A DAYAK BREAKFAST—THE HALT ON THE ISLAND—THE BOEHIES—A NEW KIND OF
SOUP—THE THUNDER-STORM AND ITS RESULTS—RUMORS OF WAR—A NIGHT
ATTACK—THE PARABOH—KOTTA HAMIAK BESIEGED—THE BESIEGERS ROUTED.
Shortly after daybreak our travellers were again ready to continue
their journey. At the moment of parting Johannes distributed twenty
parcels of tobacco amongst the most influential inhabitants of kotta
Karangan; to the wife of the chief he offered a necklace of handsome
beads, part of the goods purchased from Baba Poetjieng, a courtesy
which was highly valued and served to remove all lingering suspicion.
In recognition of this present the hostess offered to each of the party
some bundles of Ketan rice wrapped in pisang leaves, accompanied by a
large piece of Kalamboe-ei, or bakatak, and a stiff dram of doubly
distilled toeak.
La Cueille was delighted with the liquor; he smacked his lips and
suspiciously wiped his mouth before he began his breakfast. He knew the
sticky rice and with a little salt and grated cocoanut he found it very
palatable. But he looked suspiciously at the other viands with which
they had been presented. He smelt them and the aroma tickled his
olfactory. He took a bite and found the taste more delicious than the
smell. He banished all thought of pileworms and snakes and set himself
to make a hearty meal, when Johannes asked him whether he knew what he
was eating.
“I don’t care,” the Walloon answered, “it is very nice!”
“As long as you like it I am satisfied. I also find it nice though
rather dirty.”
With his mouth half filled the Walloon looked up at Johannes.
“And what may it be after all?” he stammered.
“The Kalamboe-ei is a snail of the size of your fist with a beautiful
shell.”
“And the other?” he asked in utter despair.
“The bakatak is a green frog found everywhere along the borders of the
rivers. Here, take a draught and wash it down.”
As he spoke thus, he handed him a small bamboo measure of gin. At one
gulp the Walloon wallowed it down, exclaiming:
“Ah! ha! That is better. I will eat ten more snails for another dram.”
“I believe you, my lad,” Johannes smiled, “but ten of these snails
would ruin your digestion. Besides, you have quite enough courage now,
so you had better finish your rice.”
Breakfast being completed they all resumed their places in the boats
and with a loud hurrah the fleet of rangkans was again set in motion.
The stream grew gradually wilder and the passage more difficult. They
had only three kihams to surmount, but the river itself became narrower
and more shallow as they advanced, although the force of the current
diminished as each affluent was passed.
Towards the afternoon the flotilla was moored near an islet, or rather
a sandbank, which, appearing above the surface only at low water,
consisted of blinding white sand intermixed with small round pebbles.
It was, however, delightfully shaded by the trees lining the sides of
the river, which had here become rather narrow, and therefore offered a
charming resting-place. The travellers had scarcely stepped ashore to
stretch their cramped legs when a whole troop of “boehies” was seen
gambolling among the branches of the high trees. Boehies are black and
gray apes noted for their long tails. Curious like all quadrumana they
approached the edge of the forest and stared at what the travellers
were doing on the island. Gradually gaining confidence they came
nearer, making the most curious summersaults in their progress, while
some of the younger ones risked themselves amongst the lower branches,
hanging down by their tails and balancing themselves so close to the
heads of the men that they could almost touch them. When their
confidence had advanced thus far, Harimaoung Boekit whispered something
to the Europeans who kept their guns ready loaded with shot and slugs,
while the Dayaks seized their blow-pipes. The gay colony of monkeys,
ignorant of the danger awaiting them, still continued their acrobatic
performances above the heads of the men. At a given signal the rifles
were discharged and twelve boehies fell mortally wounded. The cries
uttered by these wounded animals were heartrending. Their companions
disappeared with the speed of lightning. But not all of them; a mother
seeing her young one fall under the fatal lead, and being herself
unhurt, pounced down to grasp her dying infant, pressed it to her bosom
and before any one could prevent her leaped into the river, dived,
gained the shore and disappeared in the thick foliage. Another of the
wounded did not fall, but spasmodically supported itself by its hind
legs on the branch where only a short time before it had been gaily
disporting. For a moment only it remained hanging there and they could
almost touch it. With tears in its eyes it pressed its hands upon its
chest, from which the blood trickled down between its fingers. It had
received a gaping wound; its groans were agonizing; its looks expressed
melancholy reproach, its whole appearance was so pitiful that not one
amongst the Dayaks nor even the wild Poenans had the courage to attempt
the capture of the animal. At last the poor creature collected all its
strength, grasped the branch with its hands, raised itself and sat
down. It then plucked some leaves and green sprigs, chewed them and
applied this self-made poultice to its wound. Then it kept quiet for a
few minutes as if to take breath, after which, supporting itself by its
tail and three hands, the fourth covering the wound, it gradually
withdrew and disappeared amid the dark umbrage of the forest.
