We reached the Sĕbop village of Long Puah, up the Lobong affluent of the Tinjar, on the evening of February 19th. Jangan, the headman, made us comfortable in the large new house, which was not yet completed. Hose had insisted on going to the new house, as the old one was dirty and was falling to pieces. The first ceremony to be performed before the house could be inhabited was the removing of the skulls from a temporary hut to their new quarters. This was to take place early the following morning. The business to be transacted that day required the presence of some women, and no women may enter a new house until the skulls have been transferred to it.

At daybreak a number of men perched themselves on the ridge pole of the new house and chanted invocations to the omen birds. They shouted for joy as a propitious hawk duly flew away to the right after soaring, for unless the omen was favourable nothing could have been accomplished that day. Immediately the omen bird had given permission for matters to proceed, there was a great din of shouting and gong-beating for the purpose of preventing the people from hearing the hawk in case it should scream, for that would have been an unlucky omen, and would have necessitated a delay. At various intervals rice was thrown out of the house by the old men as offerings to the omen birds and prayers made to the Supreme Deity and to the lesser gods. Hose and I also sacrificed some tobacco and rice to the birds.

Several men, accoutred as if for the war-path, went to the temporary hut where the skulls were lodged. Most of the men had on a war coat, which is the skin of a goat or a clouded tiger-cat, decked with the white and black tail feathers of the hornbill, which feathers, by the way, may be worn only by men who have been on the war-path or who have killed a man. Each had on a war cap, with the long tail feathers of another species of hornbill, and they carried shields and spears. Standing outside the hut the men chanted songs while an old man removed the basket of skulls from the hut. It is considered a dangerous matter to meddle with skulls, as they resent liberties taken with them, and may perhaps harm him who handles them; this business was therefore relegated to an old man, as it did not much matter if harm befell him during his short remaining span of life.

The skulls were hoisted on to the verandah of the new house from the outside—as they must never be taken up the ladder and through the house—and immediately they were hauled on to a rafter. Then the women trooped up; in this instance they came up the ladder that was erected at the open end of the verandah, but according to rigid custom the women should only enter a new house for the first time through temporary doors made for the purpose in the back wall of the house, but as that part of the house was only in skeleton this could not be done.

Jangan, the chief, was quite an elderly man, who only two months previously had been presented by his wife with his first child. His old wife had died a couple of years since, but before her death she had instigated him to marry his present young and pretty wife.

After three years of wedded life a boy appeared, greatly to the joy and satisfaction of Jangan and his wife. As yet the boy had no name, and therefore was not considered to have any social status. Before receiving its name a male child is always spoken of as a ukat and a girl as itang. The Iban call such children anak ulat, or “young grub.” Our visit was a convenient opportunity for the naming ceremony, and Hose arranged with Jangan that I should act as godfather. This necessitated the presentation on my part of a gong, for that is the recognised present on such occasions. I was able to get one from a Malay trader, who had a small store close by, and we all made additional presents of cloth, to which I added a looking-glass.

A pig with tied legs was brought up into the house. This was the offering of the father, who, squatting beside it, singed a few hairs with a firebrand, and put his hands on the pig’s flanks, praying meanwhile as follows:—

“O spiritual pig [Balli Boin], tell Balli Penyalong [the god of child-naming] the reason of our meeting here to-day. We are here to name my child, and we request you to convey our message to Balli Penyalong. It is our intention to do all in the best manner possible. We are only a poor people, and cannot do things on this river on a large scale. We trust you will approve of our performances, and we hope that blessings will come to all present who meet as friends.

“We also request Balli Penyalong to let us know by the inspection of your liver whether the name which we intend to give this child is suitable, whether it will in any way be harmful to him, whether he will suffer sickness, and whether he will come to any harm through false reports. Tuan Resident is a witness, and all those who have done us the kindness of being present.”

Then turning to us he continued: “You are visitors to this country, and we hope that you will not be displeased with our simple customs, which are the ways of our forefathers, and which I request Tuan Resident to explain to you as I am unable to speak your language.”

Again addressing the pig, he said: “The name which we have chosen has been proposed by the old man with the beard.[7] The first name, Utang [“Good-luck”], is entirely suitable, as his grandfather bore the same name. The second name, Haddon, is also a name given by the old man with the beard; in fact it is his own name, and the event has been marked by suitable presents. We hope that all this is well, and that the augury given in the liver will be the true one.

“We also employ you, O pig, for another little ceremony, to which, of course, you will have no objection. We have here two peoples, the Lepuanans and the Punans, who have met one another for the first time since quarrelling, and who take this opportunity to square all grievances and to make urip.”

The pig was then killed in the usual manner by a spear plunged into its neck. Scarce was the unfortunate animal dead before it was cut open and the liver carefully extracted and handed round for inspection. It was on the whole a pretty fair one, but one or two points were not particularly favourable; all the good points were, however, explained by Hose as belonging to the child, whereas the less favourable details he asserted referred to the recent hostilities between the Lepuanans and Punans. As Hose is recognised by the natives as an expert in liver divination, his interpretation was accepted. The blood of the pig was smeared on the breasts of numerous spectators, mainly on those of Lepuanans and Punans.

The second or “house” pig was brought and spoken over by an old man of the house. The liver, fortunately, was more propitious than the preceding one. Some of the blood of the pig was smeared on a parang blade and dabbed on my bare chest by Jangan, who said, “You have seen our customs and how we make urip! Do not misrepresent us when you go back to your own country, and do not tell lies about us.” I then smeared blood from the same parang blade on the breasts of many of the people round about.

