Though the _manang_ is supposed to be able to defeat the evil spirits

which cause disease, there are some diseases which are too terrible for

even his mystical powers. The epidemic scourges of cholera and smallpox

are said to be caused by the direct influence of evil spirits. Smallpox

is said to be caused by the King of Evil Spirits, because it is such a

terrible disease. The name by which it is known among the Dyaks is _Sakit

Rajah_ (the sickness of, or caused by, the King of Evil Spirits). But the

_manangs_ will not go near a case of either. Probably a consciousness

of their own powerlessness, combined with a fear of infection, has made

them assert that those diseases do not come within reach of their powers.

Other means, such as propitiatory sacrifices and offerings, must be

resorted to.

To qualify a man to take part in this mixed system of symbolism

and deceit, a form of initiative ceremony is gone through by other

witch-doctors, in the course of which he is supposed to learn the secrets

of his mystic calling. The aspirant to the office of _manang_ must first

commit to memory a certain amount of Dyak traditional lore, to enable him

to take part in the incantations in company with other witch-doctors. But

in addition to this, before he can accomplish the more important parts,

such as pretending to catch the soul of a sick man, he must be publicly

initiated by one or more of the following ceremonies:

1. The first is called _Besudi_, which means “feeling,” or “touching.”

The aspirant sits in the veranda of the Dyak house, and a number of

witch-doctors walk round him singing incantations the whole night. The

ceremony performed over him is the same as that done for a sick man

(_Pelian_). This is supposed to endow him with the power to touch and

feel the maladies of the body, and apply the requisite cure. It admits

to the lowest grade, called _manang mata_ (unripe _manang_), and is

obtainable for the lowest fees.

2. If a _manang_ wishes to attain a higher grade, he goes through a

second ceremony, which is called _Bekliti_, or “opening.” A whole

night’s incantation is again gone through by the other _manangs_, and

in the early morning the great function of initiation is carried out.

The witch-doctors lead the aspirant into an apartment curtained off from

public gaze by large sheets of native woven cloth. There they assert

they cut his head open, and take out his brains and wash and restore

them. This is to give him a clear mind to penetrate into the mysteries of

disease and to circumvent the wiles of the unseen spirits. They insert

gold-dust into his eyes to give him keenness and strength of sight, so

that he may be able to see the soul wherever it may have wandered. They

plant barbed hooks in the tips of his fingers to enable him to seize the

struggling soul and hold it fast, and, lastly, they pierce his heart

with an arrow to make him tender-hearted and full of sympathy with the

sick and suffering. Needless to say, none of these things are done. A

few symbolic actions representing them are all that are gone through. A

cocoanut is placed on the head of the man and split open instead of the

head, and so on. After this second ceremony the man is a fully-qualified

_manang_—a _manang mansau_ (a ripe _manang_)—competent to practise all

parts of his deceitful craft.

3. There is, however, a third and highest grade, which is attainable

only by ambitious candidates who are rich enough to make the necessary

outlay. They may become _manang bangun_, _manang enjun_ (_manangs_ waved

upon, _manangs_ trampled upon). As in other cases, this involves a whole

night’s ceremony, in which many of the older witch-doctors take part.

They begin by walking round and round the aspirant to this high honour,

and wave over him bunches of betel-nut blossom. This is the _bangun_

(the waving upon). Then in the middle of the veranda a large jar is

placed having a short ladder fastened on each side and connected at the

top. At various intervals during the night the _manangs_, leading the

new candidate, march him up one ladder and down the other, but what

this is supposed to symbolize is not clear. As a finish to this play at

mysteries, the man lays himself flat on the floor and the others walk

over him and trample upon him. In some mysterious way this action is

supposed to impart to him the supernatural power they themselves possess.

This is the _enjun_, the “trampling upon.” The fees necessary to obtain

this highest grade among witch-doctors are high, and therefore few are

able to afford it. One who has been through this ceremony will often be

heard to boast that he is no ordinary spirit-controller or soul-catcher,

but something far superior—a _manang bangun, manang enjun_.

There is a yet higher grade which some _manangs_ attain to—that is, when

he becomes a _manang bali_. _Bali_ means “changed,” and a _manang bali_

is one who is supposed to have changed his sex, and become a woman.

Sometimes a male _manang_ assumes female attire. He does this, it is

said, because he has had a supernatural command conveyed to him in dreams

on three separate occasions. To disregard such a command would mean

death. He prepares a feast, and sacrifices a pig or two to avert evil

consequences to the tribe, and then assumes female costume. Thenceforth

he is treated like a woman, and occupies himself in female pursuits. His

chief aim in life is to copy female manners and habits as accurately as

possible.

A _manang bali_ is paid much higher fees than an ordinary _manang_, and

is often called in when others have been unable to effect a cure. I do

not think there is ever a case of a young man becoming a _manang bali_.

Generally it is an old and childless man who uses this means of earning a

livelihood.

The only occasion on which I have met a _manang bali_ was in the upper

part of the Krian River. He seemed a poor sort of creature, and appeared

to me to be looked down upon by the Dyaks, though they were glad

enough to ask his help in cases of illness. He had a “husband,” a lazy

good-for-nothing, who lived on the earnings of the _manang bali_.

Women as well as men may become _manangs_, though it is not usual to meet

many such nowadays. I have only come across one woman _manang_, and that

was at Temudok, though I have heard of several others in different parts

of the country.

The fact that the _manang_ claims to be able to hold communion with the

spirit-world would lead one to suppose that he is the priest of the

Dyak system of worship. But in practice the _manang_ is more a doctor

than a priest. His aid is always called in case of illness, but not

necessarily at the great religious functions of the Dyaks—the sacrifice

of propitiation to Pulang Gana, the god of the earth, or the sacrificial

feast to Singalang Burong, the god of war. Generally, other Dyaks

are the officiating ministers on these occasions, the only requisite

qualification being the ability to chant the invocation and incantations

which accompany the offering and ceremonies. Also at marriages or at

burials the _manang_ is not the officiant, but some old man of standing,

who has a reputation for being fortunate in his undertakings. A _manang_

may be the officiant, not by virtue of his office, but for other reasons.

CHAPTER XIV

NATIVE REMEDIES AND DYAK CHARMS

Native remedies—Cupping—Charms—A Dyak medicine-chest—Smallpox

and cholera—My experience at Temudok.

As has already been shown in the preceding chapter, the Dyak looks to

the _manang_, or witch-doctor, to help him in all cases of illness.

All sickness is caused by some evil spirit, and the _manang_ alone has

power over these unseen enemies, and he uses incantations to appease or

frighten these demons away.

But though in all cases of serious illness the _manang_ is called in,

yet the treatment of every disease is not left in his hands. Dyaks use

some things as outward applications, and certain herbal remedies are

given internally in the case of illness. I have seen Dyaks boil some

bitter bark in water and drink this liquid when they have fever. Certain

oils are also used as liniments. The betel-nut and pepper-leaf (_sireh_)

mixture is used as an outward application for many complaints. Some

man—generally one who is successful in what he undertakes—is asked to

chew some of this hot mixture in his mouth. Having done this, he leans

over and squirts the red saliva over the affected part, and rubs it in

with his fingers. Dyaks with a headache will be seen with their foreheads

smeared over with it. Newly-born babes have their stomachs and chests

covered with daily applications of the same thing by their mothers.

Ground ginger is also used as a poultice, especially in the case of women

who have given birth to a child; and the water in which pieces of ginger

have been boiled is drunk by people suffering from ague, as well as by

lying-in women.

The Dyaks are very fond of blood-letting whenever there is pain in any

part of the body or limb, and they have a method of “cupping” which

is rather ingenious. The part from which the blood is to be drawn has

incisions made in it with a small knife. The “cupping-glass” is a young

wet bamboo which has a knot at one end, but is open at the other. This

is heated at the fire, and then placed firmly over the incisions made

in the flesh. Cold water is then poured on the bamboo, and it draws

out the blood. The heat fills the bamboo with steam from its dampness.

The cold water condenses this steam, and makes the bamboo an excellent

“cupping-glass.”

As the Dyak believes that all sickness is caused by the spirits, it is

not surprising that his faith in medicines is small, and that he knows

of few remedies, and depends for his cures either on the mysterious

ceremonies of the witch-doctors or on charms which have been made known

by the spirits to the fortunate owners by means of dreams. These charms

are generally pebbles, roots, leaves, feathers, or bits of wood. The

pebbles and roots are rubbed on the body, or else put in water and the

water applied. The leaves, bits of wood, feathers, etc., are burnt, and

the ashes rubbed on the affected part.

Though the _manang_ depends upon his power over spirits to cure

diseases, still he calls to his aid his numerous charms, which he claims

to have received from the spirits. These valued treasures are carried in

his _lupong_, or medicine-chest.

The following excellent description of “The Contents of a Dyak

Medicine-chest,” by Bishop Hose, under whom I worked for many years as a

missionary to the Dyaks, is reproduced here by his kind permission. The

place and the people mentioned in it are all well known to me, as the

village of Kundong is in the Saribas District, which was in my charge for

many years:—

“A few days ago I was in the upper part of the Saribas River, the home of

the race once celebrated throughout Malaya for daring deeds of piracy. My

companion was the Rev. William Howell, the joint author with Mr. D. J.

S. Bailey of “A Dictionary of the Sea Dyak Language,” and an authority

on all subjects connected with the religious and other customs of that

people. We had ascended the Padih, an affluent of the main river, to the

village of Kundong, where we were going to spend the night in the Dyak

house of which Brok is the _tuai_, or headman. The house is of moderate

length—about twenty doors—and as usual the apartments of the _tuai_ are

near the middle of the building. There we were hospitably installed on

the _ruai_, or undivided hall (sometimes described as a veranda), which

extends throughout the whole length of a Sea Dyak house and occupies

about half of its area. The good mats were brought down from the _sadau_,

or loft, and spread for us—the rare luxury of a chair was provided for

me—and there we talked, and taught, and answered questions, and dispensed

medicines, while the inhabitants of the other rooms gathered round us, as

well as the occupants of our host’s private quarters. There also we ate,

and there we slept when the kindly people would at last consent to our

going to bed.

“The majority of the ‘rooms’—_i.e._, separate tenements—in this house

are inhabited by Christians of long standing, but there are a few who

have not yet come in. Amongst them is a _manang_, or doctor of magic,

named Dasu, who has a large practice in the neighbourhood. I was anxious

to interview him in order to get some information that I wanted for the

purpose of comparing the original spiritual beliefs of the Borneans with

those that underlie the Mohammedanism of the Malays of the Peninsula.

I was also desirous of ascertaining how far the methods of the Dyak

_manang_, when undertaking to cure diseases, resembled those of the

_pawang_ and _bomor_, his Malay confrères.

“At our invitation Dr. Dasu came out of his room readily enough, and

sat down with us to chat and smoke a cigarette. He talked freely and

intelligently about such matters of general interest as happened to be

broached, especially the late expedition against the turbulent people of

the Ulu Ai, and the terrible epidemic of cholera which was just passing

away. But as soon as we began to give the conversation a professional

turn, and speak of the practice of medicine by the native doctors of

the Saribas, he put on a look of impenetrable reserve, and could hardly

be persuaded to speak at all. There is reason to believe that this was

chiefly owing to the presence of Mr. Howell. He has succeeded in winning

the confidence and affectionate regard of Dyaks to an unusual degree,

but he is unpopular among the _manangs_. His teaching has led people to

think for themselves, and wherever he goes the business and the gains of

the village doctor show a tendency to decrease. Moreover, several of

the fraternity have submitted to his influence, abandoned their tricks,

and taken to honest farming. It is known, too, that some of these have

surrendered their whole stock of charms to my friend, and have also made

dangerous revelations, whereby the profession has been much discredited.

“So Dr. Dasu was only with great difficulty induced to impart to us his

knowledge. He told me, after more confidential relations had grown up

between us, that he suspected me of an intention, by some means or other,

to get possession of his precious _materia medica_, and so deprive him

of his means of living. However, his fears were removed by repeated

assurances that it was information only that I wanted, and that I was

consulting him just because I preferred to get it direct from a professor

of repute rather than trust to reports received from white men. At length

we persuaded him to be gently catechized. I got some precise answers to

my questions respecting certain articles of Dyak belief which had been

variously defined by different investigators, and about which my ideas

had been a good deal confused. But those matters are not the subject

of this note. It is the concluding incident of the rather prolonged

interview that I propose to describe.

“We had talked to one another so pleasantly and frankly that I thought

I might ask Dasu as a great favour to show me his _lupong_, or

medicine-chest, and the charms of power which it contained. It was quite

evident that this aroused his suspicions again, and he retired within

himself as before. But the principal people of the house, who were

sitting by us, urged him to consent, and, as old acquaintances of mine,

assured him of my good faith. So he was at last persuaded, and went to

his own room to fetch the treasure.

“As I have said, the good mats of the household, as is usual when it

is intended to show respect to a visitor, had been taken down for our

accommodation from the place where they are stored. But we now saw that

the most valued of them all had been held in reserve. This, which was

made of fine and very flexible _rotan_, the latest triumph of the skill

and industry of our courteous hostess, Ipah, Brok’s wife, was now handed

down and spread in front of us for the reception of the great man and the

mysterious implements of his profession. After some considerable delay,

probably intended to excite our curiosity the more, he appeared, and

sat down on the mat prepared for him, a subdued murmur of applause and

satisfaction greeting him as he took his seat.

“A _manang’s lupong_, or case for holding his charms, may be almost

anything. Sometimes it is a box, sometimes a basket, sometimes a bag.

In this instance it was an open-mouthed basket made of thin shavings of

bamboo hung round the neck of the owner by a strip of bark.

