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.

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.”

“I cannot,” said the Mouse-Deer, “because the King has asked me to watch his gong,” pointing to the bee’s-nest.

“Is that the King’s gong?” said the Deer. “I should like to strike it to hear what it sounds like.”

“So you may,” said the Mouse-Deer, “only let me get down and go to some distance before you do so, as the noise would deafen me.”

So the Mouse-Deer sprang down and ran away. The Deer took a long stick and struck the bee’s-nest, and the bees flew out angrily and stung him to death.

The Pig, seeing what had happened, pursued the Mouse-Deer, determined to avenge the death of his friend. He found his enemy taking refuge on a tree round the trunk of which was a large python curled.

“Come down,” said the Pig, “and I will kill you.”

“I cannot come down to-day. I am set here to watch the King’s girdle. Look at it,” he said, pointing to the Python. “Is it not pretty? I have never seen such a handsome waist-belt before.”

“It is beautiful,” said the Pig. “How I should like to wear it for one day!”

“So you may,” said the Mouse-Deer, “but be careful, and do not spoil it.”

So the foolish Pig entangled himself in the folds of the Python, who soon crushed him to death and ate him for his dinner, and the clever Mouse-Deer escaped, having outwitted his enemies.

Sea Dyak Proverbs.

King Solomon, we are told, “spake three thousand proverbs,” and many of these, as well as proverbs of an older date, have been handed down to us in a more or less authentic form. A translation of them into English is to be found in a well-known book. King Solomon was perhaps the first to make a collection of proverbs, but long before his time proverbs were in common use. It would seem that in every age and in every clime the existence of language is accompanied by the existence of proverbs.

The Sea Dyaks have their proverbs, and these remind us of the lines:—