The Punans next killed a sucking-pig to ratify their friendship with the Lepuanans.

The final ceremony of naming Jangan’s boy consisted in killing a chicken. Some of the blood of the fowl was rubbed on a parang blade, and, taking the gory iron, I applied it to the arms of Utang Haddon, saying to him in English that I wished him good luck, a long life, a wife, and plenty of children.

Hose made a speech, and everyone shouted and stamped.

Finally, the borak (rice spirit) was produced. Hose gave a drink to the mother. I gave one to the father, and made a small speech, wishing him more children and a long life for himself, his wife, and his children. The wife gave Hose and me a drink, thanking us for what we had done.

Drinks then became general, and there was much noise and enjoyment.

Lepuanans and Punans gave borak to each other; the ladies were not forgotten, nor did they omit to offer some to us and to the other men. Great hilarity was caused in succeeding, or failing, as the case might be, in making a few Mohammedans who were present partake of a liquid that was prohibited to them by the Prophet.

Everything was very human, and, alas! the after results were in a few cases very “human” too. The older men and the wiser of the younger men who had court business to transact later in the day partook but sparingly of the seductive drink, others were carried away by the infectious gaiety, and subsequently became sleepy or excited, according to their respective idiosyncrasies. One man was fighting mad, and had to be held down by several men. One somnolent youth was affectionately tended by three young women, one of whom nursed his head on her lap. Next morning several men had sore heads.

Some of the Punans complained of certain Malay traders interfering with their women, and also that their debts to the traders never came to an end. They had paid many times for the same thing, and still the traders produced their books and stated that the debts were not settled. Hose heard their grievances, and having summoned all the Malays that were about, he thoroughly investigated the matter. He took away with him when he left four Malays who admitted that they had interfered with some of the wives of the Punans, and cautioned the others as to their future behaviour.

Some Malohs who were staying in this village wished to marry Sĕbop girls, but the Sĕbop chiefs did not want this, as the Malohs are untrustworthy people, being suspected of divorcing their wives on some trivial pretext when they wish to return to their own country. Hose thinks the Malohs possibly originally came from Java; they and allied people inhabit the southern part of Borneo, but parties of them have penetrated into various places in the interior, and have begun to make their way down some of the upper branches of the tributaries of the Baram River. They are essentially a trading people, and hence have no special interest in settling down; they are also great workers in brass, and so are of great use to the other natives. The Sĕbop girls appeared to be anxious to marry the five Malohs, and as the latter had done no harm in the village and there was absolutely nothing against them, Hose found it somewhat difficult to prevent the marriages, though he appreciated the reasonableness of the objection of the chiefs. He thereupon thought of a plan which would probably prevent the marriages, but at the same time if the girls were anxious to marry they would be allowed to do so. Hose gave the Malohs permission to marry the girls provided they will come down to Claudetown with their wives and live at Tangjong Upah with those Iban who have married Kayan and Kenyah women. If the girls are really fond of the Malohs they will go; on the other hand, their relatives will do their best to dissuade them.

Hose has found from past experience that it is a very unsatisfactory arrangement for foreigners like the Iban or Malohs, or even more nearly allied peoples like the Mĕlanaus, to marry into and live amongst up-river tribes. Sooner or later trouble arises through a lack of solidarity between the aliens and the original inhabitants, cliques are formed, and the foreigner sides with the disaffected and the irresponsible men, such as are to be found in every community. Whenever possible he solves the difficulty by making the parties of these mixed marriages live together far from the wife’s relations, and he has caused them to build a long house at Tangjong Upah on the Baram, about eight miles south of Claudetown, where, being isolated, they can work out their own salvation, but at the same time they are within easy reach of headquarters. Hose can thus see that nothing goes wrong, but nevertheless they are left, as in other native villages, to regulate their internal affairs.

In the evening we were entertained with a dance by the Sĕbops. A man who played a kaluri, or mouth organ, walked in front; he was followed by two men, and these by ten women, all in single file. They walked with their toes well out, and scraped the sole of the advancing foot along the ground, the body being swung slightly from side to side. None of the men were specially dressed up, except the third, who had on a war coat and carried a shield; the Sĕbop shield is similar to the plain, red shield of the Kayans, but broader and rather more clumsy.

Another movement consisted in advancing two steps with a striding motion, scraping the sole along the ground and stamping when bringing it to rest. A lesser backward movement was made for two steps, then forward as before.

A third consisted in walking slowly and placing one foot pointing outwards somewhat to the side, the other foot is brought up to it, the moving foot being stamped twice before coming to a halt. In a variant of this the whole body is alternately turned to the right and to the left. The regular double stamping forms a pleasing feature.

In a fourth dance a backward and forward “goose step” was made, touching the ground with the heel, but without shifting the position. Then two forward steps were taken. At one interval the body was turned to the right, at the next to the left, and so on alternately.

In the dance that followed one step was taken at a time, bringing up the other to it, with the sole dragging along the ground. The string of dancers moved forward in a serpentine course.

In the “Bird Dance” there was only a slight movement forwards, the feet tapped the ground, and the arms were moved in an angular manner up and down and backwards and forwards.