“Before beginning the exhibition, Dasu made a little formal speech,

in which, with much show of humility, he spoke in depreciation of his

own powers and knowledge and of his collection of remedial charms, as

compared with those of other members of the profession elsewhere. These

remarks were of course received with complimentary expressions of dissent

from the audience; and then at last the contents of the basket were

displayed before us. They were tied up together in a cloth bag, the most

highly-prized being further enclosed in special receptacles of their own,

such as a second cloth covering, a little bamboo box with a lid, or a

match-box. They were ceremoniously brought out, and placed side by side

on the mat of honour. I was then invited to handle and examine them, and

the name and use of each were told me without any fresh indication of

unwillingness. This is a list of them:

“1. _Batu bintang_, or star-stone. A small, transparent stone rounded by

the action of water till it was almost spherical, with a rather rough

surface. The _manang_ looked upon it as his badge of authority, and told

the following story of the way he became possessed of it. Many years ago,

in the interval between harvest and the next seed-time, he was working as

a cooly in Upper Sarawak. There he had a dream in which he was visited

by the being whom he looked upon as his guardian spirit. As in all cases

when this spirit has had any communication to make to him, it appeared in

the form of a tortoise. It told him that he must forthwith put himself

under instruction in order to be qualified for the office of a _manang_;

and that if he neglected this command all the spirits would be angry, and

death or madness would be the penalty. When he awoke he found the _batu

bintang_ by his side, and had no doubt it was the gift of the spirit.

Accordingly, he did as he was bidden without loss of time. He acquired

the professional knowledge and the stock-in-trade which were necessary,

and was at last duly initiated with all the proper rites and ceremonies.

“2. _Batu krat ikan sembilan_, or the petrified section of the Sembilan

fish. This was a curious object which I could not quite make out. It was

oblong in shape, about two inches long, one inch broad, and half an inch

thick in the middle, but getting suddenly thinner towards the two edges

till it became not more than one-sixteenth of an inch. The thick part

was hollow, having a large, oval-shaped perforation going through it. It

resembled a section from the middle of a large winged seed, but heavy

for its size, and feeling like a stone. I could not of course test this

by cutting or scraping. When used it is soaked for a time in water; the

water is then given to the sick man to drink, or is rubbed gently upon

the part of his body which is affected.

“3. _Batu lintar_, or thunderbolt. A small, dark-coloured stone, about an

inch and a half long and a quarter of an inch thick at the base, tapering

to a sixteenth of an inch at the point, curved, and rather like a very

small rhinoceros horn, and highly polished. It was probably the same

kind of stone as that of which the stone implements found in the Malay

Peninsula are made, which is also called _batu lintar_. It is pressed

firmly against the body wherever pain is felt.

“4. _Batu nitar_, another name for thunderbolt. A minute, four-sided

crystal, half an inch long and about two lines thick. A charm to be used

only in extreme cases. It is dipped in water and then shaken over the

patient. If he starts when the drops of water fall upon his body he will

recover, otherwise he will die.

“5. _Batu krang jiranau_, or petrified root-stock of _jiranau_ (a

zingiberad?). They told us this is the Dyak name of a kind of wild

ginger. The word is curiously near to _jerangau_, or _jeringu_,

which Ridley says is _Acorus calamus_, ‘a plant much used by native

medicine-men’ (Wilkinson, ‘Malay-English Dictionary’). The thing so

called was possibly part of the backbone of some animal, bent double and

the two ends tied together, each vertebra brown and shining after long

use. A charm for dysentery and indigestion, and also for consumption.

It is dipped in oil and rubbed on the patient’s body in a downward

direction.

“6. _Batu ilau_, or sparkling stone, also called _batu kras_, or the

hard stone. A six-sided crystal, two inches long and three-quarters of

an inch thick. One end appeared to have been formerly stuck into some

sort of handle, as it was covered with _malau_, or lac. This is the

indispensable sight-stone to be looked into for a view of that which is

future, or distant, or otherwise invisible to the ordinary eyes. It is

specially used by _manangs_ for discovering where the soul of the sick

man, wandering away from the body, is concealing itself, or for detecting

the particular demon who is causing the illness.

“There were also, jumbled up together at the bottom of the bag, a number

of tusks of wild boar, pebbles, and other rubbish, but these were

pronounced to be _utai ngapa_—things of no importance. One article that

we hoped to find was absent. Dasu said he should be glad indeed to have

it, but it had never come in his way. It is the _batu burung endan_, or

pelican stone. He explained to us that this is a stone which has the

magical power of securing the presence and co-operation of a spirit who

dwells in the form of the _endan_ (_Pelicanus malaccensis_). When the

_manang_ is seeking to enter _Sabayan_, the spirit-world, in search of

the errant soul of a sick man, this demon can insure to him a swift and

unimpeded passage thither and back again.

“While Dasu was telling us the story of his vision of the tortoise spirit

who gave him the _batu bintang_, I watched his face carefully for any

sign that he believed or did not believe his account. I could not be

sure, but I am inclined to think he did not. He seemed relieved when we

had finished our examination of his possessions, and he could pack them

all up and carry them off to the security of his own dwelling.

“Several similar collections of charms have at different times been given

to me, obtained from _manangs_ who have become Christians, but it was

particularly interesting to me to have a set actually in use exhibited

and explained by their owner.”

The Dyak medicine-man, either by means of medicines, or by the use of

charms, or by his incantations, is supposed to be able to cure all

diseases. But, as I have said, the two terrible epidemics of cholera and

smallpox are beyond his powers. No witch-doctor will approach any case of

these, however well he may be paid.

So great is the fear of the Dyaks for either of these diseases that, when

a man falls ill of cholera, all his friends desert the house in which he

is, and he is left to manage for himself. In the case of smallpox those

who have already had the disease may stop and nurse their friends, but

the others all leave the house and build for themselves shelters in the

jungle. Very often people die of smallpox or cholera simply because they

are too ill to cook food, and have no one to attend to their wants.

When there is smallpox or cholera in the country, the Dyaks plant by the

path leading to the house a post with a cross-bar attached to it. This is

to show others that they may not come up to the house. To disregard such

a signpost is punishable according to Dyak law.

When I was stationed at Temudok, very early one morning, I heard someone

calling out from the landing-stage by the river-bank. I got out of bed,

and went to the veranda and shouted out to the man that he was to come

to the house if he had anything to say to me. He came half-way up the

hill, and then said that he was afraid to come any nearer. There were

two men dead of smallpox in his boat, and many others ill. Some of the

Dyaks in the boat were Christians whom I knew, some were not. We had a

conversation as to what it was best to do under the circumstances. The

first thing was to bury the two dead bodies. I had many planks, as the

carpenters were still at work at the Mission House, and two coffins were

soon made, the dead bodies placed in them and buried.

But what was to be done with those in the boat who were ill? I could not

have them at the Mission House, because the schoolboys lived there, and

also one room was used for services which the Christian Dyaks in Temudok

attended. I remembered there was a small Dyak house a little way up-river

which had been deserted not long before, and I told the Dyaks to take the

sick to that house, and I promised to supply them with food and anything

else they might require. Three of the crew were well, but there were

eight who had smallpox.

I sent a message up-river to the friends and relatives of these men,

and asked them to come themselves or send others to nurse them. I was

very much disappointed to find that only two women came in reply to

my request. The Dyaks are so afraid of smallpox that even those who

had already had smallpox, and need not have feared infection, were not

allowed by those who lived with them to nurse a suffering relative.

I shall never forget the first time I went to see these smallpox

patients. They lay in a row in the open veranda of the Dyak house—a

miserable sight. Plates of rice had been placed by them which they were

not able to eat. I had the place swept and cleaned, and the food taken

away. I took them some condensed milk and sugar, as well as other food.

Two of their number died; the others recovered. Before they returned

to their homes they came to me. I had them disinfected, burnt up their

clothes and mats, etc., and gave them each a piece of cloth for clothing.

I am glad to say they did not take the infection to their houses.

CHAPTER XV

DYAK RELIGION

Certain religious observances—_Petara_, or gods—Singalang

Burong, the god of war—Pulang Gana, the god of

the soil—Salampandai, the maker of men—_Mali_, or

taboo—Spirits—Girgasi, the chief of evil spirits—The dogs

of the spirits—Stories—Customs connected with the belief in

spirits—Sacrifices—_Piring_ and _ginselan_—The victim of the

sacrifice generally eaten, but not always—Material benefits

expected by the Dyaks by their religious ceremonies—_Nampok_,

a means of communicating with spirits—_Batu kudi_, “stones of

wrath”—Belief in a future life—Conclusion.

The Dyaks have no special forms of worship, nor do they build temples in

honour of their gods, and yet they certainly have a religion of their

own. They believe in certain gods and spirits, who are supposed to rule

over different departments of life, and they have certain religious

observances which may be classed as follows:

1. The killing and eating of fowls and pigs offered in sacrifice, of

which a portion is set aside for the gods.

2. The propitiation of gods and spirits by offerings of food.

3. The use of omens and augury.

4. The singing of long incantations to the gods and spirits on certain

occasions.

The Dyaks have only one word, _Petara_, to denote the deity, and there

is no literature to appeal to in order to explain this word. We have to

depend upon what the Dyaks can tell us themselves, and also upon what

we can gather from the different _pengap_—long incantations made on such

semi-sacred occasions as the offering of sacrifices at feasts. These

_pengap_ are handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth.

Some Dyaks have good memories, and are able to learn and repeat them.

The general idea is that there are many _Petara_, but the whole subject

is one upon which Dyaks have very hazy ideas. They cannot give a

connected and lucid account of their belief. They all admit, however,

that the _Petara_ are supernatural beings, who are invisible and have

superior powers.

But their conception of gods is a very low one, and this is not to be

wondered at, because, as is well known, the grosser the nature of a

people, the grosser will be their conception of a deity or of deities. We

can hardly expect a high and spiritual conception of gods from Dyaks in

their present intellectual condition. Their _Petara_ are most human-like

beings. They are represented as delighting in a “feast of rice, and pork,

and venison, cakes and drink,” just as the Dyaks themselves do; and yet

they are the beings who can bestow the highest blessings the Dyaks can

desire!

Although the conception of _Petara_ is not an exalted one, yet he is a

good being, and no evil is attributed to him. He is always on the side of

justice and right. The ordeal of diving is an appeal to _Petara_ to help

the innocent and overthrow the guilty. He is supposed to be angry at acts

of wickedness, and I have often heard a Dyak say that he dare not commit

some particular crime, because he fears the displeasure and punishment of

_Petara_. He may be able to hide his wickedness from the eyes of man, but

not from the _Petara_.

There are a large number of gods mentioned by name in the Dyak

incantations, but the following are the most important deities:

Singalang Burong takes the highest position in honour and dignity, and

is the ruler of the spirit-world. He stands at the head of the Dyak

pedigree, and they trace their descent from him, for he is believed

to have once lived on earth as a man. It is doubtful what the word

_Singalang_ means, but _Burong_ means “bird,” and probably _Singalang

Burong_ means “bird chief.” The Dyaks are great observers of omens, as

is noticed in Chapter XII., and among their omens the cries and flight

of certain birds are most important. All these birds are supposed to be

manifestations of the spirit sons-in-law of Singalang Burong, who is

himself manifested in the white and brown hawk which is known by his name.

Singalang Burong is also the god of war, and the guardian spirit of brave

men. He delights in fighting, and head-taking is his glory. When Dyaks

have obtained a human head, they make a great feast in his honour and

invoke his presence. He is the only god ever represented by the Dyaks

in a material form. It is a carved, highly-coloured bird of grotesque

shape. This figure is erected on the top of a pole thirty feet or more in

height, with its beak pointing in the direction of the enemy’s country,

so that he may “peck at the eyes of the enemy.”

Next in importance to Singalang Burong is Pulang Gana. He is the tutelary

deity of the soil, and presides over the rice-farming. He is an important

power in Dyak belief, and to him offerings are made and incantations are

sung at the _Gawai Batu_, the “Stone Feast,” which takes place before the

farming operations begin, and also at the _Gawai Benih_, the “Festival

of the Seed,” just before the planting of the paddy. Upon his good-will,

according to Dyak belief, is supposed to depend their supply of the staff

of life. His history is given in a myth handed down from ancient times

(see p. 300).

Salampandai is the maker of men. He hammers them into shape out of

clay, and forms the bodies of children to be born into the world. There

is an insect which makes at night the curious noise—_kink-a-clink,

kink-a-clink_. When the Dyaks hear this, they say it is Salampandai at

his work. The story goes that he was commanded by the gods to make a man,

and he made one of stone; but it could not speak, and so was rejected. He

set to work again and made one of iron; but neither could that speak, so

the gods refused it. The third time he made one of clay,[1] and this had

the power of speech. The gods, _Petara_, were pleased, and said: “The man

you have made will do well. Let him be the ancestor of the human race,

and you must make others like him.” And so Salampandai began forming

human beings, and is forming them now at his anvil, using his tools in

unseen regions. There he hammers them out, and when each child is formed

it is brought to the _Petara_, who asks: “What would you like to handle

and use?” If it answer, “A sword,” the gods pronounce it a male; but if

it answer, “Cotton and the spinning-wheel,” it is pronounced a female.

Thus they are born as boys or girls, according to their own wishes.

There is a word which is often used by the Dyaks—_mali_. It is difficult

to find an exact English equivalent to the word. We may say it means

“sacred,” or “forbidden,” or “taboo,” but none of these seems to me

to convey the full force of the word _mali_. To the Dyak mind, to do

anything _mali_ is to incur the displeasure of the gods and spirits, and

that means not only misfortune in this world, but for all time. Even the

children seem to dread the word, and the little boy, who is wilful and

disobedient, will at once drop what he has in his hand if he is told it

is _mali_ for him to touch it. There are many things which the Dyaks say

it is _mali_ to do. Often they can give no reason for it except that it

has always been so from ages past.

