soaked my leg in hot water and massaged it; then we painted it with
iodine and bandaged it tight. By the time the procession arrived, I
was ready to give Omar and Munshee orders about the new cage.
While the women prepared the feast of chicken, rice and sugar-cakes,
the men went into the jungle again and cut logs eight feet long and
from six to eight inches in diameter. These they drove two feet into
the ground, placing them not more than three inches apart, so as to
form a cage eight feet long and three feet wide. Then they bound
them together tightly with rattan ropes, and made and lashed down a
strong roof of logs. One end of the cage was left open for the
animals to enter.
Propped up on my litter, I directed the work; then I was carried
while I made a careful inspection of it. When the cage was ready,
the orang-outangs were brought up to the open end, the poles were
drawn out and the slip-knot of the outer net was loosened. By using
poles and working at a respectful distance, the men forced into the
cage the single net containing the animals; then they drove the
end-bars into the ground and lashed them. Finally, by working
between the bars, they loosened the slip-knot of the net and left the
orang-outangs free to untangle themselves.
By the time the job was finished, I was exhausted by the fever, and
my leg was paining me unbearably. I thanked the men for their good
work and was carried back to Omar's house. The people were
disappointed that I could not take part in the great celebration they
were preparing, and deputations arrived at the house to ask if they
could do anything for me. In a hundred different ways they showed
their concern for me and their kindness, and I know that they would
have dispensed gladly with their merrymaking if I had intimated that
the noise might keep me awake. Sleep was, of course, out of the
question, but not because of the noise; my leg was puffed and
swollen, and the fever was growing worse. Outside, I could hear the
people celebrating. The ceremonies began with the funeral of the man
that had been killed and they lasted until daybreak.
In the morning I sent for Munshee and told him that it would be
necessary for me to go down the river to Sintang, where Dr. Van Erman
lived. He selected four of his fastest boatmen and sent them off to
the doctor with the message that I was coming. Their orders were
that they might stop at Nanaoh-Pinoh to eat, but that they were not
to rest until the message was delivered. Just as soon as they were
out of the way, Munshee turned to preparing a boat for me; an awning
made of palm-leaves was put over the center and a bed arranged.
I left Omar in charge of the orang-outangs, with Ali to assist him.
Ali objected to being left behind, but I explained to him that he
could be of greatest service to me by staying. He was to see that
the orang-outangs were fed and watered and to have the natives trap
other animals for me. I instructed Omar to build a shed over the
cage and to place a fence around it, so that none of the natives
could venture too close.
When my boat was ready, all the people of the kampong were on hand to
bid me good-by and wish me a speedy recovery. Munshee steered and
six men paddled. Another boat followed with my supplies. I went
down the river, thinking that I had never found a kinder, more
hospitable people than these, who are known throughout the world as
savages and head-hunters.
My fever grew worse and worse and I became delirious. I did not know
until later that Munshee urged the men on, hour after hour, until we
overtook the messenger boat. The last thing that I remember of the
trip was that everything became a blur. The men who were paddling,
the river with its green banks, Munshee, the awning over my head and
the coolie boy all whirled around and grew indistinct. I was
unconscious when we reached Sintang.
Two days later I awoke in Dr. Van Erman's house and was unable for
some time to realize where I was and why I was there. The doctor
came in and talked with me for a few minutes. He said that I would
be well in two weeks and that my leg was not badly damaged. Then I
drifted off to sleep again.
The next day I felt stronger, and the doctor repeated some of the
tales the natives were telling about the capture of the orang-outangs
and the death of the crocodile. The stories had improved with age,
and so I told him what had actually happened.
"Mahommed Munshee has been waiting here for you to get well," said
the doctor. "I think he'd like to see you--if you don't mind."
Munshee came in, beaming with delight. Taking my hand and pressing
it to his forehead, he told me that only one chosen by "God and
Prophet" could recover from the fever and the sickness caused by the
paw of an orang-outang. All of the villagers, he said, had been
making offerings to the different deities for my recovery, and the
people would be happy to hear that Tûan was well again. I told him
that I would return with him to Omar's kampong within two weeks, and
he left, promising to come for me.
