Hose had arranged for us to go up the Limbang and the Madalam rivers, to walk across a low watershed, and to come down the Malinau, Tutau, and Baram to Claudetown. The greater part of this route was the ancient war-path of the Kayans of the Baram, when they went head hunting in the river basin of the Limbang; it is also a route by which gutta hunters travel.

We left Limbang at eight o’clock on the morning of the 16th January in the Gaselle, and steamed up the river trailing three boats behind us. Each goban, or canoe, was about forty feet long, three to four feet wide, and was covered with a palm-leaf roof. Strips of nipa palm had been fastened together by ratan to form a kind of mat, or kajang; a number of these were laid over a bamboo framework. The hull of each boat was a large dug-out, the sides of which were heightened with boards.

For many miles up its course the river maintains the same general character that it has at Limbang, except that it narrows and the nipa palms which line the banks below the station are no longer to be met with.

We anchored that afternoon at Lasas, and search was made for fresh boats and more men. One of our canoes, which leaked considerably, we wished to replace, and we needed an extra one. Matters did not look promising at night, but next morning, about 5.30 a.m., the requisite boats turned up, and we started in them about eight o’clock, the steamer returning to the fort.

The heavy goods were packed in the middle of each boat, and behind these was the space reserved for each passenger. Four or five men paddled in front, and one or two behind. We arrived at Tulu at five. We established ourselves in the only house of the village, which was about a hundred and thirty feet in length. Like most of the houses in Borneo, it was situated on the bank of the river, and was built on piles, so that the floor of the house was some ten feet above the ground. A log with deep notches in it served for a ladder. On climbing up this we found ourselves in a long gallery or verandah on the outer, or river, side of which were placed mats. Along the verandah were one or two fireplaces, above each of which was a small staging, and at one end of the verandah was a raised platform used as a lounge and sleeping-place. The side of the verandah that faced the river was more or less boarded up, but a long, narrow opening was left of such a height that people sitting on the mats could conveniently look out. As we paddled up the river we always saw faces looking out at us through this opening in the various houses that we passed; sometimes there was a long row of buff-coloured faces without any body being visible.

On the other side of the verandah are the domiciles, each of which opens by a separate door on to the verandah. A long house averages from four to sixty or more distinct households, or “doors” as they are officially termed. On the low partition walls of the domiciles were stacked large quantities of firewood, and hanging from the rafters were loops of strips of palm leaves ready for plaiting into mats. On the floor of the verandah close to the walls of the homes were Chinese vases, gongs, and other valuables, and suspended from deer antlers were parangs, bamboo boxes, and various small articles.

The floor was composed of split bamboos placed a little distance apart, like lattice-work. This kept the floors clean, as rubbish fell through, and a little water spilt on the floor soon cleansed the smooth bamboo of any dirt.

Below the house were the pigsties. The pigs were fed in wooden troughs, which could be raised by a cord suspended from the floor of the house. If one pig tried to get more than its share it was poked away from the trough by a long bamboo, which passed through the flooring. When the trough was slightly raised above the pigs’ heads the fowls could get their meal in peace.

After our evening meal Ray brought out the phonograph and gave a selection of Sea Dayak songs that he had obtained at Limbang. These caused great delight. We tried to get some of the natives of the village to sing into the machine, but they were too shy; at last one man made an attempt, which was both feeble and brief. Then a Brunei Malay, one of our crew, sang, but as he put his mouth too close to the trumpet the result was rather tinny. Altogether our hosts were satisfied, and we had the opportunity of seeing how these people express the emotion of pleasure.

We reached some rapids early the following morning; they were by no means formidable, and merely necessitated extra exertion in paddling or in poling. The excitement, however, was sufficient to cause the boatmen to shriek and call out to one another. When really excited the Sea Dayak is noisy, but not so much so, nor so demonstrative, as the Papuan. The natives are skilled boatmen, creeping along under the banks out of the swifter currents, and know how to take advantage of the lesser currents in the concave side of the bends, so that the boat takes a comparatively straight course, and as far as possible avoids the force of the stream.

