before the Walloon could get any
answer to his appeal for help he passed his hand down his neck and felt
some slimy, smooth objects from which he suddenly withdrew his fingers.
“What is this?” he asked nervously.
“Halamantek,” was the phlegmatic reply of one of the Dayaks.
“Halamantek! what do they mean?”
“Don’t make yourself ridiculous,” Johannes grinned. “Halamantek are
only forest-leeches and they will rid you of some superfluous Walloon
blood.”
A sigh of relief escaped the wounded man. On examination it proved that
during their stampede through a thick wood not only the Walloon, but
all of the company had been attacked by these little reptiles. He,
however, from some unaccountable cause had received a double share of
their favors.
“The forest-leech,” Johannes explained, “is a reptile strongly
resembling a thick gray thread about the length of a finger. It
inhabits the lower branches of trees and from there attacks its prey,
either man or beast. It creeps in some crevice of the skin or dress and
greedily begins its meal. Its bite is not painful at first, resembling
rather a sensation of itching, but as soon as it has sucked itself full
the irritation becomes intense.”
“That is exactly what I felt,” the Walloon murmured.
In the meantime Moendoet had taken a handful of tobacco, infused it for
a couple of minutes in some boiling water and with the lotion thus
formed bathed the neck of her sweetheart. The leeches dropped off and
their wounds soon healed, to the great satisfaction of the Walloon.
“Henceforth we shall often be plagued with these pests,” Johannes said,
“and I think it will be wise to have some tobacco water ready in our
flasks for possible emergencies.”
“Shall we have to pass many cataracts?” Wienersdorf enquired.
“A great many; perhaps four to-morrow. But why this question?”
“Because we shall then have to wash ourselves four times at least with
this tobacco sauce. We shall be perfumed like the bowl of a German
pipe.”
“Very likely,” Johannes laughed, “but fortunately we don’t want to make
our entrée de salon, or perhaps you are anxious lest Hamadoe will be
disgusted with you? Don’t feel alarmed, she is quite accustomed to
tobacco.”
By the time the cable had been drawn in, the sun had also finished his
course and unceremoniously disappeared in the west behind the forest.
Our men and especially the Dayaks and Poenans had had a fatiguing day
and longed for some rest. They consequently resolved to pass the night
in the immediate neighborhood. The rangkans were tied to a projecting
tree, leaving them room enough to float in mid-stream. The women and
children were lodged within them, ten of the men occupying one at each
end as a safeguard. One of the men in each canoe was told off to mount
guard, while the others of the crew were divided into two equal
watches, posted along the banks of the river opposite the rangkans.
The four deserters joined this party, two of them in each watch, one to
keep lookout while the others rested.
Their precautions were excellently taken and showed the solicitude felt
by Johannes for their general welfare. The night however passed by
undisturbed. Early in the morning Schlickeisen noticed a creaking sound
coming from the forest bordering the banks. He kept a sharp lookout and
observed a herd of about fifty deer, led by a handsome buck with a
magnificent pair of antlers, coming down the slopes to drink from the
crystalline river water. While the herd was drinking their leader stood
posted on the top of the bank whence he could overlook the surrounding
country. There he remained, sniffing the air and pricking up his ears,
offering a fair mark to the Swiss, who proceeded to take good aim and
fired. His first movement, however, had alarmed the stag; the noble
animal suddenly threw his horns back on his neck, uttered a loud cry
and took his first and last leap. Tumbling from the steep height he
rolled into the water and would undoubtedly have been carried out of
reach had he not struck against one of the rangkans and become
entangled among the lines.
The rest of the herd had suddenly disappeared.
The alarm and commotion caused by that shot and its reverberations
through the steep banks was great, but thanks to the cool behavior of
the Europeans peace was soon restored. The buck was drawn out of the
stream, skinned and quartered, promising a delicious adjunct to the
ensuing meal. All congratulated Schlickeisen upon his fair shot, but he
vowed to be less hasty for the future and never to fire during
inconvenient hours.
An hour afterward the flotilla was again en route, making way against
the fierce and increasing current of the wild stream.
This day also contributed its share of difficulties. A little beyond
Kiham Hoeras, near kotta Hoerakan, the dioritic soil suddenly changed
into a coarse yellow-brown sandstone. This friable stone, subject to
rapid disorganization, filled the bed of the river to such an extent
that in some places no canoe could pass; a rangkan had to be steered
with the utmost caution in order to keep within the narrow strip of
water which formed the channel. The sand of this stone is easily
displaced by the immense force of the fleeting mass of water and here
and there forms banks in mid-stream where the tide is slackened and the
river shallowed. Sometimes the sandbanks assume the dimensions of
islands and are known as karangans by the natives. Harimaoung Boekit
informed his friends that these are highly auriferous and that not
unfrequently small nuggets are found of a quality considered the best
of the Kapoeas regions.
“We ought to try our luck here,” La Cueille said.
“Certainly not,” Johannes replied; “our way lies forward! We are still
too near the Dutch and must place a few more cataracts between them and
ourselves.”
“And,” said Amai Kotong, “neither could we go washing gold so readily.
We would soon find ourselves in trouble with the population of these
regions. Each kotta has its own grounds and parts of the river, which
they would not allow to be poached upon by strangers with impunity.”
“Then in heaven’s name forwards!” the Walloon muttered.
Besides the wild part of the river close to these islands, they had to
mount four kihams that day, some of which gave them considerably more
trouble than they had experienced at Kiham Hoeras, so that it was quite
four in the afternoon before the tired and exhausted travellers reached
kotta Karangan.
This kotta, situated on the left bank of the Kapoeas, was a handsome
and strong fortification with a population of over two thousand souls.
Our travellers, who had been surprised at the skulls ornamenting the
palisades of kotta Djangkan, felt alarmed at the immense number of
these ghastly trophies here exhibited. How many human lives must have
been sacrificed to supply such a quantity?
Amai Kotong found friends here also and was thereupon unhesitatingly
allowed to enter the kotta. The presence of Harimaoung Boekit and his
Poenans, however, excited considerable suspicion and it was only after
much trouble and difficulty that they succeeded in pacifying the people
and in preventing them from opening hostilities. Johannes repeated the
old story already told at kotta Baroe, how they had been commissioned
by the Dutch government to open communication with the Olo Otts, and to
learn their views. He had also beforehand taken the precaution of
planting the Dutch flag on one of the largest rangkans. He now solemnly
produced the stamped document taken away from Damboeng Papoendeh, and
mentioned that the Poenan chief had been added to his party by the
Great Heer of Bandjermasin to make the meeting with the Olo Otts more
feasible.
It is doubtful whether the Karangannese altogether believed the story.
They certainly looked respectfully at the seal, impressed in red wax,
and abstained from all hostilities, but they would not permit one of
the company of travellers to enter the kotta except Amai Kotong; to the
others they offered their tomoi for occupation. This caused
considerable satisfaction, for such a concession indicated that they
were considered as friends, and the laws of hospitality being strictly
recognized in Dayakland could not be violated in their persons.
Our travellers, therefore, could fearlessly take their rest, having
only to guard themselves against dangers from without. They
consequently deemed it sufficient for one of the Europeans to keep
watch, though two of the Dayaks volunteered to join in the service.