Books: The Pagan Tribes of Borneo

C >> Charles Hose and William McDougall >> The Pagan Tribes of Borneo

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In order to make clear the course of events, I must explain that
two large rivers, the Baram and the Tinjar, meet about one hundred
miles from the sea to form the main Baram river. Between the peoples
living on the banks of these two rivers and their tributaries there
is a traditional hostility which just at this time had been raised to
a high pitch by the occurrence of a blood-feud between the Kenyahs,
a leading tribe of the Baram, and the Lirongs, an equally powerful
tribe of the Tinjar. In addition to these two groups we expected a
large party of Madangs, a famous tribe of fighting men of the central
highlands whose hand had hitherto been against every other tribe,
and a large number of Sea Dayaks, who, more than all the rest, are
always spoiling for a fight, and who are so passionately devoted
to head-hunting that often they do not scruple to pursue it in an
unsportsmanlike fashion. So it will be understood that the bringing
together in one place of large parties of fully armed warriors of all
these different groups was a distinctly interesting and speculative
experiment in peace-making.

The place of meeting was Marudi (Claudetown), the headquarters of the
government of the district. There the river, still nearly a hundred
miles from the sea, winds round the foot of a low flat-topped hill, on
which stand the small wooden fort and court-house and the Resident's
bungalow. Some days before that fixed for the great meeting by the
tokens we had sent out, parties of men began to arrive, floating down
in the long war canoes roofed with palm leaves for the journey. On the
appointed day some five thousand of the Baram people and the Madangs
were encamped very comfortably in leaf and mat shelters on the open
ground between our bungalow and the fort, while the Sea Dayaks had
taken up their quarters in the long row of Chinamen's shops that form
the Marudi bazaar, the commercial centre of the district. But as yet no
Tinjar folk had put in an appearance, and men began to wonder what had
kept them -- Were the tokens sent them at fault? Or had they received
friendly warnings of danger from some of the many sacred birds, without
whose favourable omens no journey can be undertaken? Or had they,
perhaps, taken the opportunity to ascend the Baram and sack and burn
the Kenyah houses now well nigh empty of defenders? We spent the time
in foot-racing, preliminary boat-racing, and in seeing the wonders
of the white man. For many of these people had not travelled so far
downriver before, and their delight in the piano was only equalled by
their admiration for that most wonderful of all things, the big boat
that goes up stream without paddles, the Resident's fast steam-launch.

At last one evening, while we were all looking on at a most exciting
practice-race between three of the canoes, the Lirongs, with the main
mass of the Tinjar people, came down the broad straight reach. It
was that most beautiful half-hour of the tropical day, between the
setting of the sun and the fall of darkness -- the great forest stood
black and formless, while the sky and the smooth river were luminous
with delicate green and golden light. The Lirongs were in full war
dress, with feathered coats of leopard skin and plumed caps plaited
of tough rattan, and very effective they were as they came swiftly
on over the shining water, sixty to seventy warriors in each canoe
raising their tremendous battle-cry, a deep-chested chorus of rising
and falling cadences. The mass of men on the bank and on the hill
took up the cry, answering shout for shout; and the forest across
the river echoed it, until the whole place was filled with a hoarse
roar. The Kenyahs ran hastily to their huts for their weapons, and by
the time they had grouped themselves on the crest of the hill, armed
with sword and shield and spear and deadly blowpipe, the Lirongs had
landed on the bank below and were rushing up the hill to the attack. A
few seconds more and they met with clash of sword and shield and a
great shouting, and in the semi-darkness a noisy battle raged. After
some minutes the Lirongs drew off and rushed back to their boats as
wildly as they had come; and, strange to say, no blood was flowing,
no heads were rolling on the ground, no ghastly wounds were gaping,
in fact no one seemed any the worse. For it seems that this attack
was merely a well understood formality, a put-up job, so to say. When
two tribes, between whom there is a blood-feud not formally settled,
meet together to make peace, it is the custom for the injured party,
that is the tribe which has last suffered a loss of heads, to make an
attack on the other party but using only the butt ends of their spears
and the blunt edges of their swords. This achieves two useful ends-it
lets off superabundant high spirits, which, if too much bottled up,
would be dangerous; and it "saves the face" of the injured party by
showing how properly wrathful and bellicose its feelings are. So when
this formality had been duly observed everybody seemed to feel that
matters were going on well; they all settled down quietly enough for
the night, the Resident taking the precaution to send the Lirongs to
camp below the fort; and the great peace-conference was announced to
be held the following morning.