The performance concluded with a war dance by a single man dressed in a war coat decorated with hornbills’ feathers, and wearing a long-plumed war cap. First he danced without his weapons, then he picked up his shield, and later his parang. The dance consisted of a series of indescribable crouching, jumping, squirming movements, in which the approved positions or attitudes of actual warfare were blended with the gyratory motions and posturing of more ordinary dancing. Crouching on the ground with war coat trailing behind and brandishing his shield in front, the warrior turned, or rather hopped like an amorous cock-sparrow, first to one side and then to the other, as if warding off blows from an unseen adversary; then as if perceiving an advantage he would leap to his feet and take the initiative.

The numerous and rapid graceful movements, the finely harmonising colours of the buff skin, the ruddled shield, the black and tawny clouded tiger’s skin coat and red loin cloth, and the bold contrast of the white and black feathers of the hornbill, lit up by blazing fire and yellow flickering lamps against a dim background of eager semi-nude natives and spaces of outer darkness, made a fascinating picture of savagery, in which the beauty of dextrous movement with harmony and contrast of colour were combined with the deeply seated human passion for combat and bloodshed.

We returned down the Lobong and again ascended the narrowing Tinjar, and negotiated several rapids, one of which Hose has named after Ray. On one occasion we had to wait a couple of hours in a sheltered spot by the bank of the river, as the water suddenly rose and the force of the current was too strong for our crew to paddle against it.

The scenery was very pretty, the rushing water passing between low wooded hills, which were occasionally more or less cleared for padi. A few birds flew across the river, and numerous gorgeous butterflies flitted in the sunlight, and vermilion-bodied dragon flies darted in quest of their prey. Tropical vegetation is perhaps seen at its best along the banks of rivers, as the trees and bushes have full light and air on one side, and more variety is seen in foliage and tints; but here, as elsewhere in the tropics, there is a general absence of brightly coloured or conspicuous flowers.

Our next stopping-place was at Long Dapoi, a village that, as its name implies, is situated where the Dapoi joins the Tinjar.

Taman Aping Buling, the chief of Long Dapoi and penghulu of the Upper Tinjar, and his people were in great distress owing to the recent loss of their former fine house by fire. It was not known how the fire arose, as it occurred when most of the people were away working on their padi farms. The village house was exceedingly well built, and was the largest house in all the Tinjar District. We saw the mournful rows of charred piles, and there was no reason to doubt the statement of the people that they had lost a large proportion of their worldly goods. They now occupy makeshift huts until the harvest is gathered in, when they will rebuild. They however found time to erect a comfortable little house for us to stay in, and were very anxious that we should spend some time with them.

Hose had a good deal of business to do, and so on the following morning, while we measured heads, he went into the penghulu’s house and settled a number of cases of various kinds. Amongst these was one assault case, and complaints of diverse natives with regard to land grabbing. Further information was also obtained respecting the panyamun scare. It appears that one Turing, a Sĕbop, came up river to Long Dapoi, about ten days ago, and told Ajang, Taman Gau, and Suran, of this village, that he had narrowly escaped being killed by panyamun (or “robbers”), and had he not been near the house he would certainly have lost his life. The robbers were armed with spears and other weapons. When closely questioned who the people resembled were, he said, “Kayans from the Baram”; and when asked if he could recognise any of their faces, he said, “No, I was too frightened.” Here, then, was evidence that could be dealt with as regards the statement of Turing, as all three men were willing to swear that they heard Turing make the above statement. It was necessary for these three men and the penghulu to meet Turing. Hose therefore arranged with the penghulu that either Turing should be called here, or, if they wished it, they could accompany Hose when he went down river, as Turing was living in the Lower Tinjar; something in the way of expenses would, of course, be allowed should their statement prove correct. They were all not only willing but anxious to go with us on our return. All the people were glad to have this matter cleared up, and it appeared that there was every chance of the guilty parties being discovered.

When Hose had finished his business we continued our journeying by ascending the Dapoi, a beautiful affluent of the Tinjar. Along the greater extent of its banks are native plantations of bananas, sugar-cane, and other edible plants; the low hills between which the river flows are largely deforested for the cultivation of padi. This small, swift river is a favourite one with the natives, and is well populated.

We reached our furthest point, at a distance of some two hundred miles from Marudi, on the evening of February 24th, at Long Sulan, on the Dapoi River. This is the largest village I had yet seen in this district; probably about fifteen hundred men, women, and children live here, and wherever I went I was followed about by swarms of children. The people are Long Pokuns, and belong to the Kayan group.

In front of the main house and facing the river was a large wooden model of a man holding a shield and waving a spear. This was a representation of Balli Atap, whose function is to ward off all sickness and misfortune. Beside him was a roughly carved image of Tegulan, who also keeps off sickness from people, and by means of this image you can either curse a man or prevent him from cursing you.

Behind these were two wooden effigies of the tiger (linjau), facing different ways. The object of these figures is to impress the enemies of the village with the idea that the inhabitants are as fierce as tigers, and should not be meddled with. They were intended to serve the same purpose as the sentiment in the chorus of the famous music-hall song—

Near these symbols of ferocity was a framework on which were some curiously shaped stones. Usually similar stones are placed on separate posts outside houses, and as a rule these are simply rounded boulders which the natives believe have the power of increasing in size with age. In several places the natives tell stories about the stones being originally very small when they were in another district, but since then they have grown, and you can see how large they are now. A sacrificial fire is lit near them, or even a flaming firebrand will suffice. Fowl’s or pig’s blood is on ceremonial occasions smeared on the stones. This is always done when it is necessary to consult the omen birds before making a long journey or before setting out on the war-path. The fire conveys to the god the messages and desires of the worshippers. I am not quite clear what part the stones are supposed to play in this ceremony. I was informed that the fire is entreated to tell the stones to inform the god of the desires of the sacrificers, but I would rather not commit myself to this statement until it has been verified.