The Europeans after witnessing these two scenes felt shame and regret
at their share in the battue. But before they could find time to give
expression to their feelings the Dayaks approached the wounded monkeys,
mandauw in hand, and killed them all, regardless of their pitiful
cries. A horrible scene now ensued. Every Dayak seized an animal,
hastened to rip it open and to rout about with both hands among the yet
warm viscera, as if in search of something. In the intestines of some
animals, but especially in those of the boehies, a green stone of the
size of a large pea is often found, to which the whitefaces used to
ascribe an extraordinary medicinal power in former times. It was
imported into Europe under the name of bezoar stone, and rivalled in
value the most precious jewel. At present its old fame has totally
disappeared amongst the whitefaces, but among the natives of the Indian
Archipelago it has retained a certain value, and when large commands as
much as eighty dollars in Batavia and Singapore.
Our travellers were extremely fortunate on the present occasion. It
sometimes happens that a hunter may kill three and even more boehies
without finding a single batoe galiga, as the natives call them. They
had now killed twelve monkeys and had been rewarded with eight stones
which, although not all equally large, were worth fully sixty dollars
each. Harimaoung Boekit smilingly collected them, put them in the
hollow of a bamboo tube and offered them in token of gratitude to the
preserver of his life and as a testimony of his affection for the
future husband of his sister.
“That greases the wheel!” La Cueille muttered, “if every shot would
only yield that amount! By George! I shall keep a sharp lookout and
every boehie I see shall be mine.”
“You may spare yourself the trouble,” Johannes answered, “this species
of monkeys is not quite so abundant. It sometimes takes a great deal of
trouble to get one in view. Now that this rifle fire has sounded
amongst them I would bet that you would have to wait months before
seeing another.”
“I have plenty of batoe galiga at soengei Miri,” Harimaoung Boekit
assured Johannes. “When we get there I will exchange them for the guns
you took away from kotta Djangkan. I should like to have them mounted
on my kotta.”
“We will talk about that when we are there, my dear Amai,” was the
reply. “Perhaps in addition to the guns we may also throw in the
rifles.”
“I begin to believe,” the Walloon interrupted, “that we won’t reach
home empty-handed.”
“Possibly, but before all, let us try and get home, anyhow. I can
assure you we have not come very far yet in that direction.”
The Walloon heaved a deep sigh.
During the time occupied by this conversation the women had busied
themselves in preparing the meal. In every direction small fires were
burning and the atmosphere was so perfumed with the smell of the
viands, that despite their hurry all became anxious to satisfy the
cravings of their stomachs. At last the whole company, divided into
small parties, sat or rather lay down around the mats upon which the
various dishes were spread. There were heaps of steaming rice, boiled
nearly snow white and perfectly dry. Numerous saucers and leaves stood
close by filled with delicacies. The venison of the buck shot by
Schlickeisen that morning, appeared under different disguises and was
thoroughly enjoyed by all. On the mat occupied by the Europeans there
was a brass pot covered with a wooden lid. At first it had escaped
their attention, but now that their appetites had been somewhat sated
their curiosity became excited.
“What might that contain?” La Cueille asked.
“Only soup,” Johannes replied, “they have heard that in Bandjermasin it
is generally eaten and the women have prepared it as a surprise for
us.”
“Soup?” Schlickeisen asked. “Well, you ought to have told us of it
before, when we might have begun our meal with a plateful. But, no
matter, it will be equally acceptable now,” and drawing the pot towards
him, he removed the lid and greedily inhaled the delicious aroma of the
concoction. He dipped a spoon in it and was on the point of filling a
cocoanut shell when he suddenly dropped the ladle, took a wooden fork,
and with it fished up something which on being exhibited caused all
excepting Johannes to fall back in disgust. Fixed between the prongs of
the fork there was something not unlike the dissected head of an infant
to which, when lifted out, there were attached two arms with
well-shaped hands. Speechless and horror-struck, Wienersdorf and the
Walloon kept staring at Schlickeisen, who, almost paralyzed, stood
there with the fork in his hand.
