When a liao departs through the top of the head and death occurs, gongs are beaten for twenty-four hours. Five or six men set to work to make a beautiful coffin similar to the one already described; this is often finished in a day and the corpse, having been washed, is immediately placed within it. For a man a new chavat of wood fibre is adjusted around the loins, without other vestments. Another day is consumed in the work of decorating the coffin, which is done by men, while women weave diminutive mats, which are left less than half finished and are laid on top of the casket. For three days and as many nights the remains are kept in the house, and, if a man, his duhong (ancient knife), parang, knife, spear, sumpitan, betel box, tobacco container, and much food are placed nearby.
After these matters have received attention, food is eaten by those present. Fires are kept burning within the house and also outside, and after each meal the people strike one another's legs with firebrands in order to forget their grief. Members of the family, who begin to wail immediately after his death, continue to do so constantly for seven days, and they wear no red garments until after the tiwah feast which constitutes his second funeral. The coffin is buried in the ground or placed on a crude platform, and, when this work is finished, thorough ablution in water containing leaves which possess qualities especially adapted to this purpose is the rule for everybody concerned. This is done to the end that no odour of the dead shall linger, thus exposing the living to danger from the bad antoh that is responsible for the unfortunate event which necessitated their recent activities. Later, all partake of tuak, including the children.
After this preliminary disposal of the body the family begins to plan for the second and final funeral, which is considered a compensation to the departed soul for the property he left behind. Caution demands that they be very punctilious about this, for the ghost, though believed to be far above this plane, is thought to be resentful, with power to cause misfortunes of various kinds and therefore is feared. Until recently, when a man of means died, a slave had to be killed and his head placed on top of the coffin. When time for the second funeral, the tiwah, came round another slave was killed and his head hung near by. They are his attendants in the next life, but many more and elaborate arrangements are necessary to satisfy the demands of the liao, and they must be fully complied with on the celebration of the tiwah, the most elaborate of all feasts in Borneo.
When the deceased is well-to-do this observance may follow immediately, but usually years go by and many liaoes are served at the same time. On the great occasion the coffin is put on a big fire for a couple of hours until the flesh has been burned from the bones, which are then collected in a small box and placed in a house of limited proportions especially constructed for this purpose and called sandung. It is made of ironwood, and in these regions the people have a preference for placing it high above the ground, but it may also be put underground in a subterranean chamber also made of ironwood, which may take five or six months to construct and which is large enough to accommodate a family. The feast lasts one week, during which food and tuak are provided. Every night the women dance inside the house, around a tree composed of many bamboo stalks placed together so as to form a large trunk. As elsewhere mentioned, (Chapter XIV), the dancing, which is similar to that which follows the harvest, is for the benefit of the ghost and is distinct from the usual performance.
As soon as the tiwah feast has been decided upon the people start simultaneously to perfect the various arrangements, some looking for a water-buffalo or two, others beginning to make the several contrivances which the occasion demands. Many men are thus occupied for several months. There are experts in the required handiwork, though a skilful man may be capable of performing all the various tasks. In earlier days the different memorials and the box containing the bones were placed in front of the house of the deceased, but of late years government officials have made some changes in this arrangement. When preparing for a tiwah feast it was the custom to close the river for perhaps three months by suspending a rattan rope on which were hung many spears of wood, tail feathers of the great hornbill, and leaves of certain trees. After a head had been secured the impediment was removed, but the government has forbidden the temporary obstruction.
A most important matter is the construction of the device to which the water-buffalo, formerly the slave, is tied when sacrificed. In its make-up it expresses symbolically the rules of behaviour for the widow until after the feast has been celebrated. Its name is panyanggaran, an obscure word which probably may be derived from sangar, which means to kill; the place of killing.
The foundation is a large post, usually of ironwood, firmly planted in the ground; its top is pointed and a little below, on either side, is attached horizontally a piece of dressed wood like two arms. Further below a number of sticks are affixed to each side, pointing obliquely upward, and all on a plane with the arms above. These sticks, usually three on each side but sometimes more, are considered as spears, and the top of each is finished with a rosette representing four spear-points, called kalapiting. The post itself is also regarded as a spear and is calledbalu(widow), while the sticks are namedpampang-balu(widow rules). It seems possible that the post also represents the woman, head, arms, and body being recognisable. However that may be, the attached sticks are regarded as so many rules and reminders for the widow. In Kasungan I saw in one case eight sticks, in another only four. The rules may thus vary or be applicable to different cases, though some are fundamental.
Assuming that the requirements are six in number, according to my informant, the following should be observed by the widow: (1) To make the tiwah feast; (2) to refrain from remarriage until the feast has been celebrated; (3) to abstain from sexual intercourse; (4) to remain in the same place until after the feast; (5) to ask permission from the family of the deceased if she wants to leave the kampong temporarily; (6) to wear no red garments until the feast has been completed. Should any of these injunctions be disregarded a gutshi, the value of which may be twenty florins, must be paid to his relatives. If the widow desires to marry earlier than the tiwah feast she is required to pay the entire cost of the celebration, and sometimes an additional amount.
A simpler device than the panyanggaran is also used, serving a similar purpose and called sapundo. It consists of an upright post carved to represent the face of a good antoh, with tongue hanging out. To this pillar is tied a water-buffalo (as substitute for the slave formerly employed), a cow, or pig. As the sapundo is much easier to make it is used by the orang kampong or poor people. For a rich man who has gone hence both contrivances may be erected.
Another matter demanding attention is the erection of a tall, rather slender pole of ironwood, called pantar. A gong or gutshi strung near the top signifies that the deceased was a person of wealth and prominence, while a wooden image of the rhinoceros hornbill occupies a lofty position on the pinnacle. On account of its ability to discern objects at a great distance, this bird is regarded as a good watchman to guard the sacrifice, whether it be a water-buffalo or other animal. The pantar itself simply means "in memoriam," as if enjoining: "Don't forget this man!" These primitive monuments sometimes last over a hundred years, and more than one may be raised for the same man. Should it prove impossible to secure a water-buffalo, an ordinary cow may serve as sacrifice. The family thereby presents the animal's liao (soul) to the liao of the deceased, and the blian by dancing and sacrifice calls the latter to come and eat. Not only this, but the liao of every animal, bird, and fish which the family eats from the time of his death until the tiwah feast is given to him. Account is kept by incised cross-cuts on certain posts, notifying him of the number. I was told that when a raja died similar marks of account were made on a slave. The jaws of pigs or other animals, hanging by scores in the houses, together with heads of fish and legs of birds, are similar accounts for the same purpose, and all close with the tiwah feast.
A kapatong must be made, or, if the deceased were rich, perhaps two or three, which are inaugurated by the blian in the usual way, to be the ghost's attendants and guardians. The remaining duties to be performed are the making of a box or coffin for the bones to rest in, and the house in which it is to be deposited, either above or under the ground as may be decided. These tasks accomplished, no further responsibility devolves upon the widow or other members of the family.