The days at Dr. Van Erman's house passed quickly and pleasantly. I
found him a thoroughly fine man, as well as a fine doctor, and I
enjoyed his companionship. Under his care I rapidly threw off the
fever, and my leg healed so that I could get about with little
difficulty. The ankle had been dislocated by the grip of the
orang-outang's paw, and the tendons badly strained.
By the time Mahommed Munshee came for me, I was quite ready to go up
the river. I had seen enough of the country to know that the jungles
were full of animals, and I wanted to capture as many as possible
before starting back for Singapore. Munshee said that the
orang-outangs were in good health and that Omar's men, working with
Ali, had made many captures. Dr. Van Erman cashed a draft for me, so
that I should have silver money to distribute to the natives who had
helped me, and I started up the river, promising to stop on my way
down so that the doctor could see the animals.
At Munshee's request, I stopped overnight in his village. The people
gave me a royal welcome and we had a fine celebration. The news of
my coming went ahead of us, and Omar and Ali came down the river,
meeting us two hours' distance below the kampong. They gave me an
enthusiastic reception and I was touched by their affection. We
rowed on up the river and, when we reached Omar's village, I found
that the people had been busy for days, preparing the festivities in
honor of my return.
After greeting the people, I went directly to the cage of the
orang-outangs. They showed little fight, and I was encouraged to
find that they were not too despondent. I did not want to risk
transporting them until they had become thoroughly accustomed to
captivity--or at least as much accustomed to it as is possible for
orang-outangs. For homesickness grips them just as it grips human
beings, and they become pitiable objects. If they refuse to eat, it
is scarcely worth while to spend time and money in transporting them,
for seasickness and the excitement of traveling will kill them. I
had been lucky enough to find my captives eating quietly and taking
life calmly.
The celebration lasted until dawn, but I excused myself early and
went to bed. Omar explained to his people that I would become ill
again unless I rested, and they escorted me to the house with all the
ceremonious attention that they would have shown to royalty. I did
not appreciate at the time quite how near I was to being a royal
person in their eyes; but I found out later that Ali, during my
absence, had been absolutely shameless in the tales he told about me.
I habitually dined with sultans and rajas; I was an exorcist,
renowned the world over; I feared no _hantu_ (ghost) and, in
addition, to all that, I was a master of _hobatan_ (magic), who, by
using his powers, could capture elephants as if they were monkeys.
But, apart from Ali's stories, the people liked me because I had
engineered the capture of the beasts that had been terrorizing them.
And I liked them better than any other people I had met in all my
travels.
Before beginning the work of capturing other animals, I turned my
attention to preparing the transportation cages. These were three
feet wide, three feet high and five and a half feet long--just large
enough to hold the orangs, without giving them any chance to wrench
at the bars. They sat clutching each other while we placed the
transportation cages at each end of the big cage. Occasionally they
snarled at us and reached out between the bars. Natives armed with
sharpened poles held them back. Then, by poking and prodding, we
separated them and ran bars through the center of the big cage.
These operations excited the beasts so greatly that we left off work
for the day. The next morning we went to the cage again and cut away
the end-bars so that the animals could enter their transportation
cages. These gave them more room, and I stationed an extra guard
over them with instructions to call me immediately if they began to
tear at the bars. Ali spent practically all of his time there,
talking to them and feeding them. Gradually they became accustomed
to him, and, although they were far from accepting him as a friend,
they did know him and realize that he was not there to hurt or annoy
them. All others, except the headmen and myself, were kept away from
the cages.
Food was always placed in the transportation cages, and, since the
animals were deprived of each other's company, they became accustomed
to spending their time in them. That, of course, was exactly what I
wanted, and the prospects looked more encouraging each day.