Most races of mankind believe in the existence of a class of beings

intermediate between deity and humanity. The Dyak is no exception, and he

believes that innumerable spirits, or _antu_, inhabit the forests, the

rivers, the earth, and the heavens; but whereas among other races the

spirits seem to act as mediators between the gods and mankind, this is

not the case among the Dyaks, because they believe that their gods are

actually present in answer to invocations and sacrifices, and that they

visit these human regions and partake of the food given them. With the

Dyaks the distinction between spirits—_antu_—and gods—_Petara_—is very

vague. There are both good and evil spirits. The former assist man, the

latter do him injury. Of the gods no evil is predicated, and so it comes

to pass that the good spirits are closely identified with their gods.

Any unusual noise or motion in the jungle, anything which suggests to the

mind some invisible operation, is at once attributed by the Dyak to the

presence of some spirit, unseen by human eyes, but full of mighty power.

Though generally invisible, these spirits sometimes vouchsafe to mankind

a revelation of themselves. The form they assume in these manifestations

is not anything very supernatural, but either a commonplace human form,

or else some animal—a bird, or a monkey—such as is often seen in the

forests. There is, however, the chief of evil spirits, Girgasi by name,

who, when seen, takes the form of a giant about three times the size of a

man, is covered with rough shaggy hair, and has eyes as big as saucers,

and huge glittering teeth.

There are innumerable stories told by the Dyaks of their meeting with

spirits in the jungle, and sometimes speaking to them. Such stories

generally relate how the man who sees the spirit rushes to catch him by

the leg—he cannot reach higher—in order to get some charms from him, but

he is generally foiled in his attempt, as the spirit suddenly vanishes.

But some men, it is believed, do obtain these much coveted gifts. If a

Dyak gets a good harvest of paddy, it is attributed to some magic charm

he has received from some kindly spirit. Also, if he be successful on

the warpath, he is credited by his fellows with the succour of some

mysterious being from the spirit-world.

The spirits rove about the jungle and hunt for wild beasts, as the Dyaks

do themselves. Girgasi, already mentioned, is specially addicted to the

chase, and is often to be met with hunting in the forest, and when seen

assumes a formidable appearance. There are certain animals which roam

about in packs in the jungle, and are called by the Dyaks _pasan_. These

are supposed to be the dogs that accompany the spirits when they are out

hunting, and they attack those whom the spirits wish to kill. I have

never seen one of these animals, but to judge from the description of

them, they seem to be a kind of small jackal. They will follow and bark

at men, and from their supposed connection with the spirits are greatly

feared by the Dyaks, who generally run away from them as fast as they can.

A Dyak in Banting solemnly told me that one day when out hunting he met a

spirit in human form sitting upon a fallen tree. Nothing daunted, he went

up and sat upon the same tree, and entered into conversation with him,

and asked him for some charm. The spirit gave him some magic medicine,

which would give his dogs pluck to attack any wild pig or deer so long as

he retained possession of it. Having given him this, the spirit advised

the man to return quickly, for his dogs, he said, would be back soon, and

might do him harm. This advice he willingly followed, and hurried away as

fast as he could.

There are some wonderful stories related about meeting the demon Girgasi.

It is said that a man once saw this terrible spirit returning from the

hunt, carrying on his back a captured Dyak whom he recognized. Strange

to relate, the man died the same day on which he was seen carried by the

spirit!

The spirits are said to build their invisible habitations in trees,

and many trees are considered sacred as being the abode of one or more

spirits, and to cut down one of these trees would provoke the spirits’

vengeance. The wild fig-tree (_kara_) is often supposed to be inhabited

by spirits. It is said that one way of testing whether the _kara_ tree is

the abode of spirits or not is to strike an axe into it at sunset, and

leave it fixed in the trunk of the tree during the night. If the axe be

found next morning in the same position, no spirit is there; if it has

fallen to the ground, he is there and has displaced the axe!

The tops of the hills are favourite haunts for spirits. When Dyaks fell

the jungle of the larger hills, they always leave a clump of trees at the

summit as a refuge for the spirits. To leave them quite homeless would be

to court certain disaster from them. According to Dyak belief the evil

spirits far outnumber the good ones.

There are many strange customs connected with the Dyak belief in spirits.

As all illnesses are caused by the spirits, it is necessary that these be

propitiated. When there is any great epidemic in the country—when cholera

or smallpox is killing its hundreds on all sides—one often notices little

offerings of food hung on the walls and from the ceiling, animals killed

in sacrifice, and blood splashed on the posts of the houses. When one

asks why all this is done, they say they do it in the hope that when the

evil spirit, who is thirsting for human lives, comes along and sees the

offerings they have made and the animals killed in sacrifice, he will be

satisfied with these things, and not take the lives of any of the people

living in the Dyak village house.

As a matter of fact, this offering of sacrifices to the evil spirits is

a frequently recurring feature in Dyak life. The gods are good, and will

not injure them, and so the Dyaks worship them at their own convenience,

when they wish to obtain any special favour from them. But the evil

spirits are always ready to do them harm, and to take the lives of

victims, and therefore sacrifices must constantly be made to the spirits,

who will accept sacrificial food as a substitute for the lives of human

beings.

From what has been said it will be seen that the spirits are to the Dyaks

not mere apparitions which come and go without any special object, but

have definite power, and can either bestow favours or cause sickness

and death. Therefore they rule the conduct of the Dyak, and receive

religious homage. They are, indeed, a constituent and important part of

Dyak religion.

The sacrifices offered by the Dyaks are of two kinds—_piring_ and

_ginselan_.

The _piring_ is an offering composed of rice cooked in bamboos, cakes,

eggs, sweet potatoes, plantains, or other fruit, and sometimes small live

chickens. If the offering be made in the house these things are put on

a brass dish (_tabak_). If the occasion of the sacrifice requires that

it be offered elsewhere, a little platform is constructed, consisting of

pieces of wood tied together with cane, and fixed on four sticks stuck in

the ground. This is the _para piring_ (the altar of sacrifice), and the

offering is laid on it. It is covered with a rough roof of palm-leaf, and

looks like a miniature native house, and is decorated with white flags.

It is the most flimsy thing imaginable, and soon tumbles to pieces. The

god or spirit is supposed to come and eat the good things provided, and

go away contented. It is no use arguing with the Dyak that he can see for

himself that his offering is eaten up by fowls, or pigs, or boys, who are

full of mischief, and have no fear of spirits. The Dyak says the spirits

eat the soul or spirit of the food; what is left on the altar is only its

outer husk, not its true essence.

I remember when I was staying at Temudok the Dyaks put up a little shed,

with offerings of food, at the landing-place on the bank of the river.

There was an epidemic of cholera at the time, and the spirits of disease

were supposed to eat these offerings and go away contented. Among the

offerings was a little live chicken, that was tied to the _para piring_,

but which managed to get loose. Some of the schoolboys staying with me

asked if they might catch the chicken, which was running about in the

grass, and rear it. I did not like to allow them to do this, because I

thought the Dyaks would resent the boys interfering with their sacrifice.

But my Dyak catechist told me that the Dyaks had done their duty in

making the offerings, and what happened afterwards to the things offered

did not matter. So the boys caught the chicken and reared it. I spoke to

the Dyaks about it afterwards, and they did not seem to mind their “altar

of sacrifice” being robbed of its offering!

In the _ginselan_ there is always some animal slain, and the blood of

the victim is used. The person on whose behalf the offering is made

is sprinkled or touched with the blood to atone for any wrong he may

have done, and the house or farm upon which the blessing of the gods is

desired is also sprinkled with the blood.

This kind of sacrifice is very often offered on behalf of farms, and no

Dyak thinks his paddy will come to maturity without some application of

blood. The fowl is waved in the air over the farm, then it is killed, and

the blood sprinkled over the growing paddy.

When there is an epidemic, the _ginselan_ is often offered to the spirits

of disease, and blood is sprinkled on the posts of the house and on the

ladder leading up to it.

On most occasions the victim of the sacrifice, be it pig or fowl,

is afterwards eaten. But if the sacrifice be to Pulang Gana at the

commencement of the farming, the pig and other offerings are conveyed

with the beating of gongs to the land prepared for receiving the seed.

The pig is killed, its liver and gall examined for divination, the body

and other offerings put in the ground, and some _tuak_ (native spirit)

poured upon them; a long invocation is then made to Pulang Gana, the god

of the land. If a fowl be sacrificed for adultery, its body is thrown

away in the jungle.

For all ordinary sacrifices a fowl suffices, but on great occasions a

pig, being the largest animal the Dyak domesticates, is killed.

Anyone may offer these sacrifices. There does not seem to be among the

Dyaks any priestly order whose duty it is to officiate at religious

ceremonies. Any man who has been fortunate in life, or knows the form of

address to be used to the deities on these occasions, may perform the

sacrificial function.

All that the Dyak hopes to get by his religious ceremonies is material

benefits—good crops of paddy, the heads of his enemies, skill in craft,

health, and prosperity. Even when there is some idea of the propitiation

for sin, as in the slaying of a victim after an act of adultery, the idea

of the Dyak is not so much the cleansing of the offender as the appeasing

of the anger of the gods, because in their anger the gods may destroy

their crops or otherwise give them trouble. There is no idea of seeking

for pardon for the offenders. It is merely a compensation for wrong done,

and a bargain with the gods to protect their material interests.

The longing to communicate with the supernatural is common to all races

of mankind. The Dyak has a special means of bringing this about; he has

a custom which is called _nampok_. To _nampok_ is to sleep on the top of

some mountain, or other lonely place, in the hope of meeting some good

spirit from the unseen world. A cemetery is a favourite place to _nampok_

in, because the Dyaks think there is great probability of meeting spirits

in such places. The undertaking requires considerable pluck. The man must

be quite alone, and he must let no one know of his whereabouts. The

spirit he meets may take any form; he may come in human form and treat

him kindly, or he may assume a hideous form and attack him.

A man _nampoks_ for one of two reasons. Either he is fired with great

ambition to shine in deeds of strength and bravery, and to attain the

position of a Chief, and hopes to receive some charm (_pengaroh_) from

the spirits, or he is suffering from some obstinate disease, and hopes to

be told by some kindly spirit what he must do in order to be cured. It

can easily be understood how the desire would in many cases bring about

its own fulfilment. The unusual surroundings, the expected arrival of

some supernatural being, the earnest wish acting upon a credulous and

superstitious imagination in the solemn solitude of the jungle—all would

help to make the man dream of some spirit or mythical hero.

The Dyak has no temple erected in honour of some god to which, like the

ancients of the Western World, he can make a pilgrimage. He has no altar

before which he can spend the night in order to receive revelations in

dreams, but he goes instead to the lonely mountain-top, or the cemetery

where so many heroes of the past have been buried, and makes his offering

and lies to rest beside it. The circumstances are different, but the

spirit and the object in both cases are the same. The story often told of

a miraculous cure is also similar in each case.

There are certain rocks in different parts of Borneo which are called by

the Dyaks _batu kudi_ (stones caused by the wrath of the gods). A story

is related in connection with each. The following are some of these

mythical stories:—

1. In the bed of the Sesang River there is a rock which is only visible

at the lowest of the ebb-tide. It is called _Batu Kudi Sabar_. The story

goes that in olden days the inmates of a Dyak house tied to a dog’s tail

a piece of wood, which they set alight. They all laughed at the sight as

the dog ran off in fright, dragging after him the burning torch. Suddenly

there was darkness, and a great storm came on. There were thunder and

lightning, and torrents of rain, and the house and its inmates were

turned into this large rock. A family consisting of three persons managed

to escape. They did not join in the laughter at the dog, but ran out of

the house and hid in a clump of bamboo. They saw all that happened, and

told the tale.

2. On the bank of the Krian River just above Temudok is a large rock

called _Batu Kudi Siap_. It is said that the people in a long Dyak house

held a feast to which many invited guests came. An old woman who was

living alone in a farm-hut, and had not been asked to the feast, dressed

up a cat in finery, “like a young damsel going to a feast,” tied a piece

of wood to her tail, and, placing her before the people, said: “Here is

a girl come to you to ask for a light.” The people laughed at the cat.

Instantly there were darkness and a terrible storm, and the house and all

the inmates were turned to stone. A similar tale is told of the _Batu

Kudi_ at Selanjan.

[Illustration: A RIVER SCENE

The illustration shows some native huts by a river which flows through a

cocoanut plantation.]

3. There are _Batu Kudi_ in the Grenjang River, as well as in the Undup

and Batang Ai Rivers, of which the following tale is told: Two girls were

standing in the water catching fish with a fishing-basket (_pemansai_).

A small _emplasi_ fish jumped out of the basket, and hit the breast of

one of the girls. She laughed, and said: “Even my lover would not dare to

touch my breast as you do.” Her companion also laughed at the fish. There

was a storm, accompanied by lightning and thunder, and both girls were

turned into rocks.

4. In the Saribas River there is a _Batu Kudi_, of which the following

tale is told: Some men and boys were watching a monkey crossing the river

on a creeper which hung low down over the water. The tail of the animal

touched the water, and one of them laughed, and said: “The end of his

waist-cloth (_sirat_) is wet; why was he so foolish as not to tie it

round his waist?” At this remark all laughed, and a terrible storm came

on, and they were turned to stone.

There is a similarity about all these stories. In each some animal is

made fun of and laughed at by human beings. This incurs the displeasure

of the gods, whose anger is shown in the same way—a terrible storm,

thunder and lightning, and the turning of the offenders into stone.

There are, however, other _Batu Kudi_ of which different stories are

told, but these are not so common. For instance, in the Skrang River

there are two large black boulders which are said to be a brother and

sister who were guilty of the crime of incest; and in the Sebuyau River

there is a collection of rocks said to be the inhabitants of a whole

village, who were guilty of a serious breach of the law of hospitality,

and refused to give food and shelter to some travellers.

The moral of these mythical tales is good. All sin is displeasing to the

gods, and will meet with deserved punishment, but specially are they

angry when they see human beings ill-treat and ridicule dumb animals.

These _Batu Kudi_ are not worshipped. Offerings of food are sometimes

seen hanging near them, but these are not made to the “stones of wrath,”

but to the gods of whose displeasure they are the testimony.

The Sea Dyak belief in a future life has already been mentioned in the

chapter on Burial Rites. But it is no gloomy Tartarus, nor is it a happy

Elysium, that lies before him. It is simply a prolongation of the present

state of things in a new sphere. The dead are supposed to build houses,

make paddy farms, and go through all the drudgery of a labouring life in

that other world. This future life does not, in the mind of the Dyak,

mean immortality. Death is still the final and inevitable destiny of man.

He may live many lives in different spheres—he may die as often as seven

times—but in the end he becomes annihilated, and absorbed into air, or

earth, or certain jungle plants.

To sum up, the Sea Dyak worships his gods. There are good spirits ready

to help him, and evil spirits eager to harm him. He has omens and

divination and dreams to encourage or warn him. The traditions of his

ancestors, handed down by word of mouth from generation to generation,

are his authority for his beliefs. He makes sacrifices to the gods and

spirits, and invokes their help in long incantations. He believes he

has a soul which after death will live in another world a future life

differing little from his existence in the flesh.

CHAPTER XVI

DYAK FEASTS

Four classes of feasts—Preparations—Feasts connected

with: 1, Head-taking; 2, Farming; 3, The dead; 4, Dreams,

etc.—House-warming—Social feasts.

The Dyak religious feasts may be divided into the four following classes:

Those connected with—

1. Head-taking.

2. Farming.

3. The dead.

4. Dreams, etc.

Though the Dyak feasts differ in their aims, there is a great deal

which seems to be common to them all. The social character of all these

feasts seems to be of more importance than the religious aspect, and

the feasting of the guests has more consideration than the making of

offerings to the spirits or gods. In none of these feasts does there

seem to be any real, reverential, religious worship. It is true food is

offered to the spirits, but this is done as the mere observance of an

ancient custom, without any approach to religious reverence. There are

also long incantations made to the higher powers by men selected for that

purpose, who have good memories and can recite in a monotonous chant the

special hymns of great length connected with each feast. But the guests

do not share in it as an act of religious worship. They are generally

sitting round, talking and laughing and eating. While these incantations

are sung, topics of common interest are discussed and plans formed, and

in all these feasts sociability, friendship, and the partaking of food

and drink seem to take a more prominent place than any religious worship.

The preparations for all these feasts are much alike. They extend over

a length of time, and consist for the most part in the procuring of

food for the guests. The young men go to their friends, far and near,

and obtain from them presents of pigs or fowls for the feast, and as

cock-fighting is loved by the Dyaks, they at the same time procure as

many fighting-cocks as possible. The women busy themselves with pounding

out an extra amount of rice, both for the consumption of the guests and

also for the making of _tuak_, or native spirit.

A little before the date fixed for the feast a great _tuba_ fishing takes

place, by which means a great amount of fish is generally obtained,

salted, and kept for consumption at the feast. The men go out into the

jungle to hunt for pig and deer.

The special characteristics and religious aspect of the different feasts

must now be noticed.

1. FEASTS CONNECTED WITH HEAD-TAKING.—All these are given in honour of

Singalang Burong. He is supposed to be the ruler of the spirit-world

and the god of war. These feasts are not held so frequently as those

connected with farming, but when any of them take place a great deal is

made of the event.

[Illustration: COCK FIGHTING

A rehearsal. Two Dyak youths matching their cocks in friendly contest.]

1. _Gawai Burong_ (the “Bird Feast”), or _Gawai Tenyalang_ (the “Hornbill

Feast”), or _Gawai Pala_ (the “Head Feast”). This feast, which is known

by different names, is the most important of Dyak feasts, and lasts three

days, whereas other feasts last only one day. In this feast food is given

to the human heads taken in war. In the old days, it was only held on the

return from a successful war expedition, when the heads of the enemy were

brought home in triumph. But in the present day, this feast is organized

when the people of the Dyak house get a good harvest and wish to have it.

Among the preparations for this feast is the making of the _tenyalang_,

a carved wooden figure of the rhinoceros hornbill. Some men carrying

offerings, and others beating drums and playing musical instruments, go

to the jungle and select a suitable tree. At the foot of it the offerings

are placed, and some fowls are killed and the blood sprinkled on the

ground to propitiate the spirits. The tree is felled, and a portion

of it, which is to be carved, is taken to the Dyak house, where it is

received with much rejoicing.

This wood is given to the men who are to carve it into the desired shape,

and each man has the necessary tools given him. When he has finished

his work, he keeps these tools, and, in addition, receives some other

payment. The number of carved birds differs according to the number of

the people in the house who are of importance, and have taken heads in

warfare.

The _tenyalang_ are not an exact copy of the hornbill, but are

elaborately and fantastically carved and gorgeously painted in many

bright colours.

Some men go into the jungle and cut down _belian_ trees to make poles on

which the figures of the rhinoceros hornbill are to be set up. These are

of different lengths, according to the rank of the person who intends to

use it, the man of greatest importance having the longest pole.

The first day of the feast is spent in completing the carving and the

colouring of these _tenyalang_ and making other final preparations. The

guests are entertained with food and drink. As Dyak hosts are considered

niggardly if there is no drunkenness at a feast, the young men are

encouraged to drink as much as possible. The Dyak girls, who do not drink

themselves, serve out the _tuak_, or native spirit. They hand a cup of

liquor to a man and shout, “_Weh! Weh!_” as he drinks it. When he has

finished it, he puts the cup down by his side to take home with him when

the feast is over. Another full cup is handed to him in the same manner,

and he goes on drinking until he is unable to do so any longer. A group

of young men seated in the public hall of the Dyak house surrounded by

gaily-dressed girls serving them with drink is not a pleasant sight. The

noise and confusion are great, as many are drunk. Plates containing cakes

and other delicacies, as well as rice cooked in bamboos, are handed round

to the men, women, and children at short intervals.

A rather pretty ceremony takes place on the first day of the feast.

A number of women dressed in their best garments and wearing all the

jewellery and ornaments they possess, walk in single file, holding in

their hands plates of yellow rice and paddy. They are led by a Dyak

dancer in full war-dress, armed with sword and shield, and dancing to the

accompaniment of musical instruments. The women sprinkle the paddy and

yellow rice on the assembled guests as they walk slowly the length of the

whole house.

[Illustration: THREE DYAK GIRLS DRESSED IN THEIR FINERY TO ATTEND A FEAST

The girls on the right and left wear collars worked with beads and

coloured threads. They are all wearing ear pendants and belts made of

silver coins.]

On the second day of the feast the painted figures of the rhinoceros

hornbill are first of all _timanged_, or sung to in a monotonous manner.

This is looked upon as a kind of consecration of them. They are now

ready to be fixed on the top of the poles which are planted in a row.

Sacrifices are made to Singalang Burong, whom these figures are supposed

to represent. Balls of rice are thrown up to these carved _tenyalang_,

and the blood of pigs and fowls is shed in honour of the great Singalang

Burong, the god of war and the inspirer of bravery. When seen, this god

takes, as I have said, the form of the white and brown hawk so common in

Borneo. Why the figure made to represent him is that of the rhinoceros

hornbill, and not that of the hawk, is an inconsistency for which the

Dyaks have no explanation.

Some human heads are placed in large brass dishes in the public hall of

the Dyak house, and to these offerings of food and drink are made. Some

of this food is stuffed into the mouths of these heads, and the rest is

placed before them.

There are also certain erections called _pandong_ put up at regular

intervals in the long public veranda, and to these are hung war charms

and swords and spears, etc. The men who are to make the incantations

walk up and down, going round the _pandong_ and the heads in the brass

dishes, singing the particular _pengap_, or incantation, which is used

at this feast. There are generally two principal singers, each of whom

is followed by five or six others. The leaders sing in turn a few lines,

and the rest join in the chorus at the end of each verse. The leaders are

dressed gaily, and have, in addition to their Dyak dress, a long coat

reaching to the ground. They all hold long walking-sticks in their hands

and stamp their feet as they walk along.

This song of the head feast takes the form of a story setting forth

how the mythical hero Klieng held a head feast on his return from the

warpath, and invited the god of war, Singalang Burong, to attend it. It

describes at great length all that happened on that occasion. The singing

of this song takes up the whole night. It begins before 8 p.m., and lasts

till next morning. Except for a short interval for rest in the middle of

the night, the performers are marching and singing all the time.

On the third day the people go out on the _tanju_, or open-air platform,

in front of the Dyak house. They take with them offerings of food and

drink and a live pig. The mats are spread out, and the guests sit down,

and food is handed round to them. The men of rank and those who have

distinguished themselves in battle sit together, and the oldest of these

is asked to make the offering to Singalang Burong. The drums are struck

in a particular manner called _pepat_; the pig is killed as a sacrifice,

and the liver examined to find out whether good or bad fortune is in

store for them. The people shout together (_manjong_) at short intervals

until a hawk is seen flying in the heavens. That hawk is Singalang

Burong, who has taken that form to manifest himself to them. He has

accepted their offerings and has heard their cry. The ceremony is over,

and the crowd return into the house. The guests go back to their homes

after feasting and drinking liberally for three days and nights.

(2) _Gawai Ijok_ (the “_Ijok_ Feast”): The _ijok_ is the gamuti palm

from which the native drink _tuak_ is obtained. When a man has held

the hornbill feast several times, and has been successful against the

enemy, this feast sometimes takes place. The special characteristic of

this feast is that a long pole is set up, and at the top of it a jar of

native spirit (_tuak_) is placed. Incantations and offerings are made to

Singalang Burong as in the former feast.

(3) _Gawai Gajah_ (the “Elephant Feast”): This feast can only be held by

a war leader who has been particularly successful against the enemy, and

has succeeded in obtaining a large number of heads. It is of so great

importance that the Dyaks say that, after this feast has been held, no

other need be held in honour of any new heads that may be brought into

the house. It is very rarely observed in modern times. The last was

held some fifteen years ago by Kinching, a Skrang Dyak living in the

Undup. Offerings and incantations are made to Singalang Burong as in the

_Tenyalang_ feast. The wooden figure of an elephant is placed on the top

of a long pole planted in the ground, and to this figure offerings are

made.

2. The three principal FEASTS CONNECTED WITH FARMING are the _Gawai

Batu_, the _Gawai Benih_, and the _Gawai Nyimpan Padi_.

(1) _Gawai Batu_ (the “Stone Feast”): This feast takes place before the

farming operations begin, and is in honour of Pulang Gana, the god of

the land, who lives in the bowels of the earth, and has power to make

the land fruitful or unfruitful. In this feast invocations are made to

this god, and he is asked to give them a good harvest. The whetstones

and farming implements are placed in a heap in the veranda of the Dyak

house, and offerings are made to the whetstones with a request that they

may sharpen their tools and thus lighten their labours. After the feast

is over the whetstones are taken to the different farms, and the work of

cutting down the jungle for planting begins.

(2) _Gawai Benih_ (the “Seed Feast”): This feast is held just before

sowing. The seed is placed in baskets in the public part of the Dyak

house, and Pulang Gana is asked to bless it and make it fruitful.

(3) _Gawai Nyimpan Padi_ (the “Feast of Storing the Paddy”): This is held

after the reaping and winnowing are over and the paddy is ready to be

stored in the paddy-bins in the loft of the Dyak house. It is only held

when the harvest is a particularly good one. A blessing is asked upon

the paddy, that it may last a long time, and may not decrease in any

mysterious way. Friends who are invited to the feast help to carry and

store away the paddy.

3. The great FEAST CONNECTED WITH THE DEAD is the _Gawai Antu_ (the

“Spirit Feast”): No definite period is fixed for the celebration of it,

and it may be held one or more years after the death of the person. All

those that have died since the last time the feast was held, and have not

yet been honoured by this festival for the dead, are remembered at the

same time, so that the number of departed spirits commemorated by this

feast is great, especially if it is many years since the last time the

feast was held.

The preparation is carried on for many weeks. Food and drink and other

things are procured. Distant friends are visited and asked to help

the feast with gifts of food or money. When all is ready, the whole

neighbourhood for miles around is invited to it. It is an opportunity for

a friendly social gathering, and it is a formal laying aside of mourning,

but in addition, it is a religious ceremony, and means the doing of

certain things necessary for the final wellbeing of the dead in the other

world.

The dead are invoked and invited to be present at this feast. But how

are they to come from Hades? Send a boat for them, says the Dyak, and so

he sends what he calls a _lumpang_. A piece of bamboo in which rice has

been cooked is make into a tiny boat and sent to Hades. Actually it is

thrown away beneath the house, but spiritually, through the incantation

of the wailer, it is carried to the unseen realm to fetch their dead

relatives and friends. Great is the joy of the spirits when they see this

boat, which by the time of its arrival has grown into a large war-boat.

They are ready to start as soon as the final summons comes.

The preparations for the feast go on. The hard wood memorial monuments

for the graves are got ready by the men. The day before the feast, the

women weave, with finely-split bamboo, small imitations of various

articles of personal and domestic use, and these are hung over the

graves—that is to say, given to the dead for their use in the other

world. If it be a man for whom the feast is made, a bamboo gun, a shield,

a war-cap, and such things are woven; if a woman, a loom, a fish-basket,

a winnowing fan, etc.; if a child, toys of various kinds.