On the morning of the nineteenth we entered the Madalam, an affluent which is distinctly narrower than the main stream, and our journey up it was more difficult, owing to the strength of the current and the numerous rapids. We landed in the afternoon on one of the shingle beaches or karangang that occur in the concavity of a bend of the river, or in other words, in the convexity of the bank, and immediately wood was chopped and a fire lit, a folding table was set up, and in a very short time a cup of afternoon tea was ready. After this we strolled about in the jungle and on the small beach, and shortly before sunset had a swim; there are no crocodiles to fear so far up the river. By this time our boatmen had finished making a sleeping-shed for us. It is surprising how quickly the natives will erect one of these huts. As there were three of us they made the hut about ten or twelve feet long and about six feet broad. A flooring of saplings or bamboos was raised two or three feet off the ground by poles running lengthwise; the roof was covered with kajangs from the boats; the ends were slightly walled with boughs, but the sides were open. This was of no consequence as the roof was low. To make everything more secure we threw our waterproof sheets over the kajangs and others over the floorings. With a couple of blankets and a pillow each, we had very comfortable quarters, safe from rain and damp.

We had a good dinner on the beach and turned in early.

The country we were passing through was a few years previously the scene of a little disturbance, and I have culled the following account of it from the Sarawak Gazette (vol. xxv., 1895) in order to illustrate some of the difficulties that the Government has had to contend against.

In December, 1894, Lahing, son of Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai, the chief of the Long Patas, went from the Tutau to the Pandaruan River with the avowed intention of collecting jungle produce, but when there, and only three hours’ walk from the Government Station at Limbang, he murdered three Kadayans and, with two of their heads as trophies, returned to his father’s house on the Tutau; the third man sunk in the river directly after he was killed, and so his head was not obtained. The heads were feasted in the house on their arrival, and news of this having reached the Resident of Baram, he at once ordered them to be given up and a deposit of $1,500 to be put in the fort. This was done, but the Rajah was not satisfied with the pledge, and ordered the Orang Kaya to pay a fine of $2,000, and to move back to the Baram District, for in the meantime he had shifted to the Madalam River. This the Orang Kaya refused to do, nor would he meet the Resident of Baram, but commenced building a house in the Madalam for himself and his people, who numbered about seventy families, to the annoyance of the peaceable inhabitants of the district, who had suffered on previous occasions from these men. The Resident of Limbang sent for the Orang Kaya to come down to the fort, but he refused to do so, and owing to the feeling of insecurity which was rife among the people of the Limbang, and the certain prospect of future disturbances should these men be allowed to settle in the Madalam, the Rajah decided that force must be employed to punish the aggressors, and restore tranquillity and confidence amongst the people in the Limbang.

The Rajah informed the Supreme Council on the 20th May, 1895, that Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai and his son Lahing in former times had been made use of by the Brunei Government for warlike purposes against the population of the Limbang. Since their arrival in the Madalam the Orang Kaya had on two occasions visited Brunei, where he was received in a friendly manner by H.H. the Sultan of Brunei and his Government.

Under these circumstances the Rajah did not consider it safe to permit this party to locate themselves in or near the Limbang and Brunei. He felt sure that if they were allowed to settle there further troubles and murders would ensue; he therefore intended to take steps to drive them out of the locality without delay. The Rajah further stated that the Resident of Limbang, Mr. Ricketts, had sent a message to call the Orang Kaya Tumonggong to come and see him, but that he declined to answer to the summons.

As regards the heads of the Kadayans murdered in Pandaruan, they were kept and feasted in the house of Lahing and his father, but were afterwards delivered up and sent to Baram fort with a deposit of $1,500, which the Resident of Baram, Mr. Hose, had required from them. These were to be detained in the fort as a guarantee for their future behaviour, until he could learn the Rajah’s decision on the case. In a despatch to Mr. Hose the Rajah had given instructions that either Lahing, the murderer, or his father should be sent to Kuching to be dealt with. As far as their lives were concerned, the deposit of money and the delivery of the heads would render them safe, but some more certain pledge to ensure peace for the future would be required, such as one or other of the two men being detained as a hostage for some years in Kuching. Up to recently the principal thing against the Orang Kaya and his followers had been their untrustworthy characters, but now they were guilty of actual murder. The immediate danger was that, having once committed themselves, and having been well received since the commission of the offences at Brunei, with its weak and anarchical state of government, they would, if allowed to settle near Limbang, keep the peaceable inhabitants, who depend upon Sarawak for protection, in a state of discomfort and alarm, and this must be avoided at all hazards.

The members of Council gave their opinion that it was absolutely necessary that these murderers should be treated as enemies, and should be driven out of Limbang; and they hoped that the strongest representations would be made to the Brunei Government to prevent a recurrence of such conduct.