On my return journey I stopped a few hours at a kampong in the vicinity to see some stones that, according to Katingan belief, are alive and multiplying. As my visit was expected, a fowl had just been sacrificed to these guardians of the kampong, and a fire made from bark was burning near by to keep the stones comfortable, so they would not be angry at being photographed. There were two roundish specimens, almost honeycombed with small cavities, one of them, scarcely twenty-five centimetres high, being regarded as masculine and the other, smaller and covered with green moss, was supposed to be of feminine gender. Originally, as the story goes, only these two were there, but later six "children" appeared, as evidenced by six smaller stones lying close to the "parents." The domain held sacred to this interesting family was bounded by four pieces of wood, each about a metre in length. Over all was extended a small square piece of red cloth supported on four upright sticks, which had been placed there two weeks before on behalf of a sick man whose recovery was attributed to this act of veneration. In front of the small enclosure lay four stones of inconsiderable size, lying in two pairs and supposed to be attendants; in the rear was a small house, reputed to be over three hundred years old, its purpose being to protect the stones, where offerings of food, with skulls of deer and pigs, were deposited.
Next day we met theSelatanon its way up the river, brought our luggage on board, and continued our journey. We had a disagreeable night before arriving at Bandjermasin; in fact, it is risky to travel south of Borneo in a steam-launch in January. As the wind was strong and the waves were too high for us to proceed, anchor was thrown and we were tossed about, the lamps went out, and, according to the captain, the boat nearly turned over. Mr. Loing, prostrate with seasickness, saved himself from being thrown overboard by grasping the rail.
After packing my collections I again set out for Sampit with the intention of revisiting Sembulo by another route, proceeding by prahu up the Kuala Sampit as far as possible, and then marching overland to the lake. The controleur was absent, but his native clerk and the kapala together got me the prahus and the men, such as the place afforded. As usual, the Malay coolies were late in arriving and began making many difficulties about various things. To cheer them I gave each f. 1.50 in advance, which made them all happy, and in buoyant, talkative spirits they immediately went off to buy rice, dried fish, tobacco, cigarettes, and other things. All was well, and at ten o'clock in the morning we finally started, with a native policeman in attendance.
An hour later the coolies wanted to cook rice. It did not take long to discover that they were not very useful, though the clerk had done his best. Two brothers were intolerably lazy, continually resting the paddles, lighting cigarettes, washing their faces, etc., the elder, after the full meal they had eaten, actually falling asleep at times. The interest of the men centred in eating and early camping, and we made slow progress, detained besides by a thunder-storm, as it was impossible to make headway against the strong wind. The man at the helm of the small prahu was intelligent, and from him I finally obtained information about a place to stop for the night.
At six o'clock we arrived at the mouth of the Kuala Sampit, where we found it difficult to effect a landing on account of the dilapidated condition of the landing-float. Some distance from the water stood a lonely house, in genuine Malay style, with high-gabled roof. The stairs afforded precarious access, a condition which may have been regarded as a protection, but more likely it was due to laziness and want of care. However that may have been, the interior was surprisingly substantial, with an excellent floor like that in a ballroom. I slept in a detached ramshackle room used as a kitchen, comfortable because of being open to the air.
In the morning the Malays were again too late. I was ready for a start at six o'clock, but about that time they began to cook. The small river, perhaps twenty metres wide, is deep enough to have allowed a steam-launch of theSelatan'sdimensions to go as far as the kampong Rongkang, our first destination, and there is little current. At five o'clock we had to stop to give the men opportunity to prepare their rice, and in the evening we arrived at Rongkang. The gongs were being beaten lustily in the darkness; we thought it must be on account of a death, which proved to be the case, a woman having died some days before. The house which was placed at my disposal was more nearly airtight than usual.
The kapala said it was difficult to get men, but he would do his best. A strange epidemic had lately appeared, and some deaths had occurred in the kampongs of this region. In the room I occupied a woman had recently recovered from an attack of a week's duration. The disease, which probably is a variety of cholera, was described to me as being a severe diarrhoea accompanied by vomiting, paralysis, and fever, the crisis occurring in three to five days. The disorder appears to rise from the feet, and if it settles between the liver and heart may prove fatal in half a day. As I learned later, this illness, which the Malays call men-tjo-tjok, is usually present in the inland region of the Sampit River, and is also found on the upper parts of the Kahayan and Pembuang Rivers.
People in this neighbourhood were lappar (hungry), having no rice, and the men were absent in the utan looking for rattan, white damar, and rubber, which they exchange for rice from Chinese traders. Under such circumstances, chiefly women and children are left in the kampongs. Of nearly thirty men needed for my overland trip, only three could be mustered here. One Dayak who was perfectly well in the evening came next morning to consult me about the prevalent illness which he had contracted during the night. The only available course was to return to Sampit.
The name of the Dayaks here and on Lake Sembulo is Tamoan (or Samoan), with intermixture of Katingans, who are said to understand each other's language. Most of these friendly natives had fair-sized beards, some only mustaches. The elder men complainingly said that the younger ones no longer want to tatu nor cut the front teeth. No haste was apparent about making the coffin for the woman who had been dead four days; although not yet commenced they said it would be completed that day.
The left bank of the river is much higher than the right, which is flooded, therefore the utan on that side presents a very different appearance, with large, fine-looking trees and no dense underbrush. All was fresh and calm after the rain which prevails at this season (February). There were showers during the afternoon, at times heavy, and the Malays were much opposed to getting wet, wanting to stop paddling, notwithstanding the fact that the entire prahu was covered with an atap. As we approached the mouth of the river, where I intended to camp for the night, I noticed a prahu halting at the rough landing place of a ladang, and as we passed it the rain poured down. When the single person who was paddling arose to adjust the scanty wet clothing I perceived that it was a woman, and looking back I discovered her husband snugly at ease under a palm-leaf mat raised as a cover. He was then just rising to walk home. That is the way the men of Islam treat their women. Even one of the Malay paddlers saw the humour of the situation and laughed.
At Rongkang I was told the legend of the dog that in ancient times had come from the inland of Borneo to Sembulo, where it became progenitor of the tailed people. In various parts of Borneo I heard about natives with short tails, and there are to-day otherwise reliable Dayaks, Malays, and even Chinese, who insist that they have seen them. Especially in regard to their presence at the lake of Sembulo, at the kampong of the same name, the consensus of opinion is strong. That place is the classical ground for the rumour of tailed men, and I thought it worth while, before leaving Borneo, to make another attempt later to reach Sembulo and investigate the reasons for the prevalent belief in tailed humans in that locality. The most complete legend on this subject I obtained from a prominent ex-district kapala, Kiai Laman, a Kahayan Dayak converted to Islam. He has travelled much in certain sections of Borneo, is interested in folklore matters, and told his stories without apparent errors or contradictions. The tale here rendered is from the Ot-Danums on the Upper Kahayan River.
A male dog called Belang started out to hunt for game—pig, deer, plandok. The kampong heard him bark in the manner common to dogs when on the trail of an animal, and then the baying ceased. The owner watched for the animal to return, but for half a year there was no news of him. In the meantime the dog had gone to Sembulo, making the trip in fifteen days. He appeared there in the shape of a man, took part in the work of the kampong, and married. His wife bore a child who had a tail, not long, about ten centimetres. "I do not like to tell a lie," said my raconteur. "What the sex was I do not know, but people say it was a male infant. She had another child, a female, also with a tail."