“What is the matter now?” Johannes asked.
“Don’t you see?” was the panting reply of La Cueille.
“What? This soup? Certainly I see it, and very nice it smells.”
“They mean to make cannibals of us!” the Walloon cried. “Never!
never!!”
“Cannibals?” Johannes asked innocently. “Now don’t play the fool with
me,” and pushing Schlickeisen aside he filled his cup with the highly
flavored soup, brought it to his lips and emptied it.
“Ha!” he said, stopping for breath, “delicious!”
“How could you!” Wienersdorf remarked. “Has man become totally wild in
this country?”
“How could I do what?” Johannes asked surprised.
“Swallow that human soup!”
“Human soup?”
“Yes, human soup; don’t you see that baby which Schlickeisen has fished
up?”
Johannes had gained his end; those stupid Europeans were nicely sold.
He burst out laughing.
“Ha! ha! ha! human soup. You never get such fare in Europe, not even in
the best Parisian restaurants. Capital!” he roared. “I shall laugh
myself to death.”
And snatching the fork from Schlickeisen he produced the entire mass of
flesh from the pot, exhibiting besides the parts already seen, two long
legs and a tail a yard long.
“A monkey!” La Cueille gasped.
“One of the boehies killed a little while ago. The women quietly
immersed this animal in boiling water to remove its hair, and then made
it into a delicious soup.”
The Walloon and the two Swiss still hesitated, but Johannes tried to
reconcile them to this new fare by explaining that the monkey is one of
the cleanest and daintiest animals in creation, feeding entirely upon
vegetable diet.
“Now compare this to the pig and the fowl,” he continued, “so highly
valued by you all, I really do not see what there is against eating an
ape.”
“But the likeness! It almost seems like eating your own brother.”
“Mercy!” Johannes resumed smiling, “that is an argument overlooked by
Darwin while endeavoring to make his celebrated theory acceptable. I
mean the horror men have for eating monkey flesh under the impression
that he is consuming his own brother. I am happy to say that we Dayaks
do not despise the monkey as food, although we are unacquainted with
the taste of human flesh.”
But Johannes might have talked till doomsday, he could not convert his
mates. The soup remained untouched by the Europeans. He however enjoyed
his share of it and helped himself to one of the monkey’s legs, which
he ate with great satisfaction.
Dinner being finished the journey was continued. Since their departure
from kotta Djangkan, the country had gradually become more rugged and
they had approached a range of hills between which the Kapoeas made its
way. They now perceived lofty mountains in the north and north-west,
the tops of which were clearly defined in the distance. Johannes
pointed out to his companions that they would have to traverse those
mountains in order to reach the Chinese sea. But he added: “We are only
commencing to see its southern slopes. God only knows when we will be
able to descend the other side.”
They rowed with all their might until about three o’clock, when Amai
Kotong signalled them to halt. They had now arrived opposite the mouth
of the soengei Samoehing, which, after a short consultation, they
entered. Johannes asked Harimaoung Boekit his reason for so doing, as
they had full three hours to spare and in that time might perhaps reach
Toembang Roengoi.
Without a word of reply the Poenan pointed towards the sky in the north
which was getting rapidly darker, presaging a thunder-storm. Dalim told
the Europeans that a soho, or flood, called bandjer amongst the Malays,
could be extremely dangerous sometimes, for the waters rise suddenly
and run with irresistible force. Vessels caught by the soho are
frequently carried away and are exposed to the danger of foundering in
one of the whirlpools, or of being shattered against the cliffs of the
kihams. As soon as they entered the mouth of the soengei Samoehing they
landed and drew their boats as high on the shore as possible in order
to place them beyond the reach of the flood. They were still occupied
in this work when a noise like distant thunder was heard approaching
nearer and nearer. The Europeans really believed it to be thunder, a
conviction which seemed to be confirmed by the increasing darkness of
the sky and the large drops of rain that began to fall. Dalim, however,
called the deserters aside and together they mounted the hill which
separated the Kapoeas from the Samoehing. There they had a magnificent
view over the whole river. Perfect silence reigned everywhere; not a
leaf moved, not a blade of grass vibrated, not a bird twittered nor a
moth took wing. The clouds heavily pressed downward on the earth
causing an insufferable heat, a feeling of depression under which the
whole universe seemed to labor. Nothing but the still distant roar was
heard gradually approaching nearer and nearer.