Soon after daybreak the people began to assemble beneath the great
roof of palm-leaf mats that we had built for a conference hall. The
Baram chiefs sat on a low platform along one side of the hall, and
in their midst was Tama Bulan, the most famous of them all, a really
great man who has made his name and influence felt throughout a very
large part of Borneo. When all except the Tinjar men were assembled,
of course without arms, the latter, also unarmed, came up the hill
in a compact mass, to take their places in the hall. As they entered,
the sight of their old enemies, the chiefs of the Baram, all sitting
quietly together, was too much for their self-control; with one
accord they made a mad rush at them and attempted to drag them from
the platform. Fortunately we white men had placed ourselves with a
few of the more reliable Dayak fortmen between the two parties, and
partly by force and partly by eloquence we succeeded in beating off
the attack, which seemed to be made in the spirit of a school "rag"
rather than with bloody intent. But just as peace seemed restored,
a great shout went up from the Baram men, "Tama Bulan is wounded";
and sure enough there he stood with blood flowing freely over his
face. The sight of blood seemed to send them all mad together; the
Tinjar people turned as one man and tore furiously down the hill to
seize their weapons, while the Baram men ran to their huts and in a
few seconds were prancing madly to and fro on the crest of the hill,
thirsting for the onset of the bloody battle that now seemed a matter
of a few seconds only. At the same time the Dayaks were swarming out
of the bazaar seeking something to kill, like the typical Englishman,
though not knowing which side to take. The Resident hastened after
the Tinjars, threw himself before them, and appealed and threatened,
pointing to the two guns at the fort now trained upon them; and Tama
Bulan showed his true greatness by haranguing his people, saying his
wound was purely accidental and unintended, that it was a mere scratch,
and commanding them to stand their ground. Several of the older and
steadier chiefs followed his example and ran to and fro holding back
their men, exhorting them to be quiet.

The crisis passed, the sudden gust of passion slowly died away,
and peace was patched up with interchange of messages and presents
between the two camps. The great boat race was announced to take
place on the morrow, and the rest of the day was spent in making
ready the war canoes, stripping them of their leaf roofs and all
other superfluous gear.

At daybreak the racing-boats set off for the startingpost four miles
up river. The Resident had given strict orders that no spears or other
weapons were to be carried in the racing-boats, and as they started
up river we inspected the boats in turn, and in one or two cases
relieved them of a full complement of spears; and then we followed
them to the post in the steam-launch. There was a score of entries,
and since each boat carried from sixty to seventy men sitting two
abreast, more than a thousand men were taking part in the race. The
getting the boats into line across the broad river was a noisy and
exciting piece of work. We carried on the launch a large party of
elderly chiefs, most. of whom were obviously suffering from "the
needle," and during the working of the boats into line they hurled
commands at them in language that was terrific in both quality and
volume. At last something like a line was assumed, and on the sound
of the gun the twenty boats leaped through the water, almost lost
to sight in a cloud of spray as every one of those twelve hundred
men struck the water for all he was worth. There was no saving of
themselves; the rate of striking was about ninety to the minute, and
tended constantly to increase. Very soon two boats drew out in front,
and the rest of them, drawing together as they neared the first bend,
followed hotly after like a pack of hounds. This order was kept all
over the course. During the first burst our fast launch could not keep
up with the boats, but we drew up in time to see the finish. It was
a grand neck-and-neck race all through between the two leading boats,
and all of them rowed it out to the end. The winners were a crew of the
peaceful down-river folk, who have learnt the art of boat-making from
the Malays of the coast; and they owed their victory to their superior
skill in fashioning their boat, rather than to superior strength. When
they passed the post we had an anxious moment -- How would the losers
take their beating? Would the winners play the fool, openly exulting
and swaggering? If so, they would probably get their heads broken,
or perhaps lose them. But they behaved with modesty and discretion,
and we diverted attention from them by swinging the steamer round and
driving her through the main mass of the boats. Allowing as accurately
as possible for the rate of the current as compared with the rate of
the tide at Putney, we reckoned the pace of the winning boat to be
a little better than that of the 'Varsity eights in racing over the
full course.