In the ladang the woman thought the crying of her children sounded very strange. "It is not like that of other infants," she said. "Other people have no tails and you have; you look like the children of a dog." Their father replied: "In truth I am a dog," and immediately he resumed his natural form, ran away, and after an interval arrived in the Upper Kahayan, where his owner welcomed him, and the dog lived to old age and died.
In due time the two children married and had large families, all of whom had tails, but since the Malays came and married Sembulo women the tails have become shorter and shorter. At present most of the people have none, and those that remain are not often seen because clothes are now worn; however, many travellers to Sembulo have beheld them.
The rendering from Rongkal is similar, with this difference: The man from Upper Kahayan followed his dog—which at sight of his master resumed canine form—and killed it. According to a Malay version, a raja of Bandjermasin was much disliked and the people made him leave the country. He took a female dog with him in the prahu and went to Sembulo, where he had children all of whom had tails.
The second trip to Sembulo had to be postponed until the return of the controleur of Sampit from an extended tour, when the steam-launchSelatanwould again be placed at my service. During the weeks of waiting I made a trip to Kuala Kapuas, northwest of Bandjermasin. The Kapuas River is broad here, I should say at least 600 metres; if there is any wind one cannot cross because the prahus are all made of iron-wood and sink easily, owing to the fact that they are heavy and do not accommodate themselves to the waves. A German missionary and family had been here ten years. The children looked a little pale but strong, and had never had malaria nor children's diseases.
I soon became convinced that there was little here for me to learn. The Dayaks have been too long exposed to Malay and European influences, though still able to make splendid mats, for which this place is well known. Malay ascendancy is strong on the lower courses of the two great rivers that meet here, on the Kapuas as far as Djangkang, on the Kahayan as far as Pahandut. I carried away mud for future zoological examination from the bottom of a pool, ten minutes walk from the shore. There are always small fish in it, and three or four times a year it is flooded. In dry seasons, although not every year, the water of the sea reaches as far as Mandumei.
In Bandjermasin my attention was drawn to an interesting breed of stump-tailed dogs which belonged to Mr. B. Brouers. The mother is a white terrier which has but half a tail, as if cut off. When she had pups, two had stump tails, two had long ones, and one had none; her sister has no tail. Though the fathers are the ordinary yellowish Dayak dogs with long tails, the breed apparently has taken nothing or next to nothing from them. They are all white, sometimes with hardly noticeable spots of yellow.
Nobody who has travelled in Borneo can have failed to notice the great number of short-tailed cats. In Bandjermasin those with long tails are very rare, and among Malays and Dayaks I do not remember ever having seen them. They are either stub-tailed or they have a ball at the end of a tail that is usually twisted and exceptionally short. These cats are small and extremely tame, and can hardly be pushed away with a kick, because they have always been used to having their own way in the house. They are more resourceful and enterprising than the ordinary domestic cat, using their claws to an almost incredible extent in climbing down perpendicular wooden walls, or in running under the roof on rafters chasing mice. I have twice photographed such cats, a liberty which they resented by striking viciously at the man who held them and growling all the time. Their accustomed food is rice and dried fish.
The steamshipJanssenshad recently reduced its already infrequent sailings for Singapore, which caused some delay, but finally, toward the end of March, I embarked for Sampit. I was glad to see the controleur, who came down to the pier, for the rare occasions when steamers call here are almost festive events, and arrangements were at once made for my journey to Sembulo. At Pembuang we took on board the native kapala of the district, who was to accompany me; he also brought an attendant, a cook, and a policeman, all natives. Twelve hours later, when we arrived at the kampong Sembulo, the kapala who came on board theSelataninformed us that no Dayaks were there. As the lake was low and the water continued to fall it was impossible to proceed to Bangkal, the other kampong, or to remain here more than a few days. Therefore, at my request the native authorities agreed to have the Bangkal Dayaks congregate here, the kapala himself undertaking to bring them.
The population of the kampong Sembulo, formerly called Pulau Tombak, at the present time is Malay, comprising more than two hundred full-grown men, nearly all recent arrivals from Bandjermasin, Sampit, Pembuang, and other places. Very little rice is planted because the soil is sandy and unsuited to cultivation, therefore the inhabitants confine their activities mainly to rubber gathering. At that time about a hundred men were busy in the jungle on the opposite side, gathering white rubber, which is plentiful in the surrounding country. They cross the lake in their small prahus, pole them up the streams, and remain perhaps three months in the utan working under adverse conditions. When engaged in their pursuit they must always stand in water, which covers the ground and is usually shallow but at times reaches to the armpit.
Four weeks previously an epidemic of beri-beri had started with a mortality of one or two every day. When attacked by the disease they return to the kampong but only few recover, most of them dying from one or the other of the two forms of beri-beri. Nevertheless, the remainder continue the work undismayed—"business going on as usual." In the tropics life and death meet on friendly terms. "That is a sad phase of this country," said a Briton to me in India; "you shake hands with a man to-day and attend his funeral to-morrow."
At its deepest part the lake measures about seven metres. From May to August, when the Pembuang River is small and the lake is low, the depth is reduced to a metre. People then must walk far out to get water. Every afternoon we had gales accompanied by heavy rain from the northeast, although once it came from the southwest, and theSelatanhad to put out another anchor. I was told that similar storms are usual every afternoon at that season (April), during which prahus do not venture out; apparently they also occur around Sampit and arc followed by calm nights.
Eighteen Dayaks were brought here from Bangkal. Of these, nine were Tamoan, the tribe of the region, eight Katingan, and one Teroian (or Balok) from Upper Pembuang. They were measured, photographed, and interviewed. One man looked astonishingly like a Japanese. The name of the tribe, Tamoan, also pronounced Samoan, means to wash. The tatu marks are the same as those of the Katingans. At present these natives have only six kampongs, three of them above Sampit. Cultivating rice was very difficult, they complained, on account of the poor soil and wet weather. The lake has few fish and they cannot be caught except when the water is low. There are no large serpents here, and neither snakes, dogs, nor crocodiles are eaten; but the rusa is accepted as food. Fruits, as the durian and langsat, are rather scarce.
Fire is made by twirling, and these natives use the sumpitan. They know how to make tuak, crushing the rice, boiling it, and then pouring it into a gutshi until the vessel is half full, the remaining space being filled with water. In three days the product may be drunk, but sometimes it is allowed to stand a month, which makes it much stronger. If there is no tuak there can be no dancing, they said. Many remarked upon the expense of obtaining a wife, the cost sometimes amounting to several hundred florins, all of which must be earned by gathering rubber. The tiwah feast is observed, but as to legends there are none, and their language and customs are disappearing.
These Tamoans are disintegrating chiefly on account of the ravages of cholera. About forty years previously an epidemic nearly extinguished Bangkal, and there was another in 1914. The result is that the population has changed, people from other kampongs, at times from other tribes, taking the places of the dead. At the kampong Sembulo there appear to be no Tamoans remaining, the Malays having easily superseded them.
Although my journey to the lake yielded no evidence to substantiate the legend connected with it, because I found no Dayaks left "to tell the tale," still, satisfaction is derived even from a negative result. Having accomplished what was possible I returned to Sampit, arriving almost at the same time a sailing ship came in from Madura, the island close to northeastern Java. It was of the usual solid type, painted white, red, and green, and loaded with obi, a root resembling sweet potatoes, which on the fourth day had all been sold at retail. A cargo of terasi, the well-known spicy relish made from crawfish and a great favourite with Malays and Javanese, was then taken on board.
In the small prison of Sampit, which is built of iron-wood, the mortality from beri-beri among the inmates was appalling. Nine men, implicated in the murder of two Chinese traders, in the course of eight months while the case was being tried, all died except a Chinaman who was taken to Bandjermasin. I understood a new prison was about to be erected. It seems improbable that ironwood has any connection with this disorder, but Mr. Berger, manager of the nearby rubber plantation, told me the following facts, which may be worth recording: Six of his coolies slept in a room with ironwood floor, and after a while their legs became swollen in the manner which indicates beri-beri. He moved them to another room, gave them katjang idju, the popular vegetable food, and they soon recovered. He then replaced the ironwood floor with other material, and after that nobody who slept in the room was affected in a similar way.
I met in Sampit three Dayaks from the upper country of the Katingan on whom the operation of incision had been performed. According to reliable reports this custom extends over a wide area of the inland, from the upper regions of the Kapuas, Kahayan, and Barito Rivers in the east, stretching westward as far as and including the tribes of the Kotawaringin. Also, in the Western Division on the Upper Kapuas and Melawi Rivers, the same usage obtains. In Bandjermasin prominent Mohammedans, one of them a Malay Hadji, told me that the Malays also practise incision instead of circumcision. The Malays, moreover, perform an operation on small girls, which the Dayaks do not.
The controleur invited me to take part in a banquet which he gave to celebrate the completion of a road. There were present Malay officials, also Chinamen, and one Japanese. The latter, who arrived at Sampit one and a half years before with forty florins, had since increased his capital to a thousand through the sale of medicines to natives whom he reached by going up the rivers. We were seated at three tables, twenty-eight guests. The natives were given viands in addition to the menu provided, because they must have rice. Their women had helped to cook—no small undertaking for so many in an out-of-the-way place like Sampit. It was an excellent dinner; such tender, well-prepared beef I had not enjoyed for a long time. Claret, apollinaris, and beer were offered, the latter appearing to be the favourite. Women were served in another room after the men had dined.
(From the Penyahbongs, kampong Tamaloë)
Ulung Tiung was left at home by his father who went out hunting. Borro, the cocoanut-monkey, came and asked for food, but when Ulung gave him a little he refused to eat it and demanded more. The boy, who was afraid of him, then gave more, and Borro ate until very little remained in the house. The monkey then said, "I am afraid of your father, and want to go home." "Go," replied the boy, "but return again." When the father came home in the evening he was angry that the food had been taken.
The following day when the father went out hunting, Borro again came asking for food. The boy, at first unwilling, finally yielded; the monkey ate with much gusto and as before wanted to go home. "Do not go," said the boy, "my father is far away." "I smell that he is near," said Borro, and went.
When the father returned in the evening and saw that the food again had been eaten he was very angry with the boy, who replied: "Borro ate it—I did not take any." Whereupon the father said: "We will be cunning; next time he comes tell him I have gone far away. Make a swing for him near your mat, and when he is in it tie rattan around him and swing him."
The father went away and the monkey came again and asked for food, and got it. When he had eaten the boy said: "You had better get into the swing near my mat." Borro liked to do that and seated himself in it, while the boy tied rattan around him and swung him. After a little while the monkey, fearing that the father might come back, said he wanted to get out, but the boy replied, "Father is not coming before the evening," at the same time tying more rattan around him, and strongly, too.
The father came home and fiercely said: "You have been eating my food for two days." Thereupon he cut off Borro's head, and ordered his son to take him to the river, clean him, and prepare the flesh to be cooked. The boy took Borro's body to the river, opened it and began to clean it, but all the small fish came and said: "Go away! What you put into the water will kill us." The boy then took the monkey some distance off and the big fish came and said: "Come nearer, we want to help you eat him."
The sisters of Borro now arrived, and his brothers, father, children, and all his other relatives, and they said to Ulung Tiung: "This is probably Borro." "No," he said, "this is a different animal." Then the monkeys, believing what he said, went away to look for Borro, except one of the monkey children, who remained behind, and asked: "What are you doing here?" "What a question!" the boy answered; "I am cutting up this animal, Borro."
The child then called all the monkeys to return, and they captured Ulung Tiung and carried him to their house and wanted to kill him. "Don't kill me," he said, "I can find fruit in the utan." The monkeys permitted him to do that, and told him to return in the evening, but the boy said that first he would have to dream.
In the morning the monkeys asked him what he had dreamed. "There is plenty of fruit in the mountain far away," he answered, pointing afar, and all the monkeys went out to the mountain leaving their wives and children behind. When they were all gone Ulung Tiung killed the women and children with a stick, and went home to his father. "I killed the women and children," he declared, "but the men had not come back." "We will watch for them with sumpitan," said his father, and when the monkeys returned and found that all who had remained at home were dead, they began to look for Ulung Tiung, but he and his father killed half of them with sumpitan and the rest ran away.
NOTE.—Ulung Tiung is the name for a boy whose mother is dead, but whose father is alive. For the sake of convenience I have maintained the Malay name "borro" for the cocoanut-monkey.
(From the Penyahbongs; kampong Tamaloë)
Ulung Ela made a fish-trap and when he returned next morning he found it full of fish. He put them in his rattan bag, which he slung on his back and started for home. As he walked, he heard an antoh, Aaton Kohang, singing, and he saw many men and women, to whom he called out: "It is much better you come to my place and sing there." Aaton Kohang said: "Very well, we will go there." The boy continued his march, and when he came home he gave one fish to his mother to roast, which she wrapped in leaves and put on the live coals. He also prepared fish for himself, ate quickly, and begged his mother to do the same. The mother asked: "Why do you hurry so?" The boy, who did not want to tell her that he had called an antoh, then said that it was not necessary to hurry.
After they had finished eating, in the evening Aaton Kohang arrived with many men and many women. They tickled the mother and her boy under the arms until they could not talk any more and were half dead, took what remained of the fish, and went away. The two fell asleep, but ants bit them in the feet and they woke up and saw that all the fish were gone. "Ha!" they said: "Aaton Kohang did this," and they ran away.
NOTE.—Ulung Ela is the name for a boy whose father is dead, but whose mother is alive.
(From the Penyahbongs; kampong Tamaloë)
Two small sisters, whose father and mother had died, went with the women to look for sago. The tree was cut and the sago, after having been beaten, was put into the large rattan bag. The younger child, who was sitting close to the bag, dropped asleep and fell into it. The other girl came to look for her sister but could not find her. She had disappeared, and when the women saw that the bag was already full they all went home. On returning next day they found plenty of sago inside of the tree, and had no difficulty in filling their bags.
NOTE.—Ulung Ania is the name for the elder of the two girl orphans. Ulung Kabongon is the name for the younger. When her elder sister died the latter became obon, and her name became Obon Kabongon.
(From the Penyahbongs; kampong Tamaloë)
Tabédjeh wanted to go to the place where a girl, Inyah, was living. On the way he met an antoh in the shape of a man with whom he began talking. Antoh said: "I am going to catch Inyah and eat her." Tabédjeh then drew his parang and cut off his head. But a new head grew, and many more, so that Tabédjeh became afraid and fled, with antoh running after him. He lost his parang, then, after a while, he stopped and took sticks to strike antoh with, but every time he struck the stick was wrested from him, and he had to take flight again.
He ran up on a mountain and antoh, in close pursuit, caught up with him sitting on a fallen tree. Tabédjeh was tired and short of breath, but when antoh saw what kind of a tree he was sitting on he said: "You may remain there. I cannot eat you now because I am afraid of that tree." Tabédjeh took a piece of the wood of the tree, which is called klamonang, and he went to the house of Inyah to show her the tree of which antoh is afraid, and they had their wedding at once.
(From the Penyahbongs; kampong Tamaloë)
Two brothers were walking in the utan, with sumpitans, when they met a pig which one of them speared. The quarry became furious and attacked the other one, but they helped each other and killed the pig, ate what they wanted, and continued their hunting.
Next they met a rhino which they killed. As they began to take off the hide, cutting into his chest, the rhino became alive again, and the hide turned out to be the bark of a tree. The two ran home, but the rhino came after them, so they again had to flee, pursued by him, until they came across a small tree called mora, of which antoh is afraid. They gathered some of the leaves, and as soon as the rhino saw that he ran away.
(From the Penyahbongs; kampong Tamaloë)
The mother of Daring's wife ordered him to go out and hunt for animals to eat, but said they would have to be without bones. He searched for a month, and all that he got had bones. Finally he brought back a leech, which she ate. Then she said: "Go and look for penganun," the huge serpent with the golden horn. He met the monster and used all his poisoned darts before it succumbed. He left it there and went home. "Have you got the big serpent?" she asked him. "Yes!" he answered. She then went out to bring it in, but she cut off only a little of the flesh, which she brought back. It was cooked in bamboo, and the people in the house ate it, but before they had finished the meal they became crazy—fifteen of them. The affected ones, as well as the bamboo in which the cooking had been done, turned into stone, but the meat disappeared. Daring and his wife, who had not partaken of the meal, escaped.
NOTE.—There exists in Borneo a huge python, in Malay called sahua, which is the basis for a superstitious belief in a monster serpent, called penganun, the forehead of which is provided with a straight horn of pure gold. The tale is possibly influenced by Malay ideas. The Penyahbongs have a name for gold, bo-an, but do not know how to utilise the metal.
(From the Penyahbongs; kampong Tamaloë)
Two young girls, not yet married, went to fish, each carrying the small oblong basket which the Penyahbong woman is wont to use when fishing, holding it in one hand and passing it through the water. A very young serpent, of the huge kind called penganun, entered a basket and the child caught it and placed it on the bark tray to take it home.
Penganun ate all the fish on the tray, and the girls kept it in the house, catching fish for it, and it remained thus a long time. When it grew to be large it tried to eat the two girls, and they ran away to their mother, who was working on sago, while their father was sleeping near by. Penganun was pursuing them, and he caught the smaller one around the ankle, but the father killed the monster with his sumpitan and its spear point. With his parang he cut it in many pieces and his wife cooked the meat in bamboo, and they all ate it.
NOTE.—Penganun, see preceding tale. The sumpitan (blow-pipe) has a spear point lashed to one end, and thus also may serve as a spear.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
A woman was going to the ladang in the morning, and she said to her young son, Amon Amang, whose father was dead: "When the sun comes over the tree there you must begin to husk paddi." She then went away to the ladang while the boy remained at home. He carried the paddi, as well as the oblong wooden mortar, up into a tree. There he began to work, and the mortar and the paddi and the boy all tumbled down because the branch broke. A man helped the half-dead boy to come to his senses again, throwing water on him, and when the mother returned she was very angry to see the mortar broken and the paddi strewed all about. "I told you to husk paddi in the house when the sun came over the tree," she said. "Better that you now go and hunt birds."
The boy then decided to hunt. He climbed a tree and put up snares to catch birds. He caught a great many big hornbills, which he fastened alive to his loin cloth, and they began to fly, carrying the boy with them to a big tree, where they loosened themselves from him, left him in a cleft, and all flew away. The tree was very tall, but he climbed down a fig tree which grew beside it, descended to the ground, and went home.
His mother was not pleased that he did not bring any birds, and he told her what had happened. "Why all this?" she said. "You fell from the tree! You should have killed the birds," she declared reproachfully.
NOTE.—Amon Amang means the husband's child. (Amon = father; Amang = child.)
During my stay of two weeks at Data Lahong fortunate circumstances enabled me to gather a considerable number of Saputan tales. Several prominent men from neighbouring kampongs visited me and were willing to tell them, while of equal importance was the fact that a Mohammedan Murung Dayak in my party spoke the language well and made a very satisfactory interpreter.
On the other hand, I remained among the Penihings for many weeks, but the difficulty of finding either men who knew folklore or who could interpret well, prevented me from securing tales in that tribe. However, there is strong probability that much of the folklore told me by the Saputans originated with the Penihings, which is unquestionably the case with No. 16, "Laki Mae." The reason is not far to seek since the Saputans appear to have been governed formerly by the Penihings, though they also are said to have had many fights with them. According to information given me at Long Tjehan, Paron, the Raja Besar in the kampong, until recent years was also raja of the Saputans.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
Dirang and his wife, Inyah, went out hunting with dogs, and got one pig. She then cut rattan to bind the pig for carrying it home, and the man in tying, broke the rattan. He became very angry and told his wife to look for another piece of rattan. She went away and met an antoh in the shape of a woman who asked her: "Where are you going?" "To look for rattan," was the answer, and "What is your name?" Inyah asked. "I am Inyah Otuntaga," the antoh answered. Inyah then said: "Take this rattan and give it to my husband."
Inyah Otuntaga brought the rattan to the man, who tied the babi all around, and she took it up and carried it home. The man, meanwhile, followed her, thinking it was his wife. She went to this side and that side in the jungle, frequently straying. "What is the matter," he said, "don't you know the way?" "Never mind," she retorted, "I forgot." Arriving at the house she went up the wrong ladder, and the man was angry and said: "Don't you know the right ladder?" She answered: "I cannot get up the ladder." "Come up and walk in," he exclaimed, and began to think she was an antoh.
She entered the room and slept there, lived with him ever after, and had two children. His former wife, much incensed, went to the house of her father, and after a while she had a child. Her little boy chanced to come to the house of his father, who asked his name. "I am the son of Inyah," he said. Then the father learned where his former wife was, and he went to fetch her, and afterward both wives and their children lived together.
(From the Saputans; kampong, Data Láong)
Two men, Sora and Iyu, went into the utan to hunt with sumpitans. While Iyu made a hut for the two, Sora went to look for animals and came across a pig, which he killed. He brought the liver and the heart to the hut and gave them to Iyu to cook. When the cooking was finished Iyu advised him of it, and the two sat down to eat. It was already late in the afternoon and Iyu, whose duty it was to fetch the pig, waited until next day, when he went away to bring it in, but instead he ate it all by himself, and then returned to the hut and told Sora what he had done. It was now late in the evening and they both went to sleep. The following morning Sora went out again with his sumpitan, but chased all day without meeting an animal, so he took one root of a water-plant called keládi, as well as one fruit called pangin, and went home. The keládi was roasted, but the fruit it was not necessary to prepare. They then sat down to eat, but could not satisfy their hunger, and Iyu was angry and asked why he brought so little. "I did not bring more," Sora answered, "because it is probable the owner would have been angry if I had." Iyu said: "Tomorrow I shall bring plenty."
Next morning Iyu came to the place where Sora had found the root and the fruit, and he ate all that remained there, but this belonged to an antoh, called Amenaran, and one of his children saw Iyu eat the root which he did not cook, and also saw him climb the tree and eat the fruit. He went and told his father, the antoh, who became angry, spoke to Iyu about it, and wanted to know who had given him permission.
Iyu, who was up in the tree still gorging himself with fruit, said he was not afraid and he would fight it out that evening. Amenaran stood below and lightning poured forth from his mouth and thunder was heard. Iyu said: "I have no spear, nor parang, but I will kill that antoh." And the big pig he had eaten and all the roots and all the fruits that he had been feeding on, an immense quantity of faeces, he dropped on Amenaran's head, and it killed him. Iyu returned home and told Sora that he had put Amenaran to death. They then went out and killed many animals with the sumpitan and returned to the kampong. "Now that antoh is dead we can no more eat raw meat nor much fruit," said Iyu. Long ago it was the custom to eat the meat raw and much of it, as well as much fruit, and one man alone would eat one pig and a whole garden. Now people eat little. With the death of antoh the strong medicine of the food is gone, and the Saputans do not eat much.
NOTE.—Laki is the Malay word for man or male, adopted by many of the tribes. The native word for woman, however, is always maintained. Keládi is acaladium, which furnishes the principal edible root in Borneo.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
Tanipoi bore a female infant, and when the child had been washed with water on the same day, the father gave her the name Aneitjing (cat). Years passed, and the girl had learned to bring water in the bamboo and to crush paddi. And the mother again became pregnant, and in due time had another little girl which was called Inu (a kind of fruit).
Now, among the Saputans the custom long ago was that the woman who had a child should do no work during forty days. She must not bring water, nor husk paddi, nor cook. She remained in the house and took her bath in the river daily. She slept much and ate pork cooked in bamboo, and rice, if there was any, and she was free to eat anything else that she liked. Her husband, Tanuuloi, who during this time had to do all the work, became tired of it, and he said to his wife: "I cannot endure this any longer, I would rather die."
After he had cooked the meal and they had eaten he said: "Take the two children and go with me to the river." All four of them went into a prahu which he paddled down stream until they came to a large rock in the middle of the river, where he stopped it. They all climbed on the rock, and the prahu he allowed to drift away. He then said to his wife: "You and I will drown ourselves." "I cannot," she said, "because I have a small child to suckle." He then tore the child from the mother's breast and placed it on the rock. The two children and the mother wept, and he caught hold of one of her hands, dragged her with him into the water, and they were both drowned.
The two children remained on the rock all day. After sunset Deer (rusa) arrived. The older child called out; "Take me from here." And Deer came to the stone and placed Aneitjing on his back, and behind her Inu, and carried them ashore. Deer then made a clearing in the utan and built a hut for them. He then went to the ladang to look for food, but before starting he said to the children: "I am going to the ladang. Maybe I shall be killed by the dogs. In that case you must take my right arm and my right eye and bring them here."
Deer went away and was attacked by dogs. The two children heard the barking, and when they arrived the dogs were gone and Deer was found dead. The children took the right arm and the right eye and went home, made a clearing and dug a hole, where the arm and the eye were placed, and they covered the hole with earth. They often went to look at that place. After twenty days they saw a sprout coming up, and in twenty years this had grown into a big tree which bore all sorts of fruit and other good things. From the tree fell durian, nangka, and many other kinds of delicious fruit, as well as clothing, spears, sumpitans, gongs, and wang (money).
Rumour of this spread to the kampong, and two men arrived, Tuliparon, who was chief, and his brother Semoring. They had heard of the two young women, and they made a hut for themselves near by, but did not speak to the girls. They went to sleep and slept day after day, a whole year, and grass grew over them. Inu, the younger, who was the brighter of the two, said to Aneitjing: "Go and wake these men. They have been sleeping a long time. If they have wives and children in the kampong this will make much trouble for all of them." Aneitjing then asked Tipang Tingai for heavy rain. It came in the evening and flooded the land, waking the two men who found themselves lying in the water. They placed their belongings under the house of the women and went to the river to bathe. They then returned and changed their chavats under the house. The women wanted to call to them, but they were bashful, so they threw a little water down on them. The men looked up and saw that there were women above and they ascended the ladder with their effects.
The girls gave them food, and Tuliparon said to Inu: "I am not going to make a long tale of it. If you agree I will make you my wife, and if you do not agree, I will still make you my wife." Inu answered: "Perhaps you have a wife and children in the kampong. If you have, I will not, but if you have not, then I will." "I am free," he said, "and have neither wife nor child." Reassured on this point she consented. His brother and Aneitjing agreed in the same way. The women said that they wanted always to live where they had the tree with so many good things. The men felt the same way, and they went to the kampong and induced all the people to come out there, and thus a new kampong was founded.
NOTE.—Tipang Tingai means the highest God, the same as the Malay TuanAllah. It is also used by the Penyahbongs.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
Once upon a time three brothers, Mohaktahakam, Batoni, and Bluhangoni, started in the morning from the kampong and walked to another kampong where Pahit, an antoh, had a fish-trap. They were intent on stealing the fish, and as they went along they considered among themselves how they could take it. Pahit was very strong, but Mohaktahakam said: "Never mind, I am going to fight it out with him." Arriving there they let the water out of the trap, and with parang and spear they killed lots of fish of many kinds, filling their rattan bags with them. Taking another route they hurried homeward. Their burdens were heavy, so they could not reach the kampong, but made a rough shelter in the usual way on piles, the floor being two or three feet above the ground. They cut saplings and quickly made a framework, called tehi, on which the fish were placed. Underneath they made a big fire which smoked and cured them. In the morning they had boiled rice and fish to eat, and then went out to hunt for animals with sumpitan. The fish meanwhile remained on the tehi, the fire being kept alive underneath.
Pahit found his trap dry and no fish there. "Why have people been bold enough to take the fish?" he said to himself. "They don't know I am strong and brave"; and, very angry, he followed their tracks. He had gone scarcely half-way when he smelled the fish, which was very fat. When he arrived at the camp he found the fish over the fire, but nobody there. He gathered some leaves together behind the camp and sat down upon them to wait the arrival of the men.
In the afternoon Batoni and Bluhangoni returned to camp carrying much pig and deer. He immediately caught hold of both of them, lifted them up and brought them down with force upon the rough floor of the hut, and both died. Pahit saw that places had been made for three men to sleep, and knowing that there must be another man coming he decided to wait. The two bodies he placed under the hut, on the ground. After a while Mohaktahakam came, carrying pig, deer, rhino, wild ox, and bear, and threw it all down near the drying fish, to cook it later. He was tired, having walked all day, and went up into the hut to smoke tobacco. Pahit saw this and went after him. He caught hold of the man to throw him down, but could not lift him. Mohaktahakam, very angry, caught Pahit by the arms, lifted him up, threw him against the floor and killed him. "Pahit spoke of being strong and brave, but I am stronger," he said.
Mohaktahakam then made his brothers come to life again, and they cleaned all the animals they had caught and placed the meat on a tehi to dry and smoke. Then they cooked meat in bamboo and ate, afterward going to sleep. During the night one of them at times mended the fire, which was kept burning. In the morning, after eating, they went home to the kampong, carrying bags full of meat and fish.
NOTE.—Tehi, a framework for drying fish or meat, is called in Malay, salai.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
Dirang left the kampong to hunt for heads, with three prahus and many men, armed with parangs, shields, sumpitans, and spears, and they also carried some rice for provisions. After a while the people who remained behind became very hungry, and one day Inyah, the wife of Dirang, went out to look for bamboo shoots to eat. She met a small babi (pig), caught it, and brought it home. In the kampong she asked the men to help her make a shed for it.
The babi, which was male, grew bigger and bigger. It was very strong, and when dogs, cats, or hens came near the shed it would kill and eat them. It was fierce and angry because it had not enough to eat, and finally it turned the shed over and killed and ate all the people. No one escaped but Inyah, who fled to another kampong, where she asked for help and the people permitted her to remain there.
Shortly afterward the babi arrived. All the people heard the noise it made as it came through the utan, breaking the jungle down. They said to Inyah: "You would better run away from here. We are afraid he may eat us." Inyah went away, trying to reach another kampong. She got there and asked for help against the man-eating babi. Hardly had she received permission to remain before a great noise was heard from the babi coming along. The people, frightened, asked her to pass on, and she ran to another kampong. There was a woman kapala in that kampong who lived in a house that hung in the air. Inyah climbed the ladder, which was drawn up after her. The babi came and saw Inyah above, but could not reach her, and waited there many days.
Dirang, who was on his way back from the headhunting expedition, came down the river, and he said to one of his companions: "It is well to stop here and make food." This chanced to be close to the place where Inyah was. They went ashore to make camp. Some of them went out to search for wood and met the babi, who attacked them, and they fled to their prahus. When Dirang, who was an antoh, saw his men on the run, he became very angry, went after the babi, and cut off its head. His men cut up the body and cooked the meat in bamboo, near the river, sitting on a long, flat rock. They ate much, and Dirang said that he now wanted to paddle down to the kampong, so they all started. Inyah had seen Dirang, and she said to the woman kapala: "Look! There is my husband. No other man would have been brave enough to kill the babi." The woman kapala said: "I should like to have such a husband if I wanted one, but I am afraid of a husband." Inyah said: "I want to go down." And she walked over to the place where the men had been sitting on the rock, went upon it, and accidentally stepped on a bone left from the meal, which hit her on the inside of the right ankle. The bone was from the right hind leg of the babi, and was sharp, so it drew a little blood from the ankle.
She felt pain and went back to the house. Some time later the leg began to swell, and as time passed it grew bigger and bigger. The woman kapala said: "There must be a child inside." "If that is the case," said Inyah, "then better to throw it away." "No, don't do that. Wait until the child is born and I will take care of it," said the kapala. When her time had come the child arrived through the wound made by the babi bone, and the kapala washed the child and took care of it. When two months old the child was given the name Obongbadjang. When he was fifteen years old he was as strong as Dirang.
Dirang had brought many heads to the kampong, but finding all the people dead and houses fallen down, he became angry and killed the slaves he had brought back. He then went out on another hunt for heads. When the prahus passed the kampong where Inyah was, all the people in the house saw them, and Obongbadjang, her young son, who had heard much of Dirang, went down to see him. "Where are you going?" asked Dirang. "I want to go with you," answered the boy. Dirang liked him, and let him into the prahu.
They travelled far and wide, and finally came to the kampong which they wanted to attack. Dirang went in from one end of the house and Obongbadjang from the other, and they cut the heads from all the people, men, women, and children, and met in the middle of the house. Dirang was wondering who this young man was who was strong like himself and not afraid. "My name is Obongbadjang," he said, "the son of Dirang and Inyah." He then ran away, although Dirang tried to keep him back, and he ran until he arrived where his mother was.
On seeing his son run away Dirang felt "sick in his throat," then collected all the heads, comprising the population of the whole kampong, put them in the prahus, and returned to look for his son and wife. He stopped at the same place where he had killed the big babi and made a hut. He then went to look for Obongbadjang and Inyah. When he was walking under the house, which was high up in the air, Inyah threw a little water down on him. He turned his head up and saw there was a house, but there was no ladder and he could not get up. They put out the ladder and he went up and met Inyah again, who, until then, he did not know was alive. He also met his son, and after remaining a little while he took them away to rebuild their kampong.
NOTE.—"Sick in his throat," Saputan mode of speech for deep emotional depression, is similar to our "feeling a choking in the throat." The Malays say: "Sick in his liver."
For the sake of convenience the Malay name babi for a pig, perfectly known to the Dayaks, has been maintained in this tale.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
There were many young men who wanted to marry Inu Songbakim, a young girl, but she liked only one man, Monjang Dahonghavon, and, having obtained the consent of her father and mother, he shared her mat. One day he went out to work, making planks with his axe, while she remained at home cooking. When she had prepared the food she took it to him, and when she arrived at the place where he was working he looked at her as he was cutting with the axe and hurt himself. He died, and his father came and took the corpse to the house. Being an antoh he restored the life of his son, who became very angry with his wife for being the cause of his death. He wanted to kill her, but as she was very strong he could not do it, and instead, with his parang, killed her father and mother. His wife, in turn, became filled with wrath, and with a parang killed his father and mother.
The young man then left her to look for another wife, but could not find any that was to his liking, strong and good-looking, so after a while he decided to return to the wife he already had. "I like you much," she said, "but if you want to have me again you must make my father and mother alive again." "I will do that," he answered, "if you first will restore to life my father and mother." They were both antohs, so there was a general return to life, and the people from the two kampongs to which the families belonged came together and made the kampongs into one.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
Many young men courted Ohing Blibiching, but she was difficult to please. Finally, she favoured Anyang Mokathimman because he was strong, skilful in catching animals, brave in head-hunting. She said: "Probably you have a wife." "No, I am alone," he said, and her father and mother having given consent, they then lived together.
After a while he said: "I want to go away and hunt for heads." She said: "Go, but take many men with you. If you should be sick, difficulties would be great." She then made rice ready in a basket, calculating that on a long journey they would depend more on the sago found in the utan. They would also kill animals for food, therefore, in addition to their parangs, the men took sumpitans along.
"If we have any mishaps," he said, "I shall be away two months. If not, I shall be back in a month." She remained in the kampong guarded by her father, mother, and other people, and after a while many young men began to pay her attention, telling her: "He has been away a long time. Maybe he will not return." One day at noon when she was filling her bamboo receptacles in the river as usual, taking a bath at the same time, she saw a fish sleeping, and caught it. She then lifted on her back the big-meshed rattan bag which held the bamboo receptacles, all full of water, and went home, carrying the fish in her hand. Before cooking it she went to husk paddi.
The bird Teong, who had heard she was beautiful, saw her and he liked her much. He flew to a tree from which he could get a good look at her where she was husking the paddi. In admiration he jumped from branch to branch until a dead one broke which fell down and wounded young Otter in the river under the tree. The mother of Otter became angry with Bird Teong for the injury. "I have been in this tree quite a while," Bird answered, "because I like to look at that woman. I did not know Otter was underneath. If you want damages, ask that woman there." "Why should I pay Otter?" the woman said. "I did not call Bird Teong. I have just finished pounding and am going to cook fish. This case we will settle tomorrow. I am hungry now." She went away and so did Bird and Otter. She cooked rice in one bamboo and the fish in another. Then she ate, after which she went to the river as the sun was setting, to take her bath. She soon went to sleep.
Early the next morning she made her usual tour to the river to bring water and take her bath, and when she had eaten, Bird and Otter arrived. Otter wanted damages from Bird, and Bird insisted that the woman should pay. She repeated that she knew nothing of Bird and had not asked him to come. As they were arguing, to her great relief her husband arrived. He brought many prisoners and many heads. "It is well you have come," she said. "Bird and Otter have made a case against me. I was husking paddi, and Bird liked to look at me. I did not know he was there in the tree for a long time. A branch fell down and wounded Otter's child, making her very angry, and she asks damages from me." "This case is difficult," the husband answered. "I must think it over." After a while he said: "The best thing to do is to give food to both." Bird was given fruit to eat and Otter fish, and they went home satisfied. All the people of the kampong gathered and rejoiced at the successful head-hunting. They killed pigs and hens, and for seven nights they ate and danced.
NOTE.—When an attack on men is decided upon the sumpitan is hidden and left behind after the spear-head has been detached from it and tied to a long stick. This improvised spear is the principal weapon on head-hunting raids, as well as on the chase after big game. The bird, called by the Saputans teong, is common, of medium size, black with yellow beak, and yellow around the eyes, also a little red on the head. It learns easily to talk, and is also common in Java.
(From the Saputans; kampong Data Láong)
The wife of Laki Mae was pregnant and wanted to eat meat, so she asked her husband to go out hunting. He brought in a porcupine, wild hens, kidyang, pig, and deer, and he placed all the meat on the tehi, to smoke it over fire, that it should keep. But the right hind leg of the porcupine was hung up by itself unsmoked, to be eaten next day. They had their evening meal and then went to sleep. In the night she bore an infant son, and, therefore, next morning another woman came to do the cooking. She took the hind leg and before proceeding to cook it, washed it. It slipped through a hole in the floor to the ground underneath. Looking through the hole she saw a small male child instead of the leg, and she told Mae of this.
"Go and take this child up and bring it here. It is good luck," he said. "It is my child too." It was brought up to the room and washed and laid to the wife's breast, but the child would not suckle. Mae said: "It is best to give him a name now. Perhaps he will suckle then." He then asked the child if it wanted to be called Nonjang Dahonghavon, and the child did not. Neither did it want Anyang Mokathimman, nor Samoling, nor Samolang. It struck him that perhaps he might like to be called Sapit (leg) Tehotong which means "Porcupine Leg," and the child began to suckle at once. The child of the woman was given a name two months later, Lakin Kudyáng.
For two years the mother suckled the two, and then they were old enough to play behind the houses of the kampong. They saw many birds about, and they asked their father to give each of them a sumpitan. When they went out hunting the human boy got one bird, but the other boy got two. Next time the woman's son killed a plandok (mouse-deer), but the other one secured a pig. Their father was angry over this and said to "Porcupine Leg": "Go and kill the two old bears and bring the young ones here." He had recently seen two bears, with one cub each, under the roots of a tree in the neighbourhood. The boy went, and the bears attacked him and tried to bite him, but with his parang he killed both of them, and brought the cubs along to the kampong, bringing besides the two dead bears. The father again sent him out, this time to a cave where he knew there were a pair of tiger-cats and one cub. "Go and kill the pair and bring the cub here," he said. Again the boy was successful. Laki Mae did not like this and was angry.
In the evening "Porcupine Leg" said to his brother: "I have a long time understood that father is angry with me. Tomorrow morning I am going away. I am not eating, and I will look for a place to die." His brother began to weep, and said he would go with him. Next morning they told their father they were going to hunt for animals and birds. But when they did not return in the evening, nor later, the mother said: "I think they will not come back." Half a month later many men attacked the kampong. Laki Mae fought much and was tired. "If the boys had remained this would not have happened," the people said angrily to him. In the meantime the human son began to long to return, and he persuaded "Porcupine Leg" to accompany him. They both came back and helped to fight the enemy, who lost many dead and retired.
NOTE.—This story is also found with the Penihings, from whom undoubtedly it is derived.Laki, see No. 10.Tehi, see No. 12.
(From the Long-Glats; kampong Long Tujo)
A woman called Daietan had one child, Semang, who was a bad boy. He was lazy, slept day and night, and did not want to make ladang nor plant any banana nor papaya trees. His mother angrily said to him: "Why don't you exert yourself to get food?" Semang said: "Well, I will go tomorrow to search for something to eat."
At sunrise next morning he went away in a prahu, paddling up-stream. He reached a kampong, and the name of the raja here was Anjangmaran. He could find no food, so he went on to the next kampong, and to another, but had no success, so he continued his journey, and then arrived at the fourth kampong. There were no people here. It was a large kampong with many houses, and grass was growing everywhere.
He went up into a room and there he found all sorts of goods; salt, gongs, many tempaians (large Chinese urns) in which paddi was stored, and tobacco. Semang said to himself, "I am rich. Here is all that I need." And he lay down to sleep. In the night Deer (rusa) arrived and called out: "Is there any one here?" He ascended the ladder and lay down near the cooking place. Semang heard him, but was afraid to move, and slept no more. In the night he heard Deer talk in his sleep: "Tomorrow morning I am going to look for a small bottle with telang kliman. It is underneath the pole in front of the house."
Semang said: "Who is talking there?" Deer waked up and became frightened, ran down the ladder, and got into Semang's prahu, where he went to sleep. Before dawn Semang arose and walked down toward the prahu. On his way he saw an ironwood pole in front of the room, went up to it, and began to dig under it. He found a small bottle which he opened, and he put his first finger into it. He was astonished to see that his finger had become white, and he said: "This must be good to put on the body." He poured some into his hollowed hand and applied it all over his body and hair. His body became white and his clothes silken.