Towards the end of May a punitive expedition was organised, consisting of sixty Malay and four hundred and sixty Sea Dayaks and two or three white officials. They manned in all about forty boats.

The rebels held out a flag of truce, but the advance party on the opposite side of the river could not see it, and it was not without much trouble that the attacking force was checked. Only four men were killed, and these lives would have been saved if the people had remained in the house as they were ordered to do.

The Dayak portion of the expeditionary force having been restrained and stationed to the rear, the Malays and Europeans advanced. Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai was summoned to surrender himself, and warned that should he refuse to do so the house would be attacked. After considerable delay, during which he made several excuses, he came out and went to the boats. The force then at once retired.

Lahing was found to be absent with a body of men in Baram, whither they had gone to bring over the remainder of the property from their old house.

The rebels had received news of the advance of the expedition on the day previous to its arrival. There were evident signs of an intention of showing resistance, but the Government forces came upon the Orang Kaya too suddenly for this, as he was not properly prepared, and many of his men were away. The reason given for this attack upon the Pandaruan people was that they had killed two Punans who were under the Orang Kaya; but this story was false, the true reason being that the Long Patas heard that the Kenyahs had killed several Sea Dayaks before, and they followed their example.

Our men got up at daylight on Friday, January 20th, and lit fires. We had breakfast about 6.45, and started again a little before eight. About 8.35 we were stopped by a tree that had fallen across the river, and it took an hour to cut through it. Had tiffin about noon, as usual on a shingle beach. Shortly afterwards we passed some low cliffs, and at three were stopped by a karangang across the river; but the men by removing the bigger stones soon cleared a passage, through which they dragged the boats. Near here wild mangoes grow on the steep banks. The fruit has a pleasant aromatic odour, but I did not much care for the flavour. Still, a little fresh fruit was an agreeable change.

We had a very heavy day on Saturday, or rather the boatmen had, as the Madalam was little more than a succession of shallows, up which the boats had either to be poled or hauled. At one place there was a steep, rocky rapid, indeed a cascade, where we had to unship all our baggage while the boats were hauled up a miniature waterfall. All day the men were nearly as often in the water as out of it; they worked very well and cheerfully. We stopped that afternoon at the junction of the Trunan (or Trikan) with the Madalam.

Sunday, January 22nd.—The Trikan is a very narrow river—practically a stream. We were now no longer bothered with shallows or rapids, but with trees that had fallen across the channel. Some of these we crept under, others were well above our heads, some we dodged round, while others had to be cut away.

We passed some durian trees, and the ripe fruit was floating in the water or had fallen on to the banks. Our men collected these with joy, and soon we had the extremely unpleasant odour of durian around us. Durian is a large fruit with long, hard spines. When ripe it is yellow and red externally; the thick rind has to be chopped open, and within four compartments are the large bean-like seeds, surrounded by a slimy paste which has a variable and indescribable taste. The first durian we tasted was on the steam launch going to Brunei; this was not quite ripe, and the stink of the fruit, combined with the hot oily smell of the engines, was not encouraging. We persevered, but the flavour was a mixture of slime, onions, and phosphorus, and all that afternoon and evening we had resurrection tastes of phosphorus. Wallace, in his Malay Archipelago, and others, have written in praise of durian; so there is another side to it, but our first experience was certainly not promising. The one I tasted in the Trikan was nothing like so unpleasant as the first two I tried. I made three attempts in all, and then gave up all hope of becoming a confirmed durian eater.

In about two and a half hours we came to a narrow channel, about five hundred yards long, cut by the Kayans for the passage of the war canoes, as the stream itself runs under a large rock. Shortly after passing this rock we heard a shout; we yelled, an answer was returned, and we were rejoiced to find we had made connection with the party sent to meet us.

It appears that Hose had left for the interior before hearing from Limbang that we had arrived. He took McDougall with him, as the famous and powerful chief, Tama Bulan, was very ill. Mr. R. S. Douglas, the Extra Officer of Baram, read Mr. Ricketts’ letter, and kindly came on himself with some men to meet us. He had started on Tuesday, the 17th, and arrived at the trysting-place half an hour before we did! He had gone about a hundred and ten miles by boat, and we had gone about ninety miles. The greater part of both our routes had been difficult travelling, and yet everything was so well arranged by Messrs. Hose, Ricketts, and Douglas that we synchronously arrived at the spot agreed upon in the depth of the jungle.