The excitement of the crowds on the bank was great, but it was entirely
good-humoured -- they seemed to have forgotten their feuds in the
interest of the racing. So the Resident seized the opportunity to
summon every one to the conference hall once more. This time we settled
down comfortably enough and with great decorum, the chiefs all in one
group at one side of a central space, and the common people in serried
ranks all round about it. In the centre was a huge, gaily painted
effigy of a hornbill, one of the birds sacred to all the tribes,
and on it were hung thousands of cigarettes of home-grown tobacco
wrapped in dried banana leaf. Three enormous pigs were now brought
in and laid, bound as to their feet, before the chiefs, one for each
of the main divisions of the people, the Barams, the Tinjars, and
the hill-country folk. The greatest chiefs of each of these parties
then approached the pigs, and each in turn, standing beside the pig
assigned to his party, addressed the attentive multitude with great
flow of words and much violent and expressive action; for many of
these people are great orators. The purport of their speeches was
their desire for peace, their devotion to the Resident ("If harm come
to him, then may I fall too," said Tama Bulan), and their appreciation
of the trade and general intercourse and safety of life and property
brought them by the Rajah's government; and they hurled threats and
exhortations against unlicensed warfare and bloodshed.

As each chief ended his speech to the people he turned to the pig
at his feet, and, stooping over it, kept gently prodding it with
a smouldering fire-brand, while he addressed to it a prayer for
protection and guidance -- a prayer that the spirit of the pig,
soon to be set free by a skilful thrust of a spear into the beast's
heart, should carry up to the Supreme Being. The answer to these
prayers might then be read in the form and markings of the underside
of the livers. So the pigs were despatched, and their livers hastily
dragged forth and placed on platters before the group of chiefs. Then
was there much anxious peering over shoulders, and much shaking of
wise old heads, as the learned elders discussed the omens; until at
last the Resident was called upon to give his opinion, for he is an
acknowledged expert in augury. He was soon able to show that the only
true and rational reading of the livers was a guarantee of peace and
prosperity to all the tribes of the district; and the people, accepting
his learned interpretation, rejoiced with one accord. Then the Resident
made a telling speech, in which he dwelt upon the advantages of peace
and trade, and how it is good that a man should sleep without fear
that his house be burnt or his people slain; and he ended by seizing
the nearest chief by the hair of his head, as is their own fashion,
to show how, if a man break the peace, he shall lose his head.

This concluded the serious part of the conference, and it only
remained to smoke the cigarettes of good fellowship, taken from
the hornbill-effigy, and to drink long life and happiness to one
another. So great jars of "arack" were brought in and drinking
vessels, and each chief in turn, standing before some whilom enemy,
sang his praises in musical recitative before giving him the cup;
and after each phrase of the song the multitude joined in with a
long-drawn sonorous shout, which, while the drink flowed down, rose
to a mighty roar. This is a most effective way of drinking a man's
health, and combines the advantages of making a speech over him and
singing "For he's a jolly good fellow"; moreover, the drink goes to
the right party, as it does not with us. It should be adopted in this
country, I think. By many repetitions of this process we were soon
reduced to a state of boisterous conviviality; and many a hard-faced
old warrior, who but the day before had drawn his weapons against
his enemy, now sat with his arms lovingly thrown about that same
enemy. When this state of affairs was reached, our work seemed to be
accomplished, and we white men retired to lunch, leaving one chief in
the midst of a long-winded speech. As soon as the restraint of the
Resident's presence was removed, the orator began to utter remarks
of a nature to stir up the dying embers of resentment; at least so
it seemed to one wily old chief, a firm supporter of the government,
who bethought him to send one of his men to pull away the palm-leaf
mats from above the indiscreet orator, and so leave his verbosity
exposed to the rays of the mid-day sun. No sooner said than done,
and this was the beginning of the end; for others following suit made
a rush for the mats that would be so useful in making their camps
and boats more rain-proof. There was a mighty uproar that brought
us headlong to the scene, only to see the big hall melt away like
a snowflake as hundreds of hands seized upon the mats and bore them
away in triumph. So the great peace conference was brought to an end
amid much laughter and fun.

It only remained for the chiefs to pay in the taxes for the year --
the two dollars per family which it is their business to collect from
their people, and which is the only tax or tribute claimed by the
Rajah. This business was got through on the following morning; and
then we said many kind farewells, as the various parties set out one
after another in the great war canoes on their long up-stream journey;
some of them to battle for many days against the swiftly flowing river,
and after that again for many days to pole their boats through the
flashing rapids and over the lovely quiet reaches, where the rare
gleams of sunlight break through the overarching forest; until,
coming to their own upland country, where anxious wives and children
are waiting, they will spread even in the remotest highlands the news
of the white man's big boat that goes of itself against the stream,
of the great boat-race, and of how they came wellnigh to a fearful
slaughtering, and how they swore peace and goodwill to all men, and
how there should be now peace and prosperity through all the land,
for the great white man who had come to rule them had said it should
be so, and the gods had approved his words.