Around the shrine of sacred stones were a number of frayed poles and sticks (isang). These play an important part in all ceremonies connected with the war-path and the consequent bringing home of heads. They are also erected when skulls are shifted from one house to another.

Not far off were a couple of very tall poles (kelebong) decorated with shavings, from the tapered end of which depended a long decorated rope, to the free end of which was fastened a round block of wood. This is now an innocent object; formerly (and not so very long ago either) it would have been a human head or skull. A kelebong is erected on the return from the war-path, or, as on the present occasion, when a new house is built.

There were two groups of curious upright boards (kedaman), with streamers attached. A rough or conventional face is usually carved or painted at the end, and there project two slanting cross-boards that serve as arms. Indeed a kedaman looks at a distance for all the world like our familiar scarecrows, but their object is to attract and not to frighten away certain birds. On the upper part of the board were a number of spikes or thin skewers, on which were stuck small pieces of pig or fowl meat, to sacrificially feed the omen birds. Often, and that till quite recently, the flesh of enemies was offered in a similar manner.

On our way to Long Sulan we had picked up a Sĕbop chief, named Tingang, who had married the niece of Taman Balan Deng, the Long Pokun chief. Tingang had requested Hose to assist him in a little family matter. He had been married about four years, but his wife was still living with her relations, who refused to let her live with her husband in his present village, though she was not unwilling to live with him.

It appears that about a year after he was married it was arranged that he should send people to fetch his wife, and he agreed to pay over a sum of about a hundred dollars as dowry. He then returned home to make arrangements for his wife’s arrival, and thinking that all was satisfactorily arranged and that there would be no difficulty or any necessity for much ceremony, he sent only a few of the low-class people of his house to fetch the lady.

It is usual on an occasion of this kind for some friendly chief with a number of influential people to go in a long boat decorated with flags, and to bring home the bride with a good deal of ceremony; this always takes place a year or so after marriage.

On the present occasion Tingang’s wife expected something of this kind, and when the emissaries arrived in a small boat she was naturally much annoyed; her relations absolutely refused to allow her to go in such a manner, and coldness sprang up between husband and wife for about a year. Tingang, however, made repeated visits to the house, and now considered that sufficient time had elapsed, and wished to make another effort to get his wife away from her relations; therefore he asked Hose to assist him. Hose questioned him with regard to the brian, or dowry; he admitted there were about fifty dollars to pay, which, however, was of no importance, and he would pay it at once, his relative Tama Bulan and others having promised to help him.

On his arrival at Long Sulan, Hose, in the presence of Langat, a cousin of the lady, and son of Taman Balan Deng, said to Tingang that I asked where his wife was. Upon his answering that she was living in this house, Hose asked him, “Why haven’t you taken her down to your house? You have been married a long time now.” To which he replied, “I want to.” Langat retired, and no doubt repeated the conversation to the relatives. Shortly afterwards Tingang’s wife appeared, and asked Hose to go into her room. When there Hose asked her why she did not go and live with Tingang. Her answer was she was waiting for him to build a proper house. Hose did not let her know that he had heard the story of Tingang’s sending for her, and no doubt she had no intention of telling him about it. As Tingang has really got a very wretched sort of house, Hose took the opportunity of his entering the room to tell him that really and truly it was hardly a suitable house to expect his wife to come to, and she had very good reason for not wishing to come if he did not choose to build a better one. He admitted that his house was unsatisfactory, and said that he had already settled on a new site, and the posts had been prepared. The wife stroked Hose and said, “That’s right, make him build a good house, and then I’ll go down.” Later on in the day Hose spoke to Taman Balan Deng about it, and he said, “Oh yes, I have no objection; no doubt Tingang will make better preparation this time than formerly.” Tingang had probably learnt his lesson.

The reason for Tingang having a poor house is a curious one. His house, which originally was a good one, had become old, and he determined the next year to rebuild it on the same site, but an Iban, who had been loafing about for a long time, and for whom his people had a strong objection, cursed some people of the house with whom he had trading transactions and killed a dog in the house. The killing of a dog in a house is a serious matter for Kenyahs and Kayans, and necessitates the breaking up of a whole house and rebuilding it elsewhere. This is the reason for the delay in the house-building, together with hindrances due to farming operations. Later on Hose brought this Iban down to Marudi, and on the charge being proved against him he was ordered out of the Baram district back to his own people. As he had some sixty dollars owing to him at the village he had injured, Hose told him that he could not recover the debt, which would thus stand over as compensation.

The following day some Madangs from the Silat River arrived with the news that Saba Irang, the Madang chief, who had conveyed messages from Hose to the important chiefs who live on the Upper Batang Kayan River, would return shortly, and that his mission had been most successful. The Batang Kayan is a large river in Dutch Borneo, inhabited by people allied to the Madangs and Kenyahs of the Baram district, but there has been some friction between some of the Batang Kayan and Baram tribes, and it was to relieve this that Hose has entered into friendly relations with the foreigners.

Saba Irang reported that the chiefs of the Batang Kayan were very anxious to meet Hose, and would come very shortly to Marudi (Claudetown). It was also stated that some thirty “doors” (families) of Leppu Agas from the Batang Kayan had moved into the Silat, being anxious for a more settled life. Knowing that the Madangs had recently acknowledged allegiance to the Government of Sarawak, the Leppu Agas were anxious to follow their example, as they are related to the Madangs. This was good news, as Hose is getting more and more into touch with the people of the Batang Kayan, who, of their own accord, move over into the head waters of the Baram district, and by mixing with the Baram people quickly become loyal subjects of the Sarawak Government.

These Kenyah races are always the best workers of jungle produce, and quickly accumulate wealth whenever they find an outlet for their trade. They now fully realise that if they kill, or are at enmity with, the surrounding peoples their trade is at a deadlock. Traders are unwilling to enter their villages, and the natives are also equally unwilling to pass by the houses or territory of their enemies. The result is that trade is one of the most important civilising influences among these interior tribes. The necessity for salt, tobacco, and other luxuries is felt very severely when the supply is cut off, and they know well that when under a settled government they can have most of their requirements within easy reach.

We measured fifteen people here, and visited various houses and collected a few objects. Unfortunately Hose was ill in the afternoon with fever, in addition to the sore throat and cough from which he had been suffering for some time.

We returned the following day to Long Dapoi, and after Hose had received $200 for fines collected by the penghulu, went down river, the people who had charged Turing accompanying us. Our crew paddled hard all day, and at night reached Long Semitan. Here we found Turing, and when questioned he admitted that he had made the previously mentioned statement to Ajang, Taman Gau, and Suran, but said that he had been told about the panyamun by a Barawan woman named Obong. Obong was living a little further down the river in the house of Taman Ladang. Hose told Taman Aping Buling that he must fetch Obong to-morrow, and that at Long Tisam he would make further inquiries.

There was a Punan medicine-man in the Long Semitan house, and Hose allowed himself to be operated on so that we might have an opportunity of witnessing native medical practice. Hose, who was really ill, was lying in an inner room, and the Punan was sitting on a gong Hose had given him for his fee. Like other inland natives he wore only a chawat, or loin cloth, his black hair hung down his back, and a string of blue beads encircled his right wrist.

The room was dark, save for the flickering of a distant fire and the glimmer of a small lamp. The weird jungle man sat close to Hose with his hands to the side of his own head.

He asked Hose what was the matter. Hose replied he had fever every alternate day. The medicine-man asked if Hose had a headache, and other details of his illness.

The Punan then requested the spirits not to allow the sickness to be too bad. He sang, or rather crooned, and occasionally breathed loudly, and wiped his head and hair and smoked a cigarette. Next he took the blade of a parang, and so held it that the shadow of the iron fell on Hose, and he attentively regarded the shadow. Again he blew, sang and smoked, looked at Hose, felt his abdomen, and stroked it, singing all the while and calling on the sickness to come out.

Once or twice he put his hands together so as to form a tube, through which he blew the abdomen. He next covered his own ears with his hands and blew on the pit of Hose’s stomach. Again he stopped his ears and sucked at Hose’s abdomen through a small tube made of the stem of the wild ginger; he had previously scratched the place with his finger-nail, and he sucked so hard as to make the skin rise in the tube. By a clumsy sleight of hand he brought a small ball of wax, from which projected a few hairs, out of the tube, this he pretended he had extracted from Hose’s body. After having shown it round he carefully dropped the pellet of wax and the tube through the floor.

On Hose saying he had a headache the medicine-man pricked Hose’s temples with his nails and proceeded as before. By this time the operator was perspiring profusely.

Again he sang and examined the parang. Next he paid attention to Hose’s legs, and stroked them from the knee to the ankle; then he covered his head with a cloth and bent over the legs, pricked the skin with his nails and sucked hard through a tube as before, again producing a pellet of wax.

Once more he repeated the process on the leg, looked at the parang, sang, blew on the leg, and stated that Hose would be well on the morrow. The whole operation was again repeated.

After an interval the same operation recommenced. The man called on the different spirits by name: “Who has done this? Has — done it? Has — done it?” When he had exhausted the enumeration of the spirits he looked into the parang and saw that Hose’s soul was better.

A fresh supply of ginger stems was placed in front of the doctor; he then took a hat, put it on, and pretended to cry. Once more he put a cloth over his head, which he scratched, and then looked through a tube of ginger at Hose’s abdomen, and pricked it slightly above the navel. He looked inside the tube, smelt and tasted it, and applied it to the sternum. After sucking the tube for a short time he produced a small ball of wax from the ginger tube, which he examined and showed round; then he burst into song and dropped the wax and tube through the flooring.

The whole process was again repeated. After this the patient thought he had had enough of it, so he proclaimed himself much better, and we retired to rest.

The medicine-man was evidently very much in earnest, and he did not at all like Hose murmuring to me from time to time what was going on, nor was he too well pleased at my taking notes; but he performed his part with due seriousness and thoroughness. We clearly saw the man’s finger-nails were coated with the wax, and under cover of the cloth a pellet could easily be transferred to the tube of ginger. There is in the stem of the wild ginger an inner tube, which can readily be pushed up and down the outer sheath. First the medicine-man pushed the inner tube down and inserted the pellet of wax in the larger aperture, with his finger he pushed up from below the inner tube, and this ejected the pellet from the stem of the ginger. The whole contrivance was very simple, and could not impose on any but the most credulous.

The following morning we reached Long Tisam at 10 a.m., and the reports about the panyamun scare were inquired into. The truth then came out. Turing and Obong when brought face to face with the Lirong people admitted the whole thing. Turing stated that he had been told by Obong that she had seen robbers (panyamun) round about her house, and that she was afraid, and begged him to come down river to live with her and to protect her, and that he had lied to the Lirong people when he said he had himself seen the robbers.

Obong was then questioned, and admitted that the whole thing was false from beginning to end, and that she had started the report with the idea of frightening Turing into coming down river, for she was anxious for him to live with her, being a lorn lone widow. She had previously tried to persuade him to come, and he had refused, as he was busy with the harvest, so this had been her plan to bring about what she desired. She was fined fifty dollars, or in default six months’ imprisonment, and Turing was fined twenty-five dollars, or three months’ imprisonment. The fines were at once paid by their relatives, and Taman Aping Buling and others present who had been considerably inconvenienced by having had to come down river received compensation, and everybody appeared to be considerably pleased that disquieting rumours had been proved false and the guilty scandal-mongers punished.

I have already mentioned that we stopped at the Sĕbop village of Long Aiah Kechil (the mouth of the little Aiah River) on our journey up the river. On looking at the charms (siap) that were, as is always the case, hanging from the roof of the verandah, I immediately recognised a polished stone implement, half hidden amongst the sacred odds and ends and wholly encrusted with soot and dirt. I quietly drew Hose’s attention to it, and, though at first somewhat sceptical as to its really being an implement, he at once began to negotiate for it.

This proved to be a very difficult and delicate operation, for the natives have an extreme regard for their charms as being ancient and sacred objects that bring good luck to the house. Hose reminded Tama Sorong, the headman, that he had never asked anything of him before, and gentle persuasion and patience prevailed when combined with the offer of a liberal gift. A chicken was next procured and waved over the siap, and an invocation made in which Tama Sorong said that the spirits were not to be angry and bring misfortune to the people, and that “Tuan Resident” was wholly responsible. The head of the unfortunate bird was pulled off, and the spurting blood sprinkled over the siap. Then only did Hose become the proud possessor of his first stone implement.

This stone adze-head had been found long ago in the bed of the Upper Tinjar River. It is a narrow, thin slab of fibrolite, 7¾ inches (196 mm.) long, and 1⁹⁄₁₀ inch (48 mm.) broad, ground to an edge at one end. This hard, tough stone is extremely suitable for making implements. But our friends the natives did not recognise it as an implement; they called it “Silun Baling Go,” that is, the toe-nail of Baling Go, the thunder god. It was also supposed by them to have fallen from the sky.

At every house we stopped at subsequently Hose made inquiries for Baling Go’s toe-nails, and though he heard of the existence of other specimens, he did not come across any till we came to Long Tisam on our way back, where he obtained from Aban Abit a very typical adze-head (Fig. 38, B), which was made from a rather soft stone; it was 131 mm. in length.

These Seping Kenyahs brought it with them when they came from the Pliran River, a branch of the Upper Rejang. It was said to have been obtained in the Madang district, and to have been found in or near the Tiut River. The man who found it, several generations ago, said he had a dream that the good spirits (hantus) were going to give him a valuable present, and so he went to the river, and there he found this stone. On its being pointed out to them the people recognised that it had been used as an asai or adze-head.

The following night we stopped on our way down stream at the Lelak village of Long Tru, and another implement was discovered (Fig. 38, C). This is smaller (81 mm. long) and thicker than the others, one surface is smooth and slightly curved, the other is highly convex, somewhat rough, but the cutting end is ground to a sharp edge.

It was stated to have been found, with several others, three generations ago in the bed of the Lelak Lake by an old woman. One of the other specimens is said to have been exactly like the blade of a biliong, or axe. Unfortunately the other specimens were in a house that was accidentally burnt, and they were consequently lost, or at all events they were not carried away, as it is against custom to remove into a new house objects that have been burnt in this way. This implement is believed to be the front tooth of the lower jaw of Baling Go.

There was great difficulty in obtaining this specimen, but the old man who owned it brightened up considerably when Hose offered him a black silk chawat (loin cloth) to die in. It is the ambition of up-river natives to die respectably, and a man never feels easy at the thought of death until he has laid by an expensive chawat in which he can take his departure with becoming credit.

We also saw hanging up with the siap five abnormally curved boars’ tusks, some crystals, and other objects, including one or two stone hooks. The latter were evidently mainly, if not entirely, artificially shaped; it was difficult to imagine their use, as it seemed impossible that they could ever have been employed as fish-hooks.

I was naturally very anxious to obtain a couple of these hooks, or one and a boar’s tusk; the latter was precisely like the artificially deformed boars’ tusks that are such valuable objects in Fiji and New Guinea, and of which I had recently collected several in Torres Straits. Insuperable difficulties were made; the several objects belonged to different people, and some of these were absent. I then had to play my trump card by asking Hose to offer a crystal sphere that I always carried with me for emergencies. When I handed the glass ball round it was fondled and passed from one to another; the old men especially admired it immensely, and exhibited no surprise when they were informed by Hose that it was Baling Go’s eyeball! One rhumous-eyed old gentleman directly it was passed to him rubbed his bleared eyes with it. It was evident that here was something they thoroughly appreciated. Hose told the men that I valued this very highly, but he would ask me to part with it as a favour, and that they were to give him two hooks or a hook and a boar’s tusk for it. Nothing, however, could then be decided, as the owners of the hooks had first to be consulted and squared. In order to show how keen a man Hose is when on the scent for anything new, I cannot refrain from mentioning the fact that he was weakened from fever, and suffering from a bad sore throat, and yet he commenced these tedious negotiations at 4.30 a.m.

A few days after our return to Claudetown we heard that one hook would be given for the glass ball. Although the price was relatively heavy, I agreed, as in trading one has usually to pay disproportionately for the first specimen, or even for the first few, after then the price falls considerably. When the barter was concluded we were informed that its origin was unknown, but the hook had been in the family for three generations, and that it was used in the ceremony that takes place before going on the war-path, and that it assists in obtaining another head where one had been previously obtained. In fact, it had the same function as the wooden hooks associated with skulls in the verandahs of the houses, the hook acts symbolically and by telepathy hooks in other heads.

Another type of implement of which Hose has obtained specimens is cylindrical and more or less oval in section, with an oblique polished face at one end, which may be either flat or more or less concave (Fig. 38, D, is 173 mm. in length). They were obtained from the Sĕbops and Muriks, who do not know their use, nor have they a name for them; like the old adze-heads, they were hung up along with other siap. My impression is they were formerly used for extracting the pith from the sago palm.

Stone implements have long been known from the Malay Peninsula and from most of the islands of the Malay Archipelago, including Borneo. Mr. A. Hart Everett found one “embedded at the bottom of a bed of river gravel exposed in a section on the left bank of the Upper Sarawak River. Sir Charles Lyell pronounced it to be of Neolithic type.” This specimen is now in the Pitt Rivers Museum at Oxford.

The only specimen I had previously seen was an adze-head which was brought in to Mr. Shelford by one of his Dayak hunters one day when I happened to be working in the Sarawak Museum; it is now in that museum. Hose has generously given all the implements he collected to the Museum of Archæology and Ethnology at Cambridge.

There is nothing unusual in the sacredness of these stone implements. Nearly all over the world, wherever stone has been replaced by metal, the same reverence for the ancient objects is found, and not infrequently magical properties are ascribed to them. It is, however, rather strange that they are almost universally regarded as having fallen from the sky and usually as actual thunderbolts; a couple of examples of this belief will suffice out of the numbers that could be cited. Messrs. C. H. Read and O. M. Dalton, in their recently published sumptuous work on the Antiquities from the City of Benin and from other parts of West Africa in the British Museum, say, “Shango has many attributes, but is especially the god of thunder and lightning, in which capacity he is known as Jakuta, the stone-thrower; all aerolites are venerated as having been thrown by him. In some of the castings the king is represented as holding a ground stone axe-head in his hand, and reasoning on the analogy of similar beliefs all over the world, we can safely argue that this was a symbol of Shango. Such axes are venerated in various parts of Yoruba; they are still ara oko, and are frequently daubed with palm oil and blood” (p. 11).

But there is no need to go to Africa for superstitious beliefs concerning stone implements. In Europe there are many records that peasants regard them as thunderbolts, and ascribe magical qualities to them. In Denmark prehistoric stone hatchets or arrow-heads are termed “thunder stones” or “lightning stones”; they are often put by the side of the fireplace, in the thatch of the roof, over or under the door, and are regarded as charms that have supernatural power, the most important of which is protection from fire. Professor T. Wilson, in his address as president to the anthropological section of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, stated that he knew a man in Denmark who said he had seen a hatchet come down from heaven in a flash of lightning, that it struck the field adjoining his house, and that he went over to it and found the stone still hot. On no consideration would he part with it.

A similar belief occurs in our own country, the so-called celts are usually believed to be “thunderbolts,” and stone arrow-heads are “fairy darts.” I have seen stone implements in the north of Ireland which were used a year or two ago as a charm for curing cattle.

We are not in a position to criticise the Borneans when they regard similar implements as the teeth and toe-nails of the Thunder God, or as a tooth of Balli Taun, the God of Harvest, or the nail of the little toe of the huge river dragon Balungan.

On our next journey up the Baram, Hose obtained at Long Tamala, a Murik village, two stone implements and a brass gouge-like implement. There was great difficulty in getting them, and Bulieng, the owner, would not part with any other siap. I particularly wanted some hook-like stones, but these he could by no means be persuaded to sell, as he gave us to understand that they, as it were, hooked his soul to his body, and thus prevented the spiritual portion of him from becoming detached from the material. Another reason was that these charms had been handed down to him from his forefathers.

These three implements were contained in a basket which had not been opened for forty or fifty years, and on the present occasion the natives would not take it down from the beam where it was suspended, much less would they open it, but requested us to do so. Previously to the basket being touched by us, all the women and children were ordered out of the house, lest any evil should befall them. I climbed up a notched pole, which serves as a ladder in these parts, and unfastened the basket and handed it down to Hose. It contained, in addition to the three implements, three water-worn stone hooks, which appeared to me to be entirely of natural formation, two water-worn ferruginous sandstone pebbles, somewhat resembling phalanges in form, and which we were assured were human finger-bones, two irregularly shaped stones with natural perforations, and one spherical pebble about an inch and a quarter in diameter.