“Look! Look!” Schlickeisen cried, pointing to the upper part of the
stream in anxious astonishment, whence with a roar like thunder there
advanced a wall of water from twelve to fifteen feet high, as if about
to overwhelm everything—hill and wood and travellers. Rushing forward
and carrying every obstacle before it, it hurried on like a
perpendicular cliff, foaming and seething as if discharged from some
subterranean volcano. Under the irresistible influence of the waters
rocks groaned as if wrenched from their base; trees were uprooted and
carried away; large masses of stones became dislodged from their
encasements of clay in the banks and fell into the surging flood, being
kept afloat for a moment by the immense power and rapidity of the
stream.
The appearance of this wall of water lasted for an instant only, but
when it had passed our travellers like a shadow, the surface of the
river had risen some fifteen feet and kept rising still, so that where
only a few moments before a crystalline stream had sped over its bed of
clear white sand and pebbles, nothing but a roaring and seething yellow
turbid mass of water was now to be seen.
Our Europeans had looked on at this phenomenon with the highest
admiration, but before the swift-moving wall of water had entirely
disappeared from view their attention was diverted by the storm which
suddenly burst forth in all its majestic grandeur.
First there shot forth a blinding dart of lightning, rapidly followed
by a rattling peal of thunder which was only the forerunner of
incessant discharges breaking forth from almost every point in the
firmament. At the same time the wind rose and blew with violence,
uprooting trees and spreading destruction in every direction. The roar
of the rushing stream, the crash of the rattling thunder, the creaking
of broken branches, the crash of falling trees, the howling of the
wind, the anxious chirping of the birds, the frightened cries of apes,
all these combined to form a sublime harmony which at once filled the
heart with terror and with admiration for nature as seen in this
conflict of the elements.
The clouds became blacker and heavier and drooped down to the earth as
if incapable of retaining any longer the burden with which they were
weighted. The rain then descended in regular torrents which, carried
along by the gale, formed an undulating curtain that arrested the view
along the horizon and concealed objects which were almost near at hand.
Vast streams of water collected from every side and following the slope
of the territory discharged themselves into the river.
Dalim and the Europeans quickly descended the hill to join their
companions. Arrived in the kampong they found everything and everybody
in the wildest commotion, for the rise of water had been so great and
rapid as to compel them to bring the rangkans higher up the shore. The
Europeans joined in the task, and assisted by four pair of strong arms
like theirs the boats were soon carried beyond the reach of danger.
The storm continued with unabated fury for a considerable time, after
which it gradually disappeared in a south-westerly direction. The
flashes of lightning became less vivid; the thunder gradually decreased
in volume and the intervals between its peals grew longer. The gale
also gradually abated, the rain dwindled into a fine drizzle and the
clouds began to separate. The blue sky became once more visible and,
gilded by the setting sun, seemed to announce that nature had finished
its battle. The river alone remained boisterous and wild, but before
the sun had totally disappeared beneath the western horizon that also
had ceased to rise. By nightfall the travellers felt certain that the
flood was subsiding, and guarded by their outposts they all retired to
rest full of confidence.
Next morning the whole kampong was ready betimes to continue the
journey, and our travellers were soon on their way. Rounding the first
angle of the stream they observed a considerable fortification called
kotta Samoehing, whence cries of alarm and loud beating of drums were
heard to proceed as soon as the inhabitants perceived the approaching
fleet of rangkans. Johannes hoisted the Dutch colors while Amai Kotong
despatched words of salutation. When the Samoehingese heard the old
chief their nervousness abated, and their cries of alarm ceased. Upon
stepping on shore Amai Kotong learned that a report was current of the
defeat in the Kapoeas country of the Doessonese under Tomonggong
Soerapatti.
That celebrated Dayak chief was now said to be waging war with the
inhabitants of soengei Sirat. He had not yet been seen in that
neighborhood, but alarming reports were prevalent of the intentions of
this disreputable fellow who was bent upon destroying by fire and sword
all the inhabitants of the Kapoeas. A council of war was held
consisting of Amai Kotong, Harimaoung Boekit, Dalim and the Europeans
with the Chief of the kotta Samoehing, whose name was Amai Pari. They
assembled in the tomoi to deliberate upon the measures now necessary to
be taken.
“You will have to return whence you came,” Amai Pari said.
“Yes,” replied Amai Kotong, “to kotta Djangkan.”
“How strong do you think these Doessonese are?” asked Johannes.
“I hear about twelve hundred men.”
“Have they fire-arms?”
“Only a few rifles, perhaps six or seven; but they have four small
pieces to bombard the kottas.”
“How many do we muster?”
“Counting everyone,” said Amai Kotong, “we muster eighty-four men fit
to carry arms.”
“And how many rifles have we?”
“I believe six-and-forty.”
“And,” said Johannes in a fierce rage, “do you propose to return to
kotta Djangkan to be captured by the Dutch? Do you desire to see
Harimaoung Boekit in fetters? to see him condemned to penal servitude
as an inveterate head-hunter? Tell me, Amai, are we old women or do
men’s hearts beat within our breasts? No! by Mahatara and all his
Sangiangs! not one step backwards. With forty-six rifles in the hands
of men like us we can traverse the island from one end to the other. I
for one would like to meet this Soerapatti should he dare to encounter
us.”
Johannes stood, bravely handsome, like a bronze statue of disdain.
Harimaoung, carried away by these stirring words, unsheathed his
mandauw with his right hand while with his left he grasped Johannes’
arm.
“No!” he exclaimed, “not one footstep backwards. On the contrary
forward to meet those old women of the Doessan.” His enthusiasm seemed
infectious, for not only Amai Kotong and Amai Pari but the whole
assemblage broke out in one loud cry: “Forward!”
An hour after breakfast the fleet was again in motion. They moved on
uninterruptedly, nothing occurring to retard their progress or to
excite suspicion. They did not meet a single djoekoeng on the river,
nor did they see a human being on the banks from whom any information
could be gleaned. It seemed as if this part of the river had become
depopulated.
At four in the afternoon when the fleet, to which the Samoehingese had
now joined themselves, arrived at the mouth of the soengei Sirat,
nothing of a suspicious nature had been yet observed. Some of the
Poenans stepped ashore to reconnoitre the territory as they intended to
pass the night there, but they soon returned with the report that on
the northern bank of the soengei, about two hundred steps from the
shore, a distinct trail had been discovered in the long grass,
indicating that a large number of men had recently passed. Harimaoung
Boekit and Dalim, as true forest spies, at once set out to examine the
trail while Johannes, Schlickeisen and Wienersdorf with the Dayaks
accompanied them as covers, armed with rifles.
The reconnoitring party soon returned; it had been ascertained that the
trail was quite fresh and left by a numerous band who had travelled
from west to east, as proved by the footsteps observed in the spots
bare of grass. They had followed the trail for about a thousand yards,
where it emerged into the Kapoeas and turned towards the north. On this
sandy soil it became so clearly defined as to leave no doubt of the
presence of a large number of people at no great distance. Harimaoung
Boekit also fancied that he had heard some human voices coming from
that direction. Be that as it may, the greatest precaution was
undoubtedly necessary. They therefore resolved to hide their rangkans
behind a sharp curve in the southern bank while four Dayaks armed with
rifles were posted in some trees to guard the upper stream. Half of the
men would keep awake, rifles in hand, and be prepared to act
energetically in any emergency. At the place where they had moved their
rangkans some huge trees were felled along the banks which, with the
shrubs, would form an obstruction difficult to be passed without
challenging their attention. Our travellers would soon become aware of
the necessity for these precautions.
About midnight one of the sentries observed something float by in the
soengei strongly resembling the trunk of a tree. He thought it might be
a crocodile, and he therefore whistled softly to draw the attention of
the men in the canoes, fearing lest the monster should utilize the
opportunity by pouncing upon some unlucky member of the crew to
disappear with him in the dark depths of the river. After giving his
warning whistle the sentry noticed that the tree or crocodile was
moving towards the shore and was followed by about fifty similar
objects. Their movements by no means resembled the noiseless motion of
a crocodile, besides which the presence of so many following the first
was opposed to the habits of these animals. He therefore became certain
that there was something in the wind. He discharged his rifle, and his
companions hearing the signal also opened fire. The shots had hardly
sounded in the midnight silence when a savage yell was heard from
behind the obstruction. Several figures now appeared trying to break
through the barrier, a few of them succeeding. Fortunately the night
was not dark, the air was calm and the stars shone brightly, partly
illuminating the scene. Nothing could be observed of what was going on
behind the obstruction, but every figure that surmounted it became
distinctly apparent against the faintly lit background and was exposed
to the well-aimed bullets of the four Europeans. The Dayaks, who had
also been entrusted with rifles, began under the influence of their
native impetuosity to open a deafening discharge. The Europeans, more
collected, only fired whenever they saw a dark figure hurrying towards
the river, and they rarely missed their mark. The two Swiss took no
share in the firing but carefully reserved their ammunition for moments
of imminent danger. Their precaution was not in vain, for suddenly a
large number of assailants succeeded in creeping through the
obstruction and, mandauws in hand, rapidly sped toward the river to
throw themselves on the rangkans. The women commenced to shriek and
were almost mad with despair, but the two Swiss now joined in the
struggle and firing calmly and deliberately made a couple of the
assailants bite the dust at each discharge. Their rifles sounded
regularly and did good execution among the Doessonese who approached
the river. A few of them, however, managed to creep through the fire,
threw themselves into the river and grasped the rangkans, which they
tried desperately to capsize. Now arrived the turn of the Dayaks: their
mandauws cleft some skulls and lopped some hands, sending the
dissevered fingers in the laps of the women. A few shrieks, a few
groans, some death struggles, and the work was done. The assailants
dropped into the stream to become, whether dead or wounded, a prey to
the crocodiles.
All was now quiet along the banks of the river, so quiet that one could
hardly have credited that only a few moments before a struggle for life
and death had taken place on this spot. The Swiss hastened to reload
their Remingtons and all prepared for further emergencies.
Four rifle shots were suddenly heard, followed by cries of terror. They
came from the four sentries who were still seated in the trees and who
were now being attacked. Our travellers could distinctly perceive
figures climbing into these trees, greatly endangering the safety of
the sentries whose heads the assailants were bent upon securing. Upon
seeing this Harimaoung Boekit and his Poenans quietly took to the
water, and when they had reached the shore the Europeans fired into the
trees, aiming at those of the enemy who were uppermost. This caused
them to tumble from their perches and in their fall to dislodge all who
were following them. The Poenans now came into action.
With loud cries they threw themselves upon the terrified enemy,
wielding their mandauws vigorously and unsparingly. Hoarse shrieks of
despair, terror, rage and disappointment were heard during this fight
with the naked weapon. After a short interval the Poenans returned to
their boats, each bearing at least one reeking human head in his hands
while several carried two or three. A loud hurrah from the throats of
all the Dayaks, women as well as men, greeted the conquerors. But no
sooner had this welcome been given than renewed cries of alarm were
heard and the sentries pointed towards the river as the spot whence
danger now threatened them. Four rangkans heavily manned were seen
coming down the soengei, making for the vessels of our travellers. They
were received by the Dayaks with a well-sustained rifle fire in which
the Europeans soon joined. Courageous as the Doessonese were, such a
shower of bullets proved too much for them. They soon counted many dead
and wounded and attempted to retire. As soon as they commenced their
retreat, which was somewhat retarded by the strong tide, Johannes
collected all his armed men and made them fire a few volleys. The other
three Europeans calmly took aim, fired with deliberation, and by their
clever marksmanship sent death and destruction among the hostile
vessels. Three of the rangkans made good their retreat, but the fourth
seemed to find some difficulty in contending against the current.
Despite the desperate attempts of the crew it remained almost in the
same spot swaying backwards and forwards. One after another the oarsmen
were being shot down, when, as if to embrace their only remaining
chance of escape, the survivors leaped into the river to save
themselves by flight, leaving the rangkan to float down with the strong
tide. At sight of this the Poenans could not be restrained. In the
twinkling of an eye they had boarded the rangkan, decapitating every
dead and wounded man found therein. The bodies were then thrown into
the water and the captured vessel towed on shore as an accession to
their own fleet.
Eight-and-twenty heads had been captured and the greater part of the
men were soon busy cleaning them. The spectacle was something horrible
to the Europeans; for a moment they were spellbound by the sight, but
then they made haste to leave the dreadful scene.
The night passed undisturbed and at daybreak half of the Dayaks and all
the Poenans went ashore, decapitated the enemies found dead or wounded
near the barrier and threw their bodies into the river. The number of
skulls now captured amounted to thirty-nine. On reconnoitring both
banks of the soengei they concluded that they had been attacked by two
distinct sections of the enemy, one of them being the party whose trail
they had discovered on the previous day. If both assaults had been
simultaneous the result might have been most disastrous.
It was henceforth necessary to be doubly watchful. They had tried
conclusions with the enemy and although they had sustained no loss, the
experience gained taught them that they had to deal with a courageous
and enterprising foe. Johannes consequently arranged that the rangkan
containing himself and his companions should form the advance guard;
the Europeans were no longer to take part in the rowing, but were to
keep a sharp lookout with Dalim and Amai Kotong in order to be ready
with their unerring fire whenever necessary. Harimaoung Boekit and his
Poenans would form the rear guard, to which he added a few more men
carrying rifles, wherewith to discharge alarm or signal shots when
required. That these precautions were not taken too soon was speedily
proved.
It was about nine in the morning; they had rowed on unflaggingly and up
till now nothing had been seen of the enemy. Suddenly Dalim uttered a
low cry and pointed towards a man, who, nearly hidden by the trunk of a
tree, was busy apparently cutting down some rattan ropes with his
mandauw.
“Parabah!” Dalim cried terrified.
“Row quickly!” Amai Kotong commanded, as a warning to the rangkans
following his.
The man on shore had already cut through one rope. He remained looking
intently at the rangkans and when he saw they had come sufficiently
near, he raised his arm to cut through the second rope. But in order to
do this he had to expose himself; his form was only visible for a short
time, but that was long enough for the two Swiss to discharge their
rifles with unerring aim. Pierced almost exactly in the same spot by
two bullets, the Doessonese made a summersault and fell dead. One of
his companions appeared from behind the tree to complete the projected
work, but before he had moved two steps he shared the same fate. The
same thing occurred with a third and a fourth of them. A fifth crept
along the ground and thus escaped the observation of the firing party.
He got to the rope, which was wound round the tree four or five times
about five feet from the ground, and in order to reach it he had to
raise himself on his knees. He then grasped it with his left hand and
lifted the right to deal a smart blow to the tightly strung rattan,
when again two shots were fired. These completely smashed his left
fist, but at the same time one of the bullets almost severed the rope.
“Row for your lives!” both Amai Kotong and Dalim yelled.
The rangkans almost fled onwards, lashing the water into foam. For a
moment only they saw the top of one of these giants of the forest wave
backwards and forwards. The huge trunk bowed, righted itself again,
then bowed again to fall with a noise like thunder, covering the river
with its branches and foliage and scattering the water high in the air
in wild spray that enveloped everything in a misty veil. The rangkans
had fortunately passed the spot where the tree fell; by only a few
seconds they had escaped destruction, for if overtaken by the fallen
giant, they must inevitably have been crushed and their living freight
hurled into a watery grave.
“That was a narrow escape!” La Cueille cried.
“Well may you say so,” Johannes smiled satisfactorily. “But look out;
you now see what sort of dare-devils these beggars are. It is one of
the usual tricks of war among the Dayaks. Whenever they expect an enemy
by the river, they prepare for him by cutting through the base of the
trunks of the very largest trees found along the banks. They then
retain them in their natural position by means of rattan ropes which
are severed at the precise moment that the enemy is opposite to them.
The trees then fall and either crush the advancing boats or interpose
an impenetrable obstacle to their further progress. Six men are
generally placed on watch near the ropes, and these, as a rule, keep
themselves hidden. Once the ropes are cut they fly as fast as they can
and watch the result from a distance.”
“I heard Dalim cry out parabah! What does this word mean?” Schlickeisen
asked.
“It is the name given to the dodge of letting these trees fall.”
“It is cleverly planned, I must say!” La Cueille observed. “If you were
to get such a tree on the top of your head you would scarcely require a
new hat, would you now? But we shall have to keep our eyes open,
without doubt.”
“That we shall,” Johannes answered, “but I have decided to let a dozen
men march along the banks of every river over which we may have to
travel, with orders to keep about twenty yards ahead of us and to
examine every tree. This will render any accident impossible and at the
same time do us good service otherwise.”