An offering of food is put outside the house for the dead visitors who

may be too hungry to wait for the food in the house.

The living guests arrive during the day, but the feasting does not begin

till the evening. Before the feasting comes the formal putting off of

mourning. The nearest male relative of the dead person in whose honour

the feast is held comes dressed in an old waist-cloth or trousers. These

are slit through by some Chief, and the man assumes a better garment.

In the case of female relatives the _rotan_ rings round the waist are

cut through and set aside, and they resume the use of their personal

ornaments and jewellery. The bundles containing the finery, that were put

away at the death of their relative, are brought forth, and the string

tying them cut through. As the feast is in honour of several who have

died since the feast was last held, this kind of thing goes on in several

of the rooms at the same time.

The professional wailer sings her song of mourning (see p. 228),

beginning in the evening. The journey from Hades is so long that the dead

do not arrive till early dawn. And then occurs an action in which the

dead and living are supposed to join. A portion of _tuak_ (rice spirit)

has been reserved in a bamboo as the peculiar portion of the dead. It

is now drunk by some old man renowned for bravery, who is not afraid of

so near a contact with the spirits of the dead. This “drinking of the

bamboo,” as it is called, is an important part of the festival, and is

greeted with shouts of joy.

The morning after the feast, the last duty to the dead is performed. The

ironwood monuments, the bamboo imitation articles, and food of all kinds

are arranged upon the different graves. Having received these gifts,

the dead relinquish all claim upon the living, and depend on their own

resources. But before the _Gawai Antu_ they are supposed to come to the

house and take their share of the food and drink.

According to ancient custom, this feast could not be held until a new

human head had been procured, but this ghastly ornament to the festival

has now generally to be dispensed with.

4. A superstitious people like the Dyaks, living in constant dread of

unseen powers, naturally hold a feast whenever anything unusual takes

place. As the gods and spirits are supposed to communicate their wishes

to human beings by means of dreams, it naturally follows that if a man

dreams that some spirit is hungry and asks for food, at once a feast

is held, and offerings made to that spirit. As the omens of birds are

observed and obeyed by the Dyaks, and the special omen birds are looked

upon as sons-in-law and messengers of the great god Singalang Burong,

when a bird of ill omen comes into a Dyak house, the Dyaks hold a feast

and make offerings to the gods and spirits. When a man has recovered from

a long and dangerous illness, very often a feast is held to thank the

spirit of disease for leaving them, and to beg him to stay away a long

time. Also when a valuable jar (_tajau_) is brought into a house a feast

is often made in its honour.

In addition to all these feasts, there is the _Gawai Mandi Rumah_. This

is a kind of house-warming, and is held when the Dyaks go into a new

house. Offerings are made to the gods and spirits, and a blessing is

asked upon the new house, so that those who live in it may have good

crops, good health, and live happily together.

The Dyaks also sometimes hold feasts which are social gatherings for

eating and drinking, and have no connection with any religious idea.

These are called _Makai di ruai_ (“eating in the hall”), or _Makai rami_

(“eating joyfully in large numbers”).

CHAPTER XVII

SPORTS AND AMUSEMENTS

Dyak games—Football—War Dance—Sword Dance—Dyak

music—Cock-fighting—Tops—“Riding the tidal

bore”—Swimming—Trials of strength.

At certain times of the year the Dyaks are very busy at their farms, and

go to work early in the morning, and do not return till late at night.

But they have their slack times, when there is not so much work to be

done, and then they have plenty of opportunity to indulge in games.

They do not seem to have a large variety of pastimes. The following are

those most popular among them.

Football is played by the Dyaks in a curious manner. The players stand

in a circle about four yards from each other, the size of this circle

varying according to the number of the players. The ball is kicked in

the air by the player to whom it falls nearest. This kicking is done

in a curious manner with the sole of the foot. A party of good players

will keep a ball in the air for several minutes, each player kicking it

upwards just as it is about to fall, or as it bounds upwards from the

ground. The ball itself is a light hollow one of rattan open-work, and is

about the size of a croquet-ball.

The Dyaks are fond of dancing, and at their feasts and on other

occasions when many are met together, they will keep it up for hours to

the thumping of drums and the beating of brass gongs. They have a musical

instrument of bamboo, like the pan-pipe (_engkrurai_), to which they

sometimes dance; but the usual music on such occasions is a row of small

brass gongs (_engkrumong_), placed on the ground, and beaten with two

sticks, also large brass gongs, and a variety of drums.

The two popular dances are the Sword Dance and the War Dance, both of

which are danced by the men. It is very rarely that the women dance. I

am told that they only do so when a fighting-party have been successful,

and return with a human head which has been taken in war. Then the

women, dressed up in all their finery, go to the landing-stage where the

war-boat is, and as the head is taken to the house the women dance around

it singing a monotonous chant.

The _Mencha_, or Sword Dance, is danced in the following manner: Two

swords, or in their place two sticks, are placed on the mat, and the two

dancers commence from the opposite ends, turning the body, clapping the

hands, and extending the arms, lifting their feet and planting them down

in grotesque but not ungraceful attitudes. For a few minutes they posture

and move in leisurely manner round and round about; then they seize the

swords, and pass and repass each other, now cutting, now crossing swords,

retiring and advancing. Sometimes one kneels as though to defend himself

from the attacks of his adversary. The main idea of this Sword Dance

seems to be the posturing in different attitudes, and not so much the

skill displayed in fencing. Those are considered the best dancers who,

according to Dyak ideas, are the most graceful in their movements. I have

often watched a Dyak Sword Dance where neither has touched the other

with his sword, the movements having been so leisurely that there has

been plenty of time to ward off each attack.

The dance seems quite in keeping with the Dyak surroundings, and the

whole effect of it is very striking. The long veranda of the Dyak house

dimly lighted up by _damar_ torches; the pretty silver tones of the small

row of brass _enkrumong_ struck by two sticks in fast measure; the deep

tones of the large brass gongs; the numerous noisy drums; the crowd of

spectators standing, sitting, or kneeling; the screams of encouragement

to the dancers; the evolutions of the two performers—all help to form a

weird and striking scene.

The _Ajat_, or War Dance, is danced by one man. He is generally fully

armed with sword, and spear, and shield. He acts in pantomime what is

done when on the warpath. The dancer begins by imitating the creeping

through the jungle in cautious manner, looking to the right and to the

left, before and behind, for the foe. The lurking enemy is suddenly

discovered, and after some rapid attack and defence a sudden plunge is

made upon him, and he lies dead on the ground. The taking of the head of

this invisible enemy in pantomime now follows. A great deal of liberty

is allowed the dancer, and the dances are very varied. Sometimes the

dance ends with the defeat and death of the dancer. The last agonies of

the dying man are too closely and painfully depicted to be altogether

pleasant to watch.

[Illustration: COCK FIGHTING

Sometimes at feasts cock fighting takes place in the veranda of the Dyak

house. At other times it takes place on the ground outside. Here two

Dyaks are matching their cocks against each other, while a crowd of men

and boys stand around.]

The musical instruments which accompany the War Dance are much the same

as those used for the Sword Dance. There are the _engkrumong_, or row of

little brass gongs, the large gongs, and a variety of drums. But the

music is in different time, the music for the War Dance being quicker

than that for the Sword Dance.

Cock-fighting is a very favourite amusement of the Dyaks, and is

indulged in to a great extent at all their feasts. In fact, one of the

preparations for a feast is for the inmates of the house to go round to

their friends and beg for as many fighting-cocks as they can. The cocks

have artificial steel spurs, which are very sharp.

Spinning tops is a favourite amusement, not only of the children, but

also of grown-up men. They generally divide themselves into two sides.

One side spin their tops, and the other party, standing at a given

distance, aim at the spinning tops with their tops. Great skill is shown

in the manner in which a man often hits a top, driving it far away, and

leaves his top spinning in its place.

The Dyaks are very much at home on the water, and a favourite amusement

of the Dyaks at Banting was to “ride the tidal bore.” During the

spring-tides, when there was a tidal bore, they would paddle down the

river some distance, and wait for the turn of the tide. When the bore

came, they would get just in front of it, and the great wave would send

the boats up-river at a good pace without any paddling on their part. Of

course, a great many boats were often swamped, but that only added to the

fun. When I was stationed at Banting, the schoolboys often asked to be

allowed to “ride the bore.”

The Sea Dyaks seem to acquire naturally the art of swimming. They are

taken to the water regularly from infancy, and dipped and floated on the

water, and at an early age they are able to swim. They swim hand over

hand. They never take “a header” in diving, but jump in feet foremost.

The Dyaks are fond of wrestling, and many of them are good wrestlers. At

a Dyak feast very often the young men have friendly wrestling matches.

They have also other trials of strength. Two young men sit on the ground

opposite each other, feet placed against feet, and a stout stick is

grasped by both their hands. Each then tries to throw himself back, so as

to raise his adversary from the ground either by main strength or sudden

effort. Another trial of strength is to put two fingers of one opponent

against two fingers of another, the elbows being placed upon a table or

log; then each party tries to force the other’s fingers backward. Or

else two stand up face to face, and each grasps the two first fingers of

his opponent, holding his arm up, so that their hands are the same level

as their faces, and they each try by main force to lower the arm of the

other.

The Dyaks are very fond of jumping, and at Banting, in the cool of the

evening, the young men, returning with me from Evening Prayer in church,

would often try the long-jump or high-jump near the Mission House.

They also play a game called _galangang_, not unlike prisoners’ base. The

players divide themselves into parties, and one party is set to watch

certain lines which the other party cross. If anyone is touched as he

crosses a line, his side loses, and has to do the watching.

The evening amusements are listening to some story, either set to verse

and sung, or simply told in prose, and the asking each other riddles.

These riddles are generally rhyming verses.

CHAPTER XVIII

SONG AND MUSIC

Love of music—Love songs—Boat songs—War songs—Incantations at

Dyak feasts—The song of mourning—Musical instruments.

The Dyaks are very fond of singing, and it is no unusual thing to

hear some solitary boatman singing as he paddles along. Weird beyond

words, and yet possessing a quaint rhythm, are most of the songs of the

Dyak. They give vent to their feelings in their own way, which is very

different from ours, but their plaintive songs are not unpleasant, and

show a certain amount of poetical feeling.

The _pelandai_, or love song, seems to be very popular among the young

men. In it the native singer pours forth his feelings, his sorrows and

disappointments, his hopes and his fears. The music is to our ideas

monotonous, and it is not always easy to understand the meaning of what

is sung, as many archaic expressions are used, and the singer sometimes

calls his love by one name, sometimes by another; at one time she is

spoken of as a bird, and then, in the next line perhaps, the name of some

animal is applied to her. A similar song sung by the women is called

_bedungai_.

They have their boat songs, with which the crew of a long Dyak boat

often enliven the time. The leader sings a verse, and the others join

in the chorus, keeping time with the strokes of the paddle or oar. The

leader often improvises his subject as he sings, and introduces any

little incident that has taken place, or little experience they have gone

through, much to the amusement of his companions.

In their war songs the singer chants in a low monotonous voice the deeds

of heroes in the olden days, and how they won and brought home human

heads to lay at the feet of their brides. These war songs are often

accompanied by the excited whoops and yells of the listeners.

There is the _bernong_, usually sung by two singers, who take it in turns

to sing a verse, and then the chorus is sung by both. This, as well as

the _pelandai_, or love song, may often be heard in the evening in the

long Dyak house.

Then there is the _kana_, in which some legend or fairy-tale is sung by

someone versed in ancient lore, as he sits on a swing in the dimly-lit

veranda of the Dyak house.

Singing also forms part of all their sacred rites. At all their

ceremonial feasts connected with warfare, farming, or the dead, the

incantations, or _pengap_, as they are called, are in the form of Dyak

verse, and sung. These songs differ considerably from the ordinary

language of the Dyak, and a person, who can understand and speak

Dyak, may yet find the _pengap_ most unintelligible. Native metaphor

and most excessive verbosity, together with the use of many archaic

expressions, the meanings of which have long been forgotten, as well as

the introduction of many coined words, which mean nothing, and are simply

dragged in because they rhyme with the words preceding—all these things

are quite certain to mystify an uninstructed hearer. Another reason why

it is so difficult to understand the _pengap_ is that the language used

is that of many generations back. The _pengap_, being learnt by heart,

and handed down with verbal accuracy from one generation to another, is

in the language of the past, whereas the ordinary spoken language of the

Dyak is continually changing and developing new forms. There are a great

deal of alliteration in the _pengap_, a certain peculiar rhythm and a

string of rhyming words.

The presence of invisible beings is very strongly believed by the Dyak,

and he is persuaded that spirits both good and bad are always round him.

As a form of invocation to these spirits, and in all the ceremonial

feasts of the Dyaks, as well as on other important occasions, the

_pengap_ are sung, sometimes by one man seated on a swing, sometimes

by a number of men, who walk up and down the long veranda, dressed in

flowing robes, with a long staff in the right hand of each. From what

has been said it will be easily understood that there are a great number

of different _pengap_ suited to different occasions. In each incantation

some special spirit or deity is more specially invoked.

At the Dyak Head Feast, Singalang Burong—the Mars of Dyak mythology—is

specially invoked to be present in the _pengap_ which is sung. In the

feasts connected with farming, Pulang Gana, the god of the soil, is

invoked, and asked to drive from their farms all rats and birds and

insects that may hurt the paddy. And at the feasts given in honour of

the dead all the spirits of dead relatives and friends, as well as those

of mythical heroes, are invited to partake of the good things provided.