We spent the next two weeks in trapping and snaring, and I kept the
men of the kampong busy all the time, either at collecting the
animals or at building cages for them. I was fortunate enough to get
one proboscis monkey. It is a rare, long-nosed species, difficult to
capture. My standing orders from zoölogical gardens all over the
world always included one of these creatures, but this was the only
one I ever caught. We found him hopelessly tangled in a net we had
put up near a watering place. He was a fine specimen, two feet high,
with long arms, legs and tail, and a nose that measured two inches.
Netting animals in the way in which we caught this monkey is one of
the easiest and best modes of collecting. The size of the net and of
the meshes will depend entirely upon what one hopes to capture. Our
nets varied from eight feet square to fifteen feet long by ten feet
wide. The meshes measured from two to four inches. The net is
placed at a spot where animals are sure to pass; it is suspended
across the trail and held in place by light bamboo poles. Leaves and
grass are scattered over it until it cannot be distinguished from the
ground. When an animal steps into it, the net falls and he begins to
struggle instead of quietly, working his way out. Within a minute he
has himself so tangled in the meshes that it is sometimes necessary
to cut the net to get him out. One great advantage connected with
this method of trapping is that the animal is never injured; he
simply wears himself out and then, exhausted, stays in the net until
some one comes along to release him. A cat animal, for example,
comes running into a net; its feet catch and it goes tumbling,
rolling over and over, roaring and pawing. In a few seconds it
becomes so tangled that it cannot move an inch. Its cries bring the
men who have been posted as lookouts, and they carry it back to the
kampong on poles.
Contrary to the general idea, cat animals, such as tigers and
leopards, are the easiest to catch in traps as well as nets. The
work is as simple as baiting a rat-trap and it requires little
sagacity. A box-trap with a spring-door will make a catch time after
time, with no more trouble than transferring the animal to a
transportation cage and rebaiting the trap with a chicken or a small
goat. It is wise to allow a fairly long runway between door and bait
so that the captive will not be injured when the door springs shut.
After recovering from the surprise of finding itself trapped, the
animal eats the bait, which supplies it with food until the natives
come along on their regular tours of inspection. It is just routine
work, involving but little excitement.
Among the animals we captured while working from Omar's kampong were
three gibbons, or wahwahs. These are also known as flying gibbons,
because they make such long leaps from tree to tree. They are a
tailless breed of monkey, rather rare and extremely difficult to
catch. Once captured, they become affectionate pets and they command
a good price for that reason. They have soft, downy, light brown,
silver-gray or yellow hair, black faces and large, round, expressive
eyes.
The work of trapping and snaring went along steadily during the ten
days I spent with Omar. By; the time the orang-outangs were ready to
travel, we had three gibbons, four baby orang-outangs, one
proboscis-monkey, ten black monkeys, eighteen long-tailed monkeys,
twenty-two pig-tailed monkeys, three pythons, which averaged eight
feet in length, two sambur deer, one sun-bear, three wildcats, four
civet-cats, four porcupines, one ant-eater and two armadillos.
We slipped the bars over the open ends of the cages in which the big
fellows were to travel, and lashed them securely with rattan ropes.
Since the boats at the kampong were too small, I had two large rafts
made of bamboo and I placed all the cages on them.
When everything was ready, we boarded the boats and rafts and started
down the river. The people lined the banks, shouting and wishing us
a safe journey; others followed us in boats. At each village, the
natives swarmed out to see the animals and wish us luck. I can still
hear them calling: "_Tûan, bîla bâlik? Salâm-at jalân!_ (Sir, when
will you come back? Safe journey!)"
We stopped at Mahommed Munshee's village, and then at Sintang. I
found that Dr. Van Erman had gone down to Pontianak. Another swarm
of natives met us when we arrived there, and I had to station my men
around the rafts to keep them from coming aboard.
Leaving Ali in charge of the animals, I went ashore and found that a
steamer was sailing for Singapore the next morning. I made
arrangements for shipping, and then went to the Resident's house to
pay my respects. Dr. Van Erman was there and, after luncheon, I took
the Resident and the doctor out to see my catch. The Resident was
profuse in his congratulations and he confirmed my belief that the
orang-outangs were the largest ever captured in Borneo.