We soon settled our plans and then had tiffin. At two o’clock we started for our tramp across the watershed to the upper waters of the Malinau River. For about half-way we followed the track cut by the Kayans, along which they used to haul their canoes, and to facilitate this arduous labour they had lain trunks and poles transversely across the track. We had a rapid and interesting seven-mile walk through the jungle, and I made my first acquaintance with land leeches. We diverged from the main track to a narrower one, which led us several times over streams and small rivers, across which we had to wade.

About five o’clock we had reached the hut that Douglas had previously erected at the head waters of the Malinau. As the carriers could not transport the whole of our luggage on one trip we had to wait over the following day for them to fetch the remainder of our goods.

On the morning of January 24th we crossed the river and strolled in the jungle. Being what is known as “Old Jungle,” it was much more easy to walk in than “New Jungle,” as the tall forest trees, by cutting off light and air, prevent a dense undergrowth from springing up. Wherever land has been cleared and then allowed to revert to jungle the undergrowth has a chance, and a practically impenetrable tangled mass of vegetation results.

For the first time I saw various species of pitcher plants growing wild; some grow close to the ground, others climb to a height of about six feet. We also came across the forest paths made by wild pigs and by deer. Even in full sunshine the forests are dull and gloomy, and the lower vegetation reeks with moisture.

These jungles are inhabited by the simple nomadic Punans, who build rough shelters in which they sleep for a few nights, and then wander again in search of game and camphor trees.

As the last of our baggage did not come till midday, we could not start till after tiffin. Douglas and I went in the smallest boat, and it was very interesting shooting the very numerous rapids. How different it was going down stream compared with the laborious journey against the current! The boatmen built in a remarkably short time a very large hut to accommodate the whole party for the night.

We started at 6.30 a.m. on Wednesday, January 25th, passing Batu Jilama about seven o’clock. The river here flows past fine vertical limestone cliffs five hundred feet in height. The Dayaks have a legend about a winged ghost-tiger (remaung), which is supposed to inhabit the caves in these cliffs, and to fly from one side of the river to the other. The Dayaks are very fond of these tiger stories, but as this is not the Sea Dayak country we need not believe this particular yarn.

A short distance before the Malinau joins the Tutau there is a bluff in which is an old burial cave called Lobang Tulang. Hose and McDougall had already visited it, and had brought away two skulls and a great many bones, which must have belonged to at least thirty individuals. Douglas and I clambered up the cave and had a look round. The cave was a small one; great stalactites depended from the face of the cliff, which was largely clothed with vegetation. There was a beautiful view of the bend of the river and of the Mulu range beyond. That evening we slept in a Long-Pata house on the Tutau opposite the entrance of the Malinau.

We left early the following morning, had a halt for breakfast at 7.45, and travelled steadily all day, not landing again till we reached the Umu Belubu house. This long house was very similar to those we visited on the Limbang River. In the evening we had some borak, a ginlike spirit made from rice, and Ray gave the inhabitants some native songs on the phonograph, and I copied some patterns. This was the first time I had come across people belonging to the Kayan group. Douglas and I were tattooed on the arm early next morning by Balu Long who is perhaps the best tattooer in the Baram District; she is the old mother-in-law of the chief. The pattern was printed on the arm in charcoal or rather soot by means of a wooden slab on which the design was cut in relief, and then the impression was gone over three times with a tattooing needle tapped by an iron rod. The whole process took a little over an hour. It was by no means painful, and as we had previously disinfected the ink with thymol, the punctured skin healed quickly with very little inflammation.

The Kayan men have a device tattooed on the fore-arm and thigh; very frequently there is a rosette or circular design on the shoulder. The back of the hand and fingers are tattooed when the man has taken a head. More than once up-country women have asked me when I was going to have my hands tattooed!

The Kayan women are tattooed all over the fore-arm and over the back of the hand. The thighs are richly tattooed and the upper surface of the foot and toes.

We left our friends in this house about ten o’clock, and reached Batu Blah about three o’clock. Here the natives were building a large long-house, and in the meantime resided in comparatively small houses. Close by the village was a small cemetery, in which was one pillar tomb boldly carved with spiral designs below a human face. It was the funeral post of a chief, whose body was pressed into a jar let into the top of the pillar.

We had tea here, and then proceeded on our journey. About six we reached the elongated house of the Orang Bukit at Long Linai. The Orang Bukits are a branch of the Kadayans, but, unlike the Kadayans of the coast, they are not Mohammedans. The Lucille, the Government river steamer for the Baram district, was waiting for us here.