After the implements had been sold and taken out of the house, it was necessary to inform the spirits what had happened, and so a small chicken was killed by having its head torn off, and Hose, holding Bulieng’s hand, took the bleeding bird and anointed the basket which contained the other stones and the neighbouring skulls with the blood; while the headman told the spirits no sickness or harm were to come to the house, as Hose was responsible for the removal, and the implements had been presented to him. As a matter of fact, Bulieng had just sold them for a brass gong; but he had no objection to deceive the spirits in this matter, their feelings would be less hurt by a donation than by a sale. It would be a pity to vex anyone when it can be avoided, especially a spirit who has various means at his command for retaliation. As Hose held the chicken, no iron was demanded, since the iron is the fee of him who performs this part of the ceremony.

When all had been duly accomplished the women and children returned, and Hose distributed tobacco as largess; but none of the women would take any, as Hose had previously touched the sacred charms, although he had subsequently taken the precaution to wash his hands in public.

On a subsequent occasion Bulieng, who accompanied us on our voyage, informed us that he could not have been cured of sickness by any medicine-man should he have parted with the hooks, and he would certainly have been struck down by sickness. Even now, he said, it would be necessary for him to go through a ceremony when he returned home. The medicine-man (dayong) would examine him to discover if anything out of the common had happened to his soul. If all is well with him, he will merely have to kill another fowl and smear the blood on the basket containing the remaining stones, explaining to them that he is pleased that everything has gone on all right, and that he will sit in his house for a whole day on their account, and also on account of his own soul. He positively declared that the night after he had sold the implements he dreamt he was sharing something of great importance with some male person, an augury which he did not consider unfavourable.

It is not known where these implements were found. Bulieng inherited them from his father, who brought them with him when he came from Long Sibatu, near the source of the Baram River.

A TRIP UP THE PATA

I had another up-river trip with Hose in order to visit Tama Bulan, the greatest of the Kenyahs, and one of the two or three inland chiefs who have been sworn members of the General Council of Sarawak. Tama Bulan lives on the Pata, a beautiful affluent of the Baram, whose swift course is often complicated with rapids, some of which are very formidable.

Unfortunately this trip, which promised to be so interesting, was marred for me by a bout of fever, and so I could not fully avail myself of the opportunities it afforded of studying this important and well-organised tribe of the Kenyahs.

Outside Tama Bulan’s large village are the usual groups of carved posts, representing deities who have to be sacrificed to on important or critical occasions, and I took a photograph (Plate XXIX., A) of one group of carved and painted figures which were close to some sacred stones (batu tulor). I have previously alluded to the fact that stones perched on posts are generally to be found outside each house, and they are at times sprinkled with the blood of fowls.

Tama Bulan received us with friendly dignity, and his womenfolk soon prepared a palatable repast for us of rice and other native food served in banana leaves and laid out on the mats of the living-room, and we reclined on the floor and supped with princes.

Tama Bulan’s house is about three hundred yards in length, and is supported some fifteen feet from the ground on huge posts of bilian, or “iron-wood,” some of which are a foot and a half in diameter. The structure of the house is similar in general arrangement to those I have previously described, but it is famous for the size of the bilian planks with which it is floored, some of them being as much as five feet broad.

The young ladies of Tama Bulan’s house proved to be the friendliest and jolliest damsels I have met in all my travels. They were not shy, but sat with us after the meal and made themselves agreeable. I quite envied Hose his facility of chatting to them, but the girls tried to make me feel at home by pulling my fingers to make them crack—this appears to be a sort of delicate attention to pay to a friend. I could not help comparing the behaviour of these girls with that of a merry party of frank, wholesome girls in an English country-house. The non-essentials were as different as possible—features, dress, ornaments, and habits—but there was the same camaraderie and good breeding.

Bulan (Plate XXIX., C), whose name signifies “the Moon,” was by no means so good-looking as several of her companions, and though dignified and friendly, she was not quite so genial. I do not think this was entirely due to her being weighed down by the fact of her being the eldest child of Tama Bulan; perhaps her domestic troubles had somewhat sobered her. I forget the details, but it was something like this. She had been married, or at least on the point of being married, three times. Once the omen birds foreshadowed such evil fortune that it would have been flying in the face of Providence to proceed further; and once, I think it was immediately after her marriage, a fire broke out in the kitchen, and this was regarded as an indication that the marriage should be null and void. The future writer of Bornean love stories will not have far to seek for obstacles in the path of true love. As Bulan was the firstborn, her father, following the custom of the country, changed his own name to Tama Bulan, “the father of Bulan.”

The day after our arrival at the village I went with Hose a short distance up the Pata to visit the Leppu Lutong village. On our way we passed a lovely spot where two streams met, which has an historical interest. It was in the early days of Hose’s administration, before he had fully acquired that influence over Tama Bulan which is now so marked, and which constitutes such a bulwark for the stability of the Rajah’s government among the interior tribes of this district. It is a long story, but the gist of it is that Tama Bulan, with a host of Kenyahs who were spoiling for a fight, had decided to go on the war-path without permission. If they had done so it would have indicated to the neighbouring tribes that the Sarawak Government could be flouted; so Hose put a brave face on it and, with a few followers, hurried to meet Tama Bulan and his warriors. They met at this rapid. Hose stood firm, and for a short time a game of bluff was played, at which the white man won, and Tama Bulan gave in; but it was a touch and go, and might very well have ended in a catastrophe. Unfortunately I was not well enough to photograph the spot, which I subsequently regretted, as the following year, when he published his new map of the Baram district, Hose named this rapid “Fanny Rapid,” in honour of my wife.