Omar and Munshee assisted in the work of loading the crates on the
steamer, because they felt that their obligation to me did not end
until we had the animals clear of Borneo. I felt, of course, that I
was under obligation to them for all the fine work they and their
people had done for me, and I wanted them to accept some money for
their services. They refused at first but finally they gave in.
From their point of view, they had made sufficient profit, merely in
prestige, both with their own people and with the Resident. I made
them my agents in their districts and took them with me to the
offices of the steamship company while I arranged to have any animals
they brought to Pontianak shipped to me at Singapore. When we sailed
the next day, they were in their boats alongside, waving and yelling.
There was great excitement in Singapore when the story of the
orang-outangs got about. Hordes of people came to see them unloaded.
I called upon the police to keep the crowd back, for I was afraid the
excitement might be too much for the beasts.
At my animal house, I put them in a quiet spot and left Ali in charge
with strict orders against letting too many people come to see them.
Then I went to the cable office and sent to the Antwerp Zoölogical
Gardens news of the capture.
There was no question in my mind as to what the answer to my
cablegram would be, and, before it arrived, I made all the
arrangements for shipping. Antwerp offered $10,000 each for the
animals delivered. I knew that I could get offers of $25,000 or more
in the United States, but that the orangs would not be able to stand
the voyage. I sent another message to Antwerp, saying that I was
sailing and requesting that arrangements be made for shipping by rail
from Marseilles.
A few days later, the cages were swung aboard and we started
eastward. Ali accompanied me to care for the animals.
From the moment the steamer headed out to sea, the orang-outangs
began to fail. They became deathly seasick, especially the female,
and refused food. Ali and I were with them constantly, tempting
their appetites with choice bits of food and doing everything
possible to make them comfortable. The male grew better but the
female lost strength rapidly. Finally she slumped down to the floor
of the cage, unable to sit up; she paid no attention to us when we
reached into the cage and touched her.
One morning she curled up on the floor, buried her face in her arms
and died. Through her death I lost a great deal of money, but I
could not help feeling relieved. She had been so abjectly miserable
and she had seemed so human in her suffering! I have often wondered
if the male had any idea that she was dead. He ceased to improve in
health and he became morose. Many days of anxiety followed; every
minute I expected the message that the poor fellow was dying.
The ship's carpenter built a vat, and we "pickled" the body of the
female in salt water. I knew that some natural history museum would
be glad to have such a specimen for mounting. We steamed into the
harbor at Marseilles with the male still alive, and I thought that
there was an even chance of getting him to Antwerp if the people
there had followed my instructions and arranged transportation. An
agent met me at the dock. Everything was prepared for us, and we
lost no time in getting the beast to the train.
When we reached Antwerp, I felt like standing on the platform and
whooping. My job was finished.
The men from the Gardens took charge and rushed the orang-outang out
to the cage that had been built to receive him. We ran the
transportation cage up to the door and cut away the bars. The
orang-outang came out slowly, like a tired and sick old man. He was
not interested in his new surroundings and he pushed away the food
that we put before him. Veterinarians could do nothing for him. Ten
days later he died.
Ali and I remained in Antwerp for several weeks. It was Ali's first
trip to Europe, and not a very enjoyable one. He was bewildered and
puzzled; he could not understand such a country. Only once did he
venture out of the hotel without me, and then he did not go out of
sight. He slept in my room on the floor--he would have nothing to do
with a bed--and he would touch no food that was not vouched for by me.
When we boarded the boat that was to take us back to the Far East,
Ali's face brightened. He had had a wonderful experience, but he
said: "Oh, tûan, I am happy to go home: I would not live here."
VI
"KILLING A MAN-EATER"
Before describing my experience with a man-eating tiger, I want to
tell something of their habits and the usual methods of hunting them.
There are three classes of tiger, the game killer, the cattle killer
and the man-eater.
The game killer confines himself to heavy jungle amongst the hills,
where he keeps to the feeding-grounds and resorts of game; he is a
great killer of deer and wild pigs; he shuns the haunts of man and
wanders in the jungle at all hours.