Then, again, when the _manangs_, or Dyak witch-doctors, are called in to

cure a sick man, they often walk round and round the sick man, and chant

a _pengap_, invoking Salampandai, the Great Spirit-Doctor, to come to

their aid, and make their charms efficacious in bringing about the cure

of the sick man.

Some of the Dyak _pengap_ are of great length, and the singing of them

occupies the whole night. The singer or singers begin soon after 8 p.m.,

and go on till early dawn, only resting for about half an hour, two or

three times during the whole night.

The song of mourning is among some tribes sung by a professional wailer,

generally a woman, who is paid to lament the lost, and by her presence

and incantation to assist and guide the soul in its journey to Hades

(_Sabayan_). Her song is begun on the evening of the death, and lasts

the whole night. The sum of it is this:—She blames the different parts

of the house for allowing the soul to depart, and she calls upon bird,

beast, and fish to go to Hades with a message, but in vain, for they

are unable to undertake the journey. Then in despair she calls upon

the Spirit of the Winds to go. At first the spirit is reluctant, but

at the earnest request of the wailer, who calls his wife to her aid,

he at length consents to do her bidding. His journey through forests

and plains, hills and valleys, across rivers and the sea, is minutely

described till night comes on, and, tired and hungry, he stops to rest

for the night. He climbs a high tree to see which is the proper road—on

all sides there are roads: the ways of the dead are very numerous—but all

is dim, misty, and uncertain. In his perplexity, he changes his human

form, and metamorphoses himself into a rushing wind. He soon makes his

presence in Hades known by a furious tempest, which sweeps all before it,

and rouses the sleeping inhabitants. Startled, they ask each other what

is the meaning of this great commotion. The Spirit of the Wind answers

that their presence is wanted in the land of the living. They must go and

fetch a certain man and his belongings who wishes to come to Hades, but

does not know the way, and needs someone to guide him. The dead rejoice

at the summons. In a moment they collect together, get into a long boat,

and paddle hurriedly through Limban, the Dyak Styx. When they arrive at

the landing-place, the dead make an eager rush for the house, and enter

the room of the dead man. The departed soul cries out in anguish at being

thus suddenly and violently carried off, but long before the ghostly

party have reached their abode in Hades, he becomes reconciled to his

fate. Such in brief outline is the song of the wailer. By her song she

has helped to convey the soul to its new home. Without her aid the soul

would be lost, and remain suspended in mid-air and find no rest.

The songs and incantations of the Dyaks are not set to any particular

melody. They are sung to a kind of chant, and long sentences are often

repeated on one note. But they have several distinct settings for the

different songs and incantations, and these seem to suit the subject. The

song of mourning, for instance, sounds very sad and pathetic even to one

who does not understand the language.

The musical instruments of the Dyaks are of a more or less primitive

type, but when played together, the result is not unpleasing. Those

employed as an accompaniment to the Sword Dance or the War Dance are

brass gongs of different sizes and a variety of drums. First there is the

deep-sounding brass _tawak_, the sound of which travels a great distance,

and which, when struck in a peculiar manner, is the danger signal in

times of war. Next in order of importance comes the smaller brass gong

which is called the _chanang_, and lastly the _engkrumong_ of eight small

brass gongs of different sizes arranged in order in a long open box. The

player of the _engkrumong_ has a stick in each hand, and strikes these

different gongs in quick succession.

They have numerous drums of different shapes and sizes. They are made of

different kinds of wood, with deer-skin or monkey-skin tightly stretched

over one or both ends.

The effect of all these instruments of percussion played together is

inspiring, and not at all displeasing. There is no harsh discordant

clanging, as is so often the case in the music of primitive races. There

are different ways of striking the drums and other instruments, and each

of these ways has a distinctive name. The rhythm of the music of the

Sword Dance differs entirely from that of the War Dance, and for each of

these dances there are various different arrangements for the musical

instruments.

Among their wind instruments is the _engkrurai_, which is constructed

of a number of bamboo tubes fixed in an empty gourd, the long stem of

which forms the mouth-piece. All the notes can be sounded together, and

combinations of notes or single notes can be produced from it by shutting

or opening finger-holes placed laterally at the lower end of the bamboo

tubes. There are generally seven bamboo tubes, six of them arranged in

a circle round a larger and longer central one. All seven are furnished

with a reed at the base, where they are inserted into the gourd. Holes

are cut in the six outer pipes for fingering. The central pipe is an open

or drone-pipe, the tone of which is intensified by fixing a loose cap of

bamboo on the upper end. It is played by blowing air into the neck of

the gourd, or by drawing in the breath, according to the effect desired.

The volume of sound is not great, and the music produced is not unlike

that of the Scotch bagpipes played very softly and very badly.

They have a flute, or rather flageolet (_ensuling_), made of bamboo, with

a plug at the mouth-hole. It is blown at the end, and there are three or

four finger-holes, so that different notes can be produced.

Another musical instrument is the _serunai_, or one-stringed fiddle.

The body is half a gourd-shell, the mouth of which is covered up with a

circular piece of soft wood, which is thin and close-fitting, the seams

being cemented with wax. To this is fixed the stock, an arm about two

feet long made of hard wood. The bow is a bent cane, and the string

of the bow a split rattan about a foot in length. The string of this

instrument is of the same material, and there is a peg at the end of

the stock by which the string can be tightened. There is a movable

bridge on the belly of the instrument for the string to rest upon. The

body is sometimes made of half a cocoanut-shell instead of a gourd. The

string has to be wetted before it will sound, and then it gives forth a

monotonous, mournful, dismal sound when the bow is rubbed against it.

The Dyaks also have a four-stringed zither. The strings are made of split

cane, and are stretched over a wooden box of soft wood. This instrument

varies in shape and size, and is called the _engkratong_.

The _blikan_ is a rude guitar made of soft wood, with two strings of

rattan and two pegs for tightening them. The strings are pressed with the

tips of the fingers of the left hand to modify the tone, and the fingers

of the right hand brush the strings. This instrument is about three feet

long from end to end.

From all that has been said, it will be seen that their musical

instruments, though various, are very primitive, and that, though the

Dyak is fond of music, his ideas on the subject are very crude.

CHAPTER XIX

THE DYAK ABROAD

Love of travel—“The innocents abroad”—Gutta-hunting—Collecting

canes—Hunting for edible birds’-nests—Camphor-working.

The Dyak is fond of travel, and, like other people, loves to visit

foreign countries and to return and relate his adventures to his

stay-at-home friends. He is always at home in the jungle, and in whatever

country he may be collecting jungle produce, he is in his element. But

this is by no means the case when he is in any foreign town. I have

sometimes seen Dyaks in Singapore walking aimlessly about, quite out of

touch with their surroundings. I think they are looked upon as fair game

by the Chinese shopkeepers in Singapore, who have no scruples in taking

advantage of their innocence, as the following incident will show.

Some years ago I took some Dyaks from Banting on a visit to Singapore.

I told them not to wander too far away from the house by themselves,

as they might lose their way, and advised them to let me send someone

with them when they wanted to buy anything, because they had no idea

of the price of things, and would probably be swindled by the Chinese

shopkeepers. For the first few days they were very careful to do as

I told them, but afterwards, they considered themselves experienced

travellers who could well manage to buy things for themselves. One day

they came to me and said they had met such a nice Chinese shopkeeper,

from whom one of them had bought a silk jacket. He was such a pleasant

man, and his things were so cheap, that they had quite made up their

minds to visit his shop again. I asked to see the silk jacket they had

bought. It was brought to me carefully wrapped up in Chinese brown paper,

and the parcel, being opened, was found to contain a cotton jacket! When

the purchase was made, the “very pleasant shopkeeper” kindly bundled it

up for them, and this was the result. I told them that they had been

taken in, and that there was no help for it, and that they must always be

on their guard against the Chinese shopkeeper. But my words were wasted.

They were quite positive that there was some mistake. It was quite absurd

to imagine that such a nice Chinaman would think of swindling them. All

that had to be done was to go back to the shop and explain matters, and

everything would be put right. They did go back to the shop, and returned

with long faces. The nice Chinaman said he did not remember selling them

a silk jacket; they must have mistaken the shop. Was there anything he

could sell them? Needless to say, they bought nothing more from that

shop, and returned “sadder and wiser men.”

Gutta-hunting is a favourite method of the Dyaks for earning money.

A party of them go to the Malay Peninsula, or Sumatra, or Java, and

stay away for months or even years, and do not return until they have

accumulated some hundreds of dollars. Before starting for such a journey

they have to consult the omen birds, and if these are favourable, they

start off with a little money for their expenses, taking with them the

few tools necessary for their work. They go to some town, and from it

they make journeys into the surrounding jungle, returning after intervals

of a month or more to sell the gutta they have succeeded in obtaining,

and to buy provisions.

The way in which the Dyak works gutta is this:—He wanders in the jungle

till he finds a gutta-tree. He cuts it down, and rings it neatly all

along the trunk and branches at intervals of a foot or two with a kind

of hollow chisel that he brings with him for the purpose. Under each

ring he puts a leaf made into a cup to catch the milk-white sap which

slowly exudes. Into each of these he puts a little scraped bark of the

tree. Then he collects all the sap, and boils it until the gutta is

precipitated at the bottom of the pot like a mass of dough. This is taken

out while it is still soft, placed upon a board, and kneaded vigorously

with the hands, and afterwards trodden with the bare feet. When it is

almost too stiff to work, it is flattened out carefully, and then rolled

into a wedge-shaped mass. A hole is punched through the thin end, through

which a string is put to carry it, and it is ready for sale. This crude

gutta has a mottled or marbled light brown appearance, which is given

to it by the scraped bark which is mixed with it. The juice of the wild

fig-tree (_Ficus_) or of the different species of bread-fruit trees

(_Artocarpus_) is sometimes used to adulterate it.

Sometimes, instead of working gutta, the Dyaks earn money by collecting

canes, or _rotan_. A journey is made by a party of them to some jungle

region where canes abound, and they collect the various marketable

species of the genus _Calamus_. These canes are creeping plants the

stems of which are covered with a hard flinty bark. The leaves are very

thorny, and cling to the trees and branches around. The older part of

the cane has no leaves. It is very tough and strong, and in size about

one-quarter of an inch in diameter. It is easily split, and used for the

seats of chairs, etc.

Sometimes the Dyaks join others in the collection of edible birds’-nests

for the Chinese market. This is a great industry in those parts of Borneo

where there are large limestone caves, in which these nests are found.

The caves are farmed out by Government, and whatever is obtained over the

amount paid to Government is the profit of the workers. In Upper Sarawak

certain tribes possess caves in which edible birds’-nests are found, and

they divide the nests with the Government.

Sometimes Dyaks who wish to earn a little extra money go and help these

tribes in collecting birds’-nests, and get a share of the profits, or

more often they go to small caves which belong to no one in particular

and collect birds’-nests for themselves, and then give a share of what

they find to the Government.

Some of the caves in which edible birds’-nests are found are very large.

At the entrance the visitor is met by thousands of bats and swallows.

The latter resemble the common swallow in appearance, but are only half

as large. These small swallows make the edible nests. Inside, the cave

is often like an immense amphitheatre roofed like a dome, the middle of

which is over a thousand feet high. Thousands of nests are seen clinging

to the pillar-like rocky sides and roof. The most flimsy-looking stages

of bamboos tied together with cane are the simple means employed by

the natives to collect the nests from the seemingly most inaccessible

positions.

Though there are rifts in the sides through which come rays of light,

still in parts the cave is so dark that lamps and torches have to be used.

The Dyaks climb up the bamboo scaffolding, carrying with them long cane

ladders. These are fixed against the sides. Two men work on each ladder,

which often hangs high up in the air. One carries a light four-pronged

spear about fifteen feet long, and near the prongs a lighted candle is

fixed. Holding on to the ladder with one hand, he manages the spear with

the other, and transfixes the nest. A slight push detaches it from the

rock, and the spear is then held within reach of the second man, who

detaches the nest and puts it into a basket tied to his waist.

The natives say that there are two species of swallows that inhabit these

caves. Those that take up their abode near the entrance of the cave build

nests which are of no value. These birds often attack the other and

smaller species which make the edible nests. The natives often destroy

the nests of the larger swallows, so as to lessen their number.

The best quality nests are very translucent, and of a pale yellow colour,

and mixed with very few feathers. These are nests that have been freshly

made. If the nests are not removed, the birds make use of them again,

so that by age and accession of dirt they become quite useless. The old

nests are of no value, and the natives destroy them, so that the birds

may build new ones in their place.

The nests are collected four times a year. The natives say that the birds

will lay four times a year if their nests are collected often, but if

there are only two collections, then the birds only lay twice in the

year. The best time for collecting nests is when the eggs are just laid.

One would imagine that there would be a danger of over-collecting, and

that the number of birds would diminish; but the natives say there is

no danger of this, as the birds carry on their breeding in nooks and

crannies inaccessible to the collectors.

Another jungle industry is the hunting for camphor. The kind the Dyaks

obtain is known as “hard camphor,” and is found in crystals in the hollow

trunk of a tree. It is much more valuable than ordinary camphor.

Before going out to collect camphor, the Dyaks live in little huts in the

jungle, and listen to the omens of birds, just as they would do before

going out gutta-hunting. If the omens be favourable, then they start

off, being careful not to use in conversation certain words which are

considered “taboo,” or _mali_. It is forbidden to use the word “camphor,”

or to mention the names of the implements used in working it, or of any

races, such as the Chinese, Malays, or Europeans, because these will have

something to do with the selling of the camphor later on. If the spirits

who own the camphor know what the men are after, or that their property

is likely to be taken away and sold to distant lands, they will carefully

hide it, and the camphor workers will never be able to find it; so the

Dyaks have to use other expressions to express the articles whose names

must not be mentioned. “Camphor” becomes “the thing that smells,” and so

on.