The foregoing account of the journey to the Madang country and
of the subsequent events would constitute the last chapter of any
history of the pacification of the Baram. Since the time of those
incidents, there has been no serious disturbance of the peace; and
there seems to be good reason to hope that, so long as the Rajah's
government continues to be conducted along the same lines, there
will be no recrudescence of savagery. The last case of fighting on
any considerable scale occurred in 1894, when Tama Bulan's people,
resenting the offensive conduct of bands of Sea Dayaks who had
penetrated to their neighbourhood in search of jungle-products,
turned out and took the heads of thirteen of the Dayaks. It was only
after prolonged negotiation that the Dayaks were persuaded to resign
their hopes of a bloody revenge and to accept a compensation of 3000
dollars, which was paid by the Kenyahs at the Rajah's order.

It has not always been possible to make peace prevail by wholly
peaceable procedures. The Baram was fortunate in that the Sea Dayaks
had not established themselves anywhere within its borders. In the
Rejang, on the other hand, large numbers of them were allowed to
settle, coming in from the Saribas and the Batang Lupar in the early
days of the Rajah's government. And since the Kayans and Kenyahs were
already in possession of the upper river and considered themselves
the dominant tribes and lords of the land, it was inevitable that
there should grow up a keen rivalry which could hardly fail to
lead occasionally to armed conflict. For the Sea Dayaks had been
accustomed to adopt a somewhat swaggering and domineering attitude
towards the Klemantan tribes, and could not easily learn to modify
it when they came in contact with the prouder and less submissive
Kayans and Kenyahs. This rivalry has been the source of most of the
troubles of the Rejang, where, since the big expedition of 1863, the
Rajah and his officers have on several occasions found it necessary
to subdue recalcitrant tribes or communities by leading armed forces
against them.

As an illustration of these sterner methods we add a brief account
of one such expedition led by one of us (C. H.) in the year 1904, in
his capacity of Divisional Resident of the several Rejang districts;
an expedition which, there is reason to hope, may prove to be the
last of the series. The purpose of this expedition was to reduce
to order a small community of Sea Dayaks that was established upon
Bukit Batu, an almost impregnable mountain which rises up almost
perpendicularly on all sides at the head of the Bali, one of the
eastern tributaries of the Rejang. This community had been formed in
the manner to which legend assigns the foundation of ancient Rome,
namely, by the gathering together in this strong place of various
outlaws and violent characters who for one reason or another had
quarrelled with and defied the government. The same spot had been
similarly occupied many years before; and though it had been forcibly
cleared of its defenders, its natural advantages had, in the course
of years, led to the growth of a new community of the same kind.

This band had raided the surrounding country, slaying and robbing
people of several tribes, and generally had been having a "gorgeous
time." They had repeatedly refused to yield even when threatened by
armed force. And when the Resident sent them a peremptory message,
commanding them to appear to surrender themselves at the nearest
government station within one month, they returned an impudent
answer, saying that they had so far accepted orders from no one,
and asking -- Who was he that they should obey him? Steps were at
once taken to enforce obedience. Since to storm the hill might well
cost many lives, it seemed preferable to try to lure its defenders
from their stronghold. The Resident, without giving the brigands
further warning, went up the Rejang with a single boat's crew to a
point about 150 miles above the mouth of the Bali, the tributary
that flows past Bukit Batu. At this point another tributary, the
Bukau, coming from near the opposite side of Bukit Batu, joins the
Rejang. Here he collected a force of some 200 Kayans and Klemantans,
and led them up to the head of the Bukau and then on foot through
the jungle to the neighbourhood of Bukit Batu. The route by which
the brigands usually passed to and from their fastness was at a spot
near the river, where rude ladders of wood and rattan had been fixed
to facilitate the ascent and descent of the precipitous foot of the
hill. Near this spot the force was divided into two parties, which
were stationed in the jungle at some little distance from the ladders,
right and left of the path to the river; and a party of ten active men
was detached, with instructions to hang about the foot of the ladders
and to retreat along the path to the river if they were attacked. On
the second day the Ibans on the mountain snapped at the bait. About
forty of them descended stealthily and then rushed upon the small
party, hoping to hunt down in the jungle all whom they could not
strike down on the spot, and thus to secure ten heads and enjoy the
frenzy of slaughter. The ten decoys fled swiftly down the path, and
the supporting parties, guided by the yells of the Ