The home-life of Borneo head-hunters

There are two varieties of Tuba[15] known to the natives, and used by them to poison fish in streams; these two varieties are called by them ‘Tuba Berábut,’—a shrub, and ‘Tuba Ja Jaran,’—a creeper; Tuba Berábut is more generally used, and is known to Botany as Derris elliptica. The poison is extracted from the bark of the creeper, and from the tubers and roots of the shrub. It seems to kill the fish by suffocation, and does not injure them for food; and as they do not die at once, but rise to the surface of the water, and dart hither and thither to evade the poison, there is not a little sport in spearing them or scooping them up in nets; at any rate, a Tuba-fishing is made a great occasion by all the tribes, and furnishes almost as fruitful a topic of conversation as a war expedition. To none of the tribes is the sport more attractive than to the Kenyahs, who live in the mountainous districts of the interior of the island.

The streams usually selected for this form of fishing, are the tributaries of the larger rivers,—mountain streams as clear and cool as crystal, flowing over pebbly beds. High over-arching trees, draped and festooned with ferns, orchids, and vines, ward off the heat of the sun and tone down its glare to that emerald, translucent green of damp, dense tropical forests. The swish and tinkle of the water as it rushes over the rapids above and below the deep pools which the fish frequent, and the musical calls of the Wawa monkeys, alone break the stillness, until the arrival of the merry, happy party of fishers from a Kenyah long-house. The women are bedecked in their finery of gay head-gear and bright bead-work necklaces. The young, unmarried damsels prove to be the life of the party, and are endlessly chaffing their lovers; the sidelong glances from beneath palm-leaf hats are as arch and coquettish as any ever cast from behind a spangled fan. Fun and innocent frolic rule supreme as the canoes race and jostle with each other round sharp turns where the stream runs swift, or over the turbulent rapids. The women catch the excitement of the fierce, desperate paddling; they stand up to the work, their jet-black hair streams over their shoulders, their tawny bodies sway with the boat as they dash from their paddles the ‘tender, curving lines of creamy spray.’ The men shout in triumph or laugh in defeat; and even the old crones cackle and urge on the youths to the sport. The scene is idyllic; there is nothing to revolt, everything to charm. Careless, untamed life amid a tropical jungle is to be seen at its very fairest on one of these Tuba-fishings among the Kenyahs.

The best time for the sport is during the dry season, when the rivers are low and the stones, left bare on the wide banks of the river, supply material for the dams, where the fish may be ‘rounded up.’ A dam is built of loose stones, either straight across the river, or else in a wedge-shape with the point up-stream, thus forcing the fish close to the bank on each side, where the chase is to end. When it has been built about eighteen inches high, a platform of rattans, with little fences at the sides, is placed in the centre of the dam or wherever the fish will be apt to congregate. The up-river end of this platform rests on the bottom of the stream, and the down-river end is about on a level with the surface of the water. In their mad endeavour to escape the suffocating poison, the fish make futile attempts to leap the dam, but by the force of the stream and their own exertions they land on the platform, where an active watcher deals death to them with a stick.

The day before the expedition, all who wish to have a share in the fish must contribute a due proportion of Tuba root, which is gathered in the jungle and scorched over a fire to make it more virulent. After the Tuba has been gathered and the day appointed for the fishing, then so much as even to breathe the name of Tuba is forbidden; if reference must be made to it, then it is to be called ‘pakat Abong;’ Abong is a strong-smelling root something like Tuba, and pakat means to agree upon; thus, ‘pakat Abong’ means what we have agreed to call Abong. This concealment of the truth deceives all the bats, birds, and insects, which are always keen to report to the fish all the sayings and doings of men, and, as Tuba has not been mentioned, no warning can be given. On one occasion, after a Tuba-fishing had been planned for the morrow, one of our party noticed a man with a bundle of roots, which he recognised as Tuba, and, following the usual Bornean custom of asking a question when at loss for a subject of conversation, inquired what was in the bundle. The reply was ‘pakat Abong.’ ‘Indeed,’ said the questioner, ‘I thought it looked like Tuba.’ At this mention of the fatal word, woe-begone looks passed round and every countenance fell, whereupon the Chief explained: ‘We Kenyahs call that root Abong when we wish to use its white juice, and those animals which live in the water [avoiding the word fish] we call “Daun” [leaves] which float down stream; did we not do so, when we want to stupefy them with this juice, those good-for-nothing, prying beetles called “Balli sunggong,” or some other friends of the leaves such as the bats, or some kind of bird, would instantly carry the news of our intentions, and then where would be the use of all of our preparations? The leaves would quickly disperse, and we should have to return from our pleasant excursion empty-handed and hungry. They might even invoke their powerful charm-working leaf,—the bony Balira,—to call down heavy rains and make the streams rushing torrents, and then good-bye to all our sport. But calling things by their wrong names, we fool these leaves that float down stream, and have a good day’s sport out of them.’