The Dyaks, as well as the Malays, believe that to be careless and to

make use of any forbidden word is sure to result in failure to find

camphor. Even if a tree containing camphor is felled, they say that the

crystallized camphor will become liquid, and therefore useless.

When a camphor-tree is found in the jungle it is chipped with an axe

between two buttresses, and the wood smelt. If the wood smells very

strongly of camphor, then it is likely that the trunk is hollow, and

there is crystallized camphor-gum inside it. They tap the trunk to find

out how far up this hollow extends. The tree is cut down at this place,

and the stump remains standing. The wood is then split down on each

side. There is a good deal of uncertainty in the finding of camphor. If

lucky, the workers may find the whole of the hollow trunk from four to

seven feet deep full of crystallized camphor. On the other hand, the hole

in the wood may be quite empty, except for a little liquid gum at the

bottom, which is useless. This crystallized camphor fetches a good price

in the Chinese market. The Chinese value it very highly for medicinal

purposes, and as much as fifty dollars or more is given for a _katty_—a

pound and a quarter—of it.

CHAPTER XX

SOME PERSONAL EXPERIENCES

The itinerant missionary—Visit to a Dyak

house—Reception—Cooking—Servants—The meal—Teaching the

Dyaks—Christians—Services—Prayer-houses—Offertory—Reception of

the missionary—Dangers of sea travelling during the north-east

monsoon—My boat swamped—In the jungle—Losing my way—A Dyak’s

experience.

As the long Dyak village houses are often built at great distances from

each other, the missionary who wishes to do effective work among the

Dyaks must travel from house to house. Only by visiting distant villages,

and living with the Dyaks as their guest, can the missionary learn to

understand the people, and know their real inner life.

Let me try and describe a visit to some Dyak house, which no missionary

has visited before, and where there is hope of breaking new ground. After

travelling by boat or on foot I come to the house, and at the foot of the

ladder leading up to it, one of my Dyak companions shouts out, “_Jadi

rumah?_” (“Is the house tabooed?”—that is to say: “May we walk up?”) The

usual answer is “_Jadi_,” which implies that there is no reason against

our entering the house. We climb up the ladder leading to the common

hall and walk to the middle of the house, where the headman and the more

important inhabitants have their rooms. Some inmate spreads out mats for

us, and we are asked to sit down.

If I arrive at the house early in the day, most of the men will probably

be out, and only women and children at home. These crowd round, standing

at a respectful distance, and the wife or daughter of the headman asks

us what we have come for, and invites us to stay in the house. She also

clears away their own cooking from the fireplace, and my servant is asked

to do whatever cooking is needed for the _Tuan_ in their room.

The cooking is generally a simple matter. The dinner generally consists

of one course. My servant buys from the Dyaks a fowl—it would be libel to

call it a “chicken”!—and cooks it, or else he falls back on tinned food,

of which I always had a supply.

During all the years I worked in Borneo I always had a Dyak servant, and

I was fortunate in having for many years an excellent native named Ah

Choy. He was born at Banting, and attended the Mission School there, and

then went on to the school at Kuching. I joined the Mission Staff soon

after he left school, and he worked for me as my general factotum—cook,

housekeeper, boatman, personal attendant, etc.—for ten years or more. He

was, what is unusual among the Dyaks, a good cook, and, in addition to

this, was an excellent servant in many ways. He understood about boats,

and I found his advice in all matters connected with travelling very

trustworthy. He had a good idea of carpentering, and was able himself to

fit up many little conveniences in my boat. Besides all this he was able

to help me in my missionary work, as he was a Christian and a communicant

himself. I think that if a Missionary visits native houses to teach

the Dyaks, and has as his attendant a “heathen Chinee” or a “scoffing

Mohammedan,” it must be a hindrance to his work. Ah Choy left me to work

for his mother, who was a widow, but even after he had left my service he

often accompanied me on my missionary travels as one of the boatmen, and

I was always very glad to have him with me. He died, while quite a young

man, during an epidemic of cholera.

When my dinner is ready my servant tells me, and I go into the room to

eat it. A mat is spread for me, and I sit cross-legged upon it. A few of

the women of the house sometimes stay in the room while I have my meal,

but never a crowd, and one is able to have one’s food in comfort.

After the evening meal I come out into the common hall, where the mats

are spread and the people gathered together. The evening is the usual

time for any discussion, as the men are all back from their outdoor

work then. I sit down on a mat, and both men and women are seated in a

semicircle before me, and I try to teach them. Very simple things at

first—telling them how God created the world, and made all things good,

and how man of his own wickedness brought sin into the world—very simple

things of this kind, and these said over and over again, because it takes

them time to take in new ideas. After two or three evenings spent in this

way I leave the house, but visit it again after an interval of some weeks

or months.

[Illustration: A LONG DYAK VILLAGE HOUSE

When a house is very long, as in this case, in addition to the ladders at

each end, there are often extra ladders in the middle of the house. One

of these ladders is seen on the right of the picture. The logs of wood on

the ground are for walking upon.]

In the nature of the Dyak there has grown up a crop of rank superstitions

which he cannot overcome easily. He has his gods, but his conception

of a God is quite different to that of the Christian. Innumerable

hostile spirits he believes are around him, and these have to be

dealt with, propitiated or outwitted. Though he has many ceremonies

the Dyak has little religious spirit. The ceremonial rites which he

practises—sacrifices, incantations, observance of omens—are magic charms

to procure material benefits. Hence he has a difficulty in conceiving a

spiritual religion. In the conversations one has in the Dyak house it is

very usual to be asked such a question as this: “What material advantage

shall I get if I become a Christian? Shall I get better paddy-crops and

become rich? Shall I have better health?” Another question which is often

asked the Missionary is: “Must we give up our old customs?” “Yes,” says

the Missionary, “such of them as are founded upon falsehood or derogatory

to the true God.” Dreams are often discussed, and numerous examples

are brought forward of dreams which have come true. The Missionary

acknowledges that God has spoken in ancient days to men in dreams, but

maintains that the necessity for doing so no longer exists.

Endless questions lead to endless explanations, and often the Missionary

feels at the end of it all that little has been gained. But unpromising

as the soil apparently is, the good seed does germinate. On the next

visit the Missionary makes to that same house, he will probably find that

some of his hearers have thought over what he has said, and are willing

to learn more. And after a few visits some of the Dyaks are willing to

put themselves under instruction, and these are taught by the native

Catechist in charge of the district, and also by the Missionary when he

pays his visits. When they are sufficiently taught and wish to become

Christians, they are baptized, and if they live good consistent Christian

lives, and have been further instructed, later on they are brought to the

Bishop to be confirmed.

Happily the Gospel message, though profound in truth, is very simple in

form. A plain narration of the life of Jesus Christ always produces a

deep impression upon the Dyak. It is quite a new revelation to him, the

Incarnation of the Son of God, bringing him totally new thoughts and

ideas of God.

A great help to the work of the Missionary is the example of some man who

has bravely emancipated himself from the burdensome traditions of his

forefathers, and puts his whole trust in God. There are many such living

in the Saribas district, and they were a great help to the Mission work

there. That a Dyak can succeed in his labours, or even exist for any

length of time without the observance of bird omens, or paying heed to

dreams, or continually making sacrifices to gods and spirits, is to Dyaks

in general such a remarkable thing that it rouses their minds to consider

what Christianity means. To give up heathen practices, and to pay no heed

to the omens of birds, is but a small part of the Christian religion,

but it sets men thinking. It is a mark of freedom from the slavery of

tyrannous superstition, and clears the ground for the foundation of a

real Christian belief and trust in God.

But it may be asked: “How are services provided for these Dyak Christians

who live so far away from the Church and the Mission House?” Well, we do

the best we can for them. By the side of each Dyak house where there are

Christians we build a small prayer-house. It is a very plain and simple

building, and is the same in material and style as their own houses. The

Christian Dyaks build it themselves. They go out into the jungle and get

whatever is necessary for it. It is an oblong structure, raised a few

feet off the ground on posts of wood. The walls and the roof are of

palm-leaf thatch, work which the natives can do themselves; the flooring

is of laths of wood fastened down with cane or creepers. And there are

no seats in the building—no forms or chairs—everyone sits on the floor,

on which mats are spread. At one end we have a little table, which the

natives make themselves, and that we use as an altar when we have a

celebration of the Holy Communion. Altogether it is as primitive a house

of worship as it is possible to imagine, but it is enough for necessary

purposes, and is the best that can be done under the circumstances. The

building does not last long, but is easily rebuilt where there is a will

to do so. To build permanent churches would in most cases be useless

waste, for the Dyaks are constantly moving their village houses to new

sites.

The services held in these little prayer-houses are very reverent. The

offertory at the celebration of Holy Communion is worthy of remark. At

our up-country churches and prayer-houses, we receive in kind as well as

in money. Dyaks very seldom have money, but they have rice, and that is

the “kind” in which the offertory is made. The rice is brought in little

baskets or cups, and emptied into a large basket. Sometimes eggs or fruit

are given. The Missionary gives an equivalent in money for the rice,

etc., collected, and that money is given to the man who has charge of

the offertory. This “church-warden” is some Christian living in the Dyak

house near.

The Missionary has a very large district in his charge, and travelling

is so difficult that he cannot very often visit the different houses

where there are Christians; and the native teacher has also a large

ground to cover, and cannot very often hold services at the different

prayer-houses. So if we can find some man in the house who is a

good Christian, and has been to school and can read, we ask him, in

the absence of the Missionary and of the native teacher, to conduct

services. On the Sunday morning in many Dyak houses, when neither the

Missionary nor the native teacher is there, one of themselves—some young

man—will collect the Christians together, and they will go to the little

prayer-house, and he will read the prayers, and they will offer up

their petitions and thanksgivings to God. In many Dyak houses, however,

though there are Christians, there is no one whom we can ask to read

the prayers. They have to go without their services, sometimes for long

intervals, until such time as the native teacher or the Missionary can

visit them.

Visiting the houses where there are Christians, and holding services in

the little prayer-houses built by themselves, is pleasant and interesting

work. The Dyaks are told beforehand when the Missionary is coming, and

they look forward to his visit, and as many as are able leave their

farm-huts where they may be staying so as to be at the house to welcome

him. The Dyaks are civil, natural in manner, kindly disposed, and

cheerful. They are also very intelligent, and I have had many interesting

conversations on my Missionary visits. Questions are often asked by the

Dyaks showing that they have thought over something that has been said

on a former visit; and in the Saribas district, where so many Dyaks had

learnt to read, it was no unusual thing to be asked to explain some

particular passage in the Gospels, the Dyak translation of which many of

them had.

Travelling by river is safe enough except where there are sandbanks,

and there a little extra care is necessary. But during the north-east

monsoon—October to March—the sea is generally very rough, and travelling

by sea in the kind of boat the Missionary uses is sometimes dangerous. He

has to use a boat that draws very little water, because of the sand banks

in the rivers, and such a boat is not suitable for the sea. I am thankful

to say that during all the years I was in Borneo my boat was only swamped

once. We have had many narrow escapes—the boat full of water over and

over again, and two men baling out the water as fast as possible while

the others were rowing. The boat I used in my travels was made of light

wood, and the only part of it that was made of harder wood was the keel.

Even if it were full of water, it would still float, and we could often

row through the waves without anything worse than a thorough wetting.

On the occasion when my boat was swamped I was returning from the

capital, Kuching, where I had been Acting-Chaplain for some months, to

my up-country station at Temudok on the Krian River. It was during the

north-east monsoon, and the sea was very rough. After leaving the Kuching

River we put in at Sampun, a little stream near. There we stayed seven

days. Early every morning we put out to sea, but it was impossible to row

through the waves, and we had to put back. Then we ran short of food; we

had no rice for the men. At the next flood-tide I told my boatmen to row

up the Sampun stream, as I felt certain I should be able to buy rice from

some people living there. After two hours’ rowing we came to the hut of a

Chinaman. He said he had only three _gantangs_ of rice. (A _gantang_ is a

dry measure, and equal to about three-quarters of a peck.) I asked him

to sell me all the rice he had. He was quite willing to do so, and said

that if I would wait a day, he would have some paddy pounded, and be able

to supply me with more rice. I said what he had would be sufficient, and

I told my boatmen that whatever the weather was next day, we must put out

to sea.

Very early next morning we started. The sea was very rough, and to

escape the breakers we went farther and farther away from land. I had my

excellent servant, Ah Choy, with me, and he was steering, and I had a

very good crew of Dyak boatmen. After some time Ah Choy said to me:

“We are very far out, and can hardly see the land. Had we not better get

nearer shore?”

The men were rowing as well as they could, but they were getting very

tired, and we were making very little progress.

I told Ah Choy to bring the boat nearer shore, but as soon as we got into

shallower water the waves were so great that it was evident the boat

could not live through them.

I asked Ah Choy to steer the boat straight for the shore, and I told the

men to row as hard as they could, and as soon as they felt their oars

touch bottom to jump out and pull the boat up the shore as fast as they

could. They did exactly as I wished. The boat was dragged ashore, but

several large waves beat into it, and everything was soaked. It had one

or two hard bumps on the sand, and was split from end to end.

We were not far from Kabong, a village at the mouth of the Krian River,

and I, accompanied by one of my boatmen, walked along the beach to

the Government Fort there. The clerk in charge, Ah Fook Cheyne, kindly

supplied me with food and with sleeping things for the night. I sent some

Malays to look after my boat, which they managed to bring to Kabong the

next day.