They are lighter and more active than the cattle killer. Doubtless
the reason is that they have to travel farther for their food.
The terror inspired throughout a district by a man-eating tiger is
extreme and the natives are only safe in numbers. The rapidity and
certainty of its movements form the chief element of the terror it
causes; it is generally an old tiger or tigress, or one that has been
wounded or otherwise hurt, and has been unable to procure its food in
its usual way.
Cattle-killing tigers frequent jungle close to villages and seize a
victim amongst cattle where they graze, or pick up a stray animal
about the villages at night.
The largest tigers are found amongst the habitual cattle killers.
When a tiger becomes old and fat he usually settles down in some
locality where beef and water are plentiful, and here he lives on
amicable terms with the villages, killing a cow or bullock about once
in four or five days.
A full grown, large tiger would have no chance in a fair fight with a
bull-bison; the latter's brawny throat, with its hide one and a half
inches thick, would afford him a difficult hold, even could he attain
it, and no wrench could dislocate the bison's powerful neck, while
the tiger would be crushed out of all recognition if once caught
between the ground and the bison's massive forehead or forelegs.
I have never witnessed a tiger actually seize its prey, but it has
been described to me by natives who have seen them many times while
tending cattle. The general method is for the tiger to slink up
under cover of bushes or long grass ahead of the cattle and to make a
rush at the first cow or bullock that comes within five or six yards.
The tiger does not "spring" upon his prey in the manner usually
represented, but clutching the bullock's forequarters with his paws,
one being generally over the shoulder, he seizes the throat in his
jaws from underneath and turns it upwards and over, sometimes,
springing to the far side in doing so to throw the bullock over and
give the wrench which dislocates its neck.
The popular belief that a tiger can kill his prey by a stroke is
erroneous. I have never seen anything to support this belief nor is
it held by natives. I have seen several cattle severely lacerated
which had escaped from tigers, where had a heavy blow accompanied the
strokes of the paws, bones must have been broken.
There is no foundation for the belief in tigers sucking the blood of
their victims; the jugular vein is seldom if ever injured; it is by
the fracturing of the vertibræ, not by blood-letting, that the
tiger's prey is deprived of life. In eating, the tiger invariably
commences at the hindquarters and the exact spot where the first
mouthful will be taken can be told with certainty.
The flesh of one or both thighs, and sometimes the flanks, or about
fifty or sixty pounds of meat is eaten the first night.
Tigers seldom lie up far from their kill if the cover be thick and
quiet; they eat whenever inclined either by day or night till the
carcass is finished; this is usually on the third day; but of course,
this depends upon the size of the animal killed. After or during a
meal the tiger drinks largely, often walking belly deep into the
water.
Tigers' power of enduring hunger and thirst is very great. Once we
surrounded with nets a tiger, tigress and a leopard. We shot the
leopard the first day, but the enclosed thicket was so dense that we
could not get the tigers to show, but on the fifth day we wounded
them both. After this, as nothing would make them break cover, I
sent for elephants and killed them still full of vigor on the tenth
day. The circle in which they were enclosed was about seventy yards
in diameter, and the heat of the fires kept up night and day was
considerable, yet they existed without a drop of water for ten days,
suffering from wounds half the time. A tiger can go much longer than
this without serious inconvenience. One of the most powerful
elements in the tiger's attack is his voice. If the attack be
commenced very near, the startling, coughing roar is almost
paralyzing to the coolest, but if the tiger has to come on from any
distance, he rarely does more than grunt, and the hunter's attention
is concentrated on the beast itself, so the demonstration passes
unnoticed.
The power of the tiger's voice at close quarters may be understood by
anyone who has had an opportunity of seeing a newly caged tiger; it
is almost impossible to watch the charge against the bars without
flinching, if standing within a yard or so of them, but if seen at
twenty yards distance it is nothing.
The tigress does not breed oftener than once in two years. They do
not breed at any fixed season. Cubs have been taken in March, May
and October.