The ‘Balira,’ a fish full of bones and worthless as food, is supposed to be the Dayong of the fish. The legend runs that the fishes, aware that there was none among them who would devote himself to working charms, determined to elect a Dayong. No fish could be found to accept the office until, finally, the Balira offered his services on condition that every fish should give him one of his bones. They all agreed, with the result that now the Balira is choke full of bones, and a very skilful worker of charms to counteract the plans of mankind.

The boats assemble about a quarter of a mile above where the dam has been built in the river. On the bank, logs are placed, whereon the Tuba roots are pounded to a pulp, which is then swashed round and squeezed out in some of the smaller canoes, which have been half filled with water. The men pound, keeping time with their blows; and again and again the pulp is washed in the canoes until every drop of the sticky, white juice has been extracted. Then whitish clay or lime is mixed with the poison, to make it sink and spread through the water. Sometimes as much as two or three hundred weight of roots are pounded up for one fishing, the amount, of course, depending on the size of the stream. But before any poison is cast in, a certain quantity must be set aside for the Spirits. One of the party, therefore, goes a little further up the stream to some insignificant pool which has been left on the pebbly bank, (wherein—alas! for poor human nature,—any one could see with half an eye that there was no fish,) and, pouring in the Tuba juice, he calls out:—‘O Spirits of the Rocks! of the Wood! of the Smooth, Flat Stones! of the Karangans! of the Earth! and of the Leaves! here in this pool is your share of the numberless fish! Spoil not our sport by any interference!’

After this generous sacrifice has been made to the superior Powers, all the boats assemble round the canoes containing the poison, which are then suddenly tipped over, and the milk-white paste sinks to the bottom and contaminates all the water. One man in a small canoe goes in advance of all the rest, and the first fish that rises to the surface is caught in a scoop-net and thrown out on the bank; at the same instant the man again shouts to the Spirits that this fish is for them, and that they ought not grudge the small share that will probably fall to the lot of the party. This pious duty having been performed, the fun at once grows fast and furious. With shouts and splashes and jeers and laughter, all the canoes plunge into the chase after the fish which rise to the surface. As every where under the cope of heaven, here, too, the funny man is on hand, and laughs uproariously at his own fun after he has excitedly given false directions as to where the largest fish are coming up, and mocking those who miss their game; boats get entangled, but an occasional upset creates no ill feeling; the occupants are soon back in their places, and engrossed with spearing and scooping up the fish. The very old and the very young are stationed on the bank to catch the small fish or to drive the larger ones from their hiding-places under the overhanging roots and branches.

So the whole party slowly drift down-stream, heaping their boats with the stupefied game until they reach the dam, where the man stationed on the rattan platform, or ‘Bering,’ has had a busy time of it, too; not only has he had to see to it that no fish escape, but he has also to keep a very keen look-out for his own safety; many of the fish have sharp, poisonous spines, which, if he be not careful, make ugly and excruciatingly painful wounds in his feet.

When all the fish possible have been caught, the party disembark, and fires are lit beneath green-wood platforms whereon the fish are spread after having been split and salted for future use. The plumpest and largest are always cooked and eaten on the spot by the keen-set fishermen, who revel, even to gorging, in the dainty change from their monotonous daily fare of boiled rice and dried salted fish.

With canoes, and hampers, and bodies filled, as the low descending sun sends shafts of amber light down the long reaches of the river, the fishers again embark, and lazily dip their paddles in the glowing water as the current drifts them on their homeward way. The red-letter day is over, but the joy of it remains for ever in the laughing gossip round the evening hearth.