After dinner we witnessed a most interesting Berantu ceremony, a magical ritual, which was employed in this instance to cure a sick woman.

Towards one end of the long verandah the floor was covered with mats, in the centre of which and depending from a rafter was a streamer (lare) of the frayed leaves of the areca palm; beneath, and partially covered by the ends of the lare, was a brass Brunei salver, on which were placed various folded cloths and garments. Around the salver were distributed the spathe of the blossoms of the areca palm containing the flower spikes, some leaves of the serimbangung and daunlong (a caladium), a wooden image of a woman (anak jilama), an empty whisky bottle, two small Chinese saucers, and a maligai, or house for the spirit.

To one side was a row of eight or nine gongs, suspended from a long horizontal pole raised three or four feet from the floor, and close by were several drums and a set of geling tamgan, or hand gongs, which were beaten with two sticks, one in each hand of the performer. At one end of the cleared space was a torch (lutong) of dammar supported in a ratan framework, and at the other end was a small lamp.

The chief medicine-man, whom we will call “A,” came and sat with crossed legs in front of the altar, as the arrangement of the objects may be conveniently called. He hid his face behind a fan (kipas) and murmured incantations, every now and again calling the spirit by a chirruping noise.

He wore a detta as a turban, a white blatchu over the right shoulder, a Javanese sarong, and striped silk seluar (trousers).

After a little time another man and two women came. The man (“B”) brought a salver containing some cloths. When he had deposited this near the other he lifted up some of the cloths and burnt incense (kamanyan) below them.

On his head he had a Javanese detta, a piece of red kasumba, and a piece of white cloth, the ends of which hung down his back; for the rest he was dressed like the other medicine-man, but had in addition a Sea Dayak bead belt (tali pinggang marik). The women were dressed in the Mĕlanau fashion with Brunei sashes. One was a particularly beautiful example of gold brocade (kain benang mas). This woman, whom I will term “C,” had also a kasumba round her head.

During all this time the drums and gongs were beaten by women.

The man “B” and the women “C” and “D” sat down in this order, and solemnly made their incantations with their fans in front of their faces. The man “A” stood up, and while continuing his incantations he slowly and gracefully waved his white cloth and fan, and occasionally put the edge of the latter to his lips and chirruped to the spirit. He then walked round the altar, left hand to centre, with a slow, dancing movement, the body being held upright but the head bowed. The other three sat still and covered their faces with their fans. To avoid repetition, I may here state that during the whole time the incantations were made there was an incessant booming, clanging accompaniment of drums and gongs.

The principal female attendant (“C”) and the other two got up and faced “A,” who was seated now and slowly fanning himself. The latter arose, and all gently swayed backwards and forwards, and very slowly processioned round the altar. The movement consisted of a sedate walk, the heel being slightly lifted two or three times at each shuffling step. After several revolutions all sat down; later they stood up again.

The chief magician (“A”) took a mouthful of water and spat it over the chest of the sick woman, who was sitting close by. He had previously been chewing betel, so that he might be able to make a large red splash on the woman’s bosom. He then patted her on the breast and head. He next took the areca blossom from the spathe and held it over her head, and made passes in front of her with it, ever and again stroking her head with it.

The attendants sat down while the chief woman (“C”) stood by the operator (“A”); both then walked round the altar, the man still carrying the areca blossom, which he solemnly waved about.

The whole process was repeated with the green leaves from the altar by “B.” The others sat down and chirruped frequently.

The second female attendant (“D”) made passes over the chest of a boy who was also ill. The two men (“A” and “B”) and the woman “C” then went round the altar. The latter went to the female patient, while the others continued their procession.

The medicine-man “A” took a knife and lightly pressed the edge of it along the throat and chest of the patient, and placed it on the wooden image. He then took the two saucers and, as it were, scraped the bad blood from the wound supposed to have been caused by the knife, off the chest of the woman with one saucer and poured it into the other. Eventually the pretended blood was caught between the two saucers, which were kept closed, the one on the top of the other, face to face. Having put the saucers down, he waved the fan about and made passes over the woman’s throat and chest, and finally he appeared to pick up the sickness with the edge of the fan.

The two attendants (“B” and “D”) retired; later the female magician (“C”) felt herself all over, and looked as if she had just awakened. When her senses appeared to return to her, she took off her red and gold Brunei sash, and then retired for a minute or two.