“And in what manner will it serve you otherwise?”
“First of all, our men will disperse or shoot these liers-in-wait. They
will then search for the half-cut trees, which are not difficult to
discover when you are ashore; then, waiting until all our rangkans have
safely passed the spot, they will cut the rattan ropes and let the
trees fall over. Thus our rear will be protected, both against the
Doessonese, who may get reinforcements along the soengei, and against
the Dutch whenever they put themselves upon our track. There will be no
serious difficulty in putting this plan into execution, for, as a rule,
only a few men are placed to watch the parabah and these will soon be
driven away by our rifles.”
They now travelled onwards cautiously but rapidly. Two trees on the
point of toppling over were all they discovered, and as Johannes had
predicted a couple of shots sufficed to drive the watchmen away, and a
triple obstruction was thus thrown across the river completely blocking
all access from the lower districts.
Shortly after noon they sighted kotta Hamiak, where events were taking
place not of an encouraging nature. A desperate fight was going on at
the time. The inhabitants were in a state of siege. They could be seen
peering over the tops of their palisades, here, like everywhere else in
Dayak land, surmounted by many human skulls, and throwing anything
accessible at the heads of their assailants, who were trying to scale
the barrier at various points. At a small distance from the kotta the
besiegers had two small guns planted behind an entrenchment formed of
twigs, but their balls produced little or no effect against the strong
ironwood palisades. The artillery, it seemed, was more intended to
frighten the inhabitants and drive them away from the defence than to
do any material damage. The Doessonese had also brought together a
large heap of dry wood, piled it against the palisades and set fire to
it, The fire had already burnt for a considerable time, but the wall
had not suffered much, though it would soon begin to be dangerous for
the besieged.
The travellers arrived under the steep banks of this sharply-curved
soengei. They had been unobserved, and from behind the thick shrubs
growing along the banks were able to watch the movements of the enemy.
After Johannes had studied the position for a moment, he beckoned
Harimaoung Boekit to approach, pointed towards the thickly growing
shrubbery in the distance, running very close to the rear of the
assailants, and whispered something in his ear. The Poenan chief
grinned, collected his followers, stepped ashore with them and
disappeared behind the foliage which concealed the banks of the
soengei. Johannes then called his companions together, selected about
thirty armed Dayaks, including Dalim, and made straight for the
Doessonese. Meanwhile the flank attack concerted with the Poenan chief
was put into execution and threw the besiegers into confusion, and the
whole band took to flight. In an incredibly short time the immense army
which had besieged kotta Hamiak had been dispersed and driven into the
forest.
When the Doessonese had thus disappeared the warriors of our travelling
company fraternized with the inhabitants of the kotta. The rangkans
were brought forward and the women and children allowed to step on
shore. The old drama of horror was again enacted. The men of the kotta,
as well as the Dayaks of the rangkans and the Poenans of Harimaoung
Boekit, busied themselves decapitating the fallen enemies, dead or
wounded. The lives of some few whose injuries were not severe were
provisionally spared; a more terrible fate awaited them, however.
While disposing of the dead enemies by simply throwing them into the
soengei, it was discovered that five Poenans and six Dayaks of the
company had fallen, and that the Sirattese had lost four of their
number. But what caused the utmost grief was the death of Amai Mawong,
chief of the kotta Hamiak. He had always been a personal enemy of
Tomonggong Soerapatti, and the attack just repelled was the outcome of
Soerapatti’s undying hatred against him.
The body of the beloved chief was carried inside the kotta and laid out
for exhibition until the funeral could be solemnized. The Poenans and
the Dayaks of the kotta Djangkan made the necessary preparations for
burning the bodies of their companions on the following morning, a
ceremony practised among some tribes whenever time and opportunity do
not serve for the celebration of the customary funeral obsequies. Eight
prisoners had been taken and these were now secured in cages, fettered
with strong irons, until the next sunrise should summon them to a
horrible doom.
During the fight Schlickeisen had received a severe cut over the left
arm. This Wienersdorf now carefully examined. He found that although
the wound was formidable from having caused considerable loss of blood,
it had not penetrated deeply and was therefore not dangerous. A
poultice was applied to it to remove all inflammation. This done,
Johannes made due arrangements for their safety during the night and
all retired to rest.