Whenever I have had to travel on foot I have always had with me Dyaks who

knew the country, so there has been no danger of my losing my way. But it

is remarkable how easily one can get lost in the jungle. I have sometimes

gone off the path for no great distance, and have had some difficulty in

finding my way back. At Banting one afternoon I was accompanied by two

schoolboys, and we went into the lowland jungle near the Mission Hill

after some wood-pigeon. We followed the birds from one wild fig-tree to

another, and managed to shoot a few, and then we tried to find our way

back. After wandering about for some twenty minutes we came to a spot

where a tree had been cut down, and a length of the trunk used evidently

for a Dyak coffin. As someone had been buried a few days ago in the

cemetery round the church, we guessed we could not be far from Banting

Hill, on which the Mission House and Church stood. We tried to follow

what we thought was the track made by the people who had cut the tree

down, but after wandering about for over half an hour, we found ourselves

in the same spot again.

We could see the sun through the trees, and one of the boys with me said:

“When we sit on the seat on the brow of the hill facing the river we see

the sun setting in front of us, so if we walk in the direction of the sun

we are sure to come to some part of Banting Hill.”

It seemed a sensible suggestion. We had been walking in the opposite

direction. We turned round and walked back, and sure enough we got to the

fruit-trees on Banting Hill, and had no difficulty in finding our way to

the Mission House.

One day when I was at Sebetan I left the path which ran along the side of

the river. I had with me three Dyak schoolboys, and we wandered about and

could not find our way out of the jungle. One of the boys said, when we

came to a small jungle-stream:

“If we follow this stream it will lead us to the river.”

We did so, and soon found the path by the river.

It will be noticed that on both these occasions I was with Dyak boys who

helped me to find my way. I have noticed that older Dyaks seem to have a

good idea of locality, and generally know in what direction the path they

have left lies.

It is, however, not an unknown thing for Dyaks to be lost in the jungle.

A Dyak friend of mine in Sebetan told me that on one occasion he had been

in the jungle all day collecting canes, and in the evening when he wanted

to return he could not find his way out. He climbed up a tree in the

hope of seeing the smoke of some Dyak house or farm hut, but saw no such

thing. As it was growing dark, and there was no likelihood of his finding

his way till next morning, he prepared to spend the night where he was.

He climbed up a tree, and made himself as comfortable as possible among

the branches, took off his waist-cloth, and tied himself to the tree,

that he might not slip off when asleep, and spent an uncomfortable night

up there. Next morning he had no difficulty in finding his way back to

his house.

The wonder to me is that Dyaks so seldom get lost in the jungle. When

they are hunting wild pig they must often wander far from the path, and

yet somehow they manage to find their way out of the jungle without any

difficulty.

CHAPTER XXI

DYAK FOLKLORE

Sea Dyak stories—_Ensera_—_Kana_—The mouse-deer and the

tortoise—Klieng—Kumang—Apai Saloi—The cunning of the

mouse-deer—The mouse-deer and other animals who went out

fishing—The mouse-deer, the deer, and the pig—Sea Dyak proverbs.

The Sea Dyaks possess many stories, legends, and fables handed down by

tradition from ancient times. All these have been transmitted by word

of mouth from generation to generation, as the Dyaks have no written

language of their own. These tales may be roughly divided in two

classes—those that are plainly told, and called _ensera_; and those that

are set in a peculiar rhythmical measure, and sung to a monotonous chant,

and called _kana_.

Among the former are a large number of stories corresponding to the

adventures of Brer Rabbit, or our own tales illustrating the cunning

of the fox. In the Dyak stories the mouse-deer and the tortoise—two of

the smallest animals they know—are generally represented either acting

in concert or individually, and their cunning is always more than a

match against the strength of all other animals. The Dyaks also have

many legends which give an account of the origin and reason for some of

their religious beliefs and customs. These are no doubt purely Dyak, but

the many tales related nowadays about Rajahs and their adventures are

probably derived from Malay sources in more recent times.

The exploits of the mythical heroes of the Dyaks are also related. The

greatest hero is Klieng, who is not a god, but supposed to belong to

this world of ours. He is not now visible to human eyes, but his help is

often invoked in times of war, and offerings of food are often made to

him. Tradition says that he had no father or mother, but was found in the

knot of a tree by Ngelai, who brought him up as his brother. As he grew

up, he developed a restless spirit, and would not apply himself to the

regular Dyak pursuits. He was wayward and capricious, and would disappear

for long periods, often being given up for dead by his sorrowing friends.

Then he would suddenly reappear in his own home, to the surprise and

joy of his friends. He is represented as handsome and brave, and always

successful in expeditions against his enemies. He had a wonderful power

of metamorphosis, and, when necessary, could transform himself into an

animal or anything else. On one occasion he is said to have changed

himself into the fragment of a broken water-gourd, and was carried by

Ngelai in his basket to the battle. The enemy were too powerful for them,

and Ngelai and his friends were being defeated, when the basket was

placed on the ground, and Klieng revealed himself in his true character

of a great warrior, and in a very short time routed the enemy.

Klieng married Kumang, the Dyak Venus. Many stories concerning them are

set to native song. These _kana_ are sometimes sung by some Dyak singer,

who lies on a mat or sits on a swing in the dim light of the covered

veranda of the long Dyak house. His audience sit or lie around and listen

to him, very often till the small hours of the morning. The incidents

in a story thus sung are not many, but the Dyaks delight in verbosity

and amplification, and use a dozen similes where one would do, and love

to repeat over and over again the description of the various characters

in different words, with the double object of showing their command of

language and to lengthen the story.

They have many amusing tales told of Apai Saloi (the father of Saloi)—the

Simple Simon of the Dyaks. He is represented as doing the most foolish

things, and always outwitted by his enemy, Apai Samumang (the father of

Samumang), who does not hesitate to take advantage of his stupidity.

The following will give an idea of the kind of story related of Apai

Saloi:—One day he was paddling in his boat in the river, and his axe-head

fell into the water. He made a notch in the side of the boat to mark

the spot where the axe-head dropped into the water, and paddled home.

“There will be plenty of time,” he said, “for me to look for it to-morrow

morning.” He reached the landing-stage of his house, and pulled his boat

up the bank. The next day he went to the boat and looked for his lost

axe-head underneath the part of the boat where he saw the notch he had

made the day before. He was very much surprised at not finding his lost

axe-head!

But what seems to give the Dyaks most pleasure are tales about animals,

especially those in which the cunning of the mouse-deer (_akal plandok_)

is displayed. The following are well known among them, and I have myself

often heard these related, with variations, by the Dyaks themselves. Very

often, in travelling by boat in Borneo, one has to wait for the turn of

the tide, and the Dyak boatmen on these occasions often relate some of

their old stories to each other to while away the time.

THE STORY OF THE MOUSE-DEER AND OTHER ANIMALS WHO WENT OUT FISHING.

Once upon a time the Mouse-Deer, accompanied by many other animals, went

on a fishing expedition. All day long they fished, and in the evening

returned to the little hut that they had put up by the river-side, salted

the fish that they had caught, and stored it up in their jars. They

noticed that somehow or other their fish disappeared day by day, and

the animals held a council to decide what it was best to do. After some

discussion the Deer said he would stay behind while the others went out

to fish, so that he might catch the thief.

“I shall be able to master him, whoever he is,” said the Deer. “If he

refuses to do what I wish, I shall soon punish him with my sharp horns.”

So the others went out fishing, leaving the Deer at home. Soon he heard

the tramp of someone coming to the foot of the steps leading up into the

hut, calling out:

“Is anyone at home?”

“I am here,” said the Deer. Looking out, he saw a great Giant, and his

heart failed him. He wished he had asked one of his companions to stay at

home with him.

“I smell some fish,” said the Giant. “I want some, and I must have it. I

am hungry. Let me have what I want.”

“It does not belong to me,” said the Deer in great fear. “It belongs to

the Pig, the Bear, the Tiger, and the Mouse-Deer. They would punish me

severely if I gave any of it to you.”

“Don’t talk to me in that way. If you do not let me have what I want, I

will eat you up,” said the Giant.

The Deer was too much awed by his visitor to attack the Giant, so he let

him eat the fish and take some away with him.

When his companions returned, the Deer gave them his account of the

Giant’s visit. They blamed him for his cowardice, and the Wild Boar said

he would keep watch the next day.

“If the Giant comes,” said he, “I will gore him with my tusks and trample

him underfoot.”

But he fared no better than the Deer, for when he saw the Giant, who

threatened to kill him if he refused to give him some fish, he was

afraid, and let him take as much as he wanted.

Great was the disgust of the others to find on their return that their

fish had again been stolen.

“Let me watch,” said the Bear. “No Giant shall frighten me. I will hug

him in my arms and scratch him with my sharp claws.”

So Bruin was left in charge the next day, while the others went out to

fish.

Soon he heard the Giant, who came to the foot of the steps and shouted:

“Hullo! who’s there?”

“I am,” said the Bear. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“I can smell some nice fish, and I am hungry, and want some.”

“I cannot let you have any,” said the Bear. “It does not belong to me.”

“Let me have some at once,” said the Giant in a voice of thunder, “before

I kill and eat you.”

The Bear was too much frightened to interfere while the Giant ransacked

the jars. When he had had enough, he bade the Bear “Good-bye” and went

off.

On the return of the other animals, the Tiger said he would put a stop to

this state of things. He would stay at home the next day and keep watch.

It would have to be a very strong Giant indeed that would dare to fight

him.

The Giant paid his visit as before, and when he found the Tiger at home,

he said that he was hungry, and asked for some fish. At first the Tiger

refused to give any to him, but when he saw his formidable enemy he was

afraid, and let him have as much as he wanted.

On their return again the animals found their fish had been stolen.

Then the Mouse-Deer spoke. “I see,” he said, “that it is no use depending

on you others. You boast, but when the time comes for action, you have no

courage. I will stay at home and secure this Giant that you speak of.”

When his companions had gone away the next morning, the Mouse-Deer put a

bandage round his forehead and lay down.

Soon came the Giant, and shouted: “Who’s there?”

“Only me,” said the Mouse-Deer, groaning with pain. “Come up, whoever you

may be.”

The Giant climbed up the rickety steps, and saw the Mouse-Deer lying with

his head bandaged.

“What is the matter with you?” asked the Giant.

“I have a headache,” was the answer.

“Whatever has given you the headache?” asked the Giant.

“Can’t you guess?” said the Mouse-Deer. “It is the smell of this fish in

these jars. It is so strong it is enough to make anyone ill. Don’t you

feel ill yourself?”

“I think I do,” said the Giant. “Cannot you give me some medicine?”

“I have no medicine with me,” said the Mouse-Deer, “but I can bandage

you, as I have done myself, and it is sure to do you good.”

“Thank you,” said the Giant. “It is good of you to take the trouble to

cure me.”

So the Giant lay down as he was bid, while the Mouse-Deer bandaged his

head, and fastened the ends of the bandage to pegs which he drove in the

ground under the open flooring of the hut.

“Don’t you feel a little pain in your ankles?” anxiously suggested the

Mouse-Deer.

“I think I do,” said the foolish Giant. “Suppose you bandage them, too.”

So the Mouse-Deer, chuckling to himself, bandaged his ankles, and made

them fast to the floor of the hut.

“Do you not feel the pain in your legs?” asked the Mouse-Deer.

“I think I do,” was the foolish Giant’s reply.

So the Mouse-Deer bandaged his legs and made them secure, so that the

Giant was quite unable to move.

By this time the Giant began to feel uneasy, and trying to get up, and

finding himself securely bound, he struggled and roared in pain and anger.

The little Mouse-Deer sat before him and laughed, and said:

“You were a match for the Deer, the Pig, the Bear, and the Tiger, but

you are defeated by me. Don’t make so much noise, or I shall drive a peg

through your temples and kill you.”

Just then the others returned from their fishing. Great was their joy to

find their enemy securely bound. With cries of triumph they fell upon the

Giant and killed him, and praised the Mouse-Deer for his cleverness in

securing him.

THE STORY OF THE MOUSE-DEER, THE DEER AND THE PIG.

A Mouse-Deer wandering in the jungle fell into a pit. He could not get

out, so he waited patiently for some passer-by. Presently a Pig passed by

the mouth of the pit. The Mouse-Deer called out to him, and he looked in

and asked the Mouse-Deer what he was doing there.

“Don’t you know what is going to happen? The sky is going to fall down,

and everybody will be crushed to dust unless he takes shelter in a pit.

If you want to save your life you had better jump in.”

The Pig jumped into the pit, and the Mouse-Deer got on his back, but he

found he was not high enough to enable him to leap out.

Next a Deer came along, and, seeing the two animals in the pit, asked

them what they were doing there.

The Mouse-Deer replied: “The sky is going to fall, and everyone will be

crushed unless he hides in some hole. Jump in if you want to save your

life.”

The Deer sprang in, and the Mouse-Deer made him stand on the back of the

Pig; then he himself got on the back of the Deer and jumped out of the

pit, leaving the other two to their fate.

The Deer and the Pig were very angry at being tricked in this way by

such a small animal as the Mouse-Deer. They scratched the side of the

pit until it sloped, and enabled them to get out; then they followed the

trail of the Mouse-Deer, and soon overtook him.

The Mouse-Deer saw them coming, and climbed up a tree, from the boughs of

which a large beehive was hanging.

“Come down,” said the Pig and Deer angrily. “You have deceived us, and we

mean to kill you.”

“Deceived you?” said the Mouse-Deer. “When did I deceive you, or do

anything to deserve death?”

“Didn’t you tell us that the sky was going to fall, and that if we did

not hide ourselves in a pit we should be killed?”

“Oh yes,” was the reply. “What I said was perfectly true, only I

persuaded the King to postpone the disaster.”

“You need not try to put us off with any more lies. You must come down,

for we mean to have your blood.”