The medicine-man (“A”) next walked round the altar and took up the image and the folded white cloth on which it lay; the latter he tied into a sling which hung from his neck, and into this loop he placed the image, which meanwhile had been held by the chief woman. He then stood in front of the altar with his fan in front of his face.

The female magician (“C”) gave “A” a kris with which to fight the evil spirit. His movements became rapid, and he jumped about flourishing the weapon. While this battle with the unseen powers was taking place, the woman put a pillow on the floor beside the altar, and placed on it the flower of the areca palm. In front of the pillow she placed a basket, and beside this the salver with cloths. “A” then placed the white cloth with the image beside the basket. By this time he had slowly walked round the objects and stood facing them on the far side. All the time the female magician had been talking to him, telling him to make his incantations thoroughly, so as to cure the patient; now she sat down and occasionally talked to him.

The man next sat down, and later stood up and danced a little. He then caught the wandering soul of the sick woman in his scarf over the salver of cloths, and scooped it off the salver with his fan and poured it into his scarf.

All the objects being removed from in front of the pillow, the magician made a number of quick movements, advancing towards and retreating from the pillow. The pillow was next removed, and the man jumped over the spot where it had lain. He returned to where he was before, and then walked back to his original position on the other side of the altar, and went to the patient, made passes over and in front of her, and took the spirit from his sash and put it on her head.

The female magician tied a handkerchief round the patient’s head and retired, the patient too slipped away into a private apartment.

As soon as he noticed the patient had gone, the medicine-man went about in a blind sort of way to look for her; then he rummaged among the objects which constituted the altar, and tossed the cloths about. The female magician gave him the image, telling him this was the patient. He dumped it up and down on the floor and flourished it about in a very excited manner, apparently not at all satisfied with the repeated assurances of the female magician that this was really the sick woman. At length the patient was recalled, and the medicine-man sat in front of her and gave her some charms.

What we saw was only one incident in a protracted ceremony. The whole operation extends over some three weeks. The chief woman magician (“C”) was an expert, but the other two (“B” and “D”) were admittedly learning the business.

Hose afterwards informed me that the Berantu ceremony belongs essentially to the coast tribes, and it is only near the coast that one sees it carried out with the most complete ritual.

Like other expert medical treatment, this “cure” was very expensive; probably the patient would have to pay as a fee a Chinese gong of a value of some three or four dollars, plates, cups, and other articles, to say nothing of numerous fowls.

It would require a prolonged study of the complete ceremony to understand the meaning of the ritual. The portion that I saw may perhaps thus be explained.

First the spirits who might assist in the cure were invoked; then the magician ripped open the neck and chest of the woman and collected the blood and picked up the spirit of the sickness with his fan. In the meantime I believe the spirit of the woman was resting in the maligai, the spirit, or soul, house.

With his kris the magician fought and conquered the evil spirits.

The patient’s spirit was next caught by the magician in his scarf, and holding it safely he jumped across the spot where a pillow had lain, and beside which the wooden image was placed. I do not know what this act symbolised. Her own spirit was next returned to the patient.

The magician next appeared to be himself possessed by the spirit of the disease, and he blindly and clumsily searched among the paraphernalia of the altar, and tossed the cloths about, vainly endeavouring to discover the victim. The female magician then offered him the wooden image, telling him it was the patient herself, and, further to call his attention to it, she bounced it up and down, making the Chinese bell, which was tied round its waist, tinkle as she banged it on the floor. Eventually he appeared convinced against his will, and the spirit of the disease entered into the effigy.

The magician then came to himself, and going to the sick woman, who had just returned, gave her charms to keep the evil spirit from returning.

We left Long Linai early on the twenty-eighth in the steamer and arrived at Marudi (Claudetown) at eleven o’clock a.m.—very glad to be at our journey’s end. The rest of the day was spent in unpacking, settling in and reading a heavy mail.

In the evening Aban Tingan, the brother of the great Kenyah chief Tama Bulan, and several of his countrymen turned up at the Residency, and we had a great drinking evening in true Kenyah style, chanting speeches while presenting a drink, moving the glass backwards and forwards till the time comes for the actual drinking. Whilst the glass is being drained at a gulp all shout in a peculiar manner. It was really a most effective performance, and might with advantage be introduced at home.

I felt it to be an appropriate, though quite an unarranged, welcome to Marudi. Ray gave a phonographic performance, and not very late in the evening Aban Tingan arrived at a well-known garrulous stage, and, later on, he did not realise that we should be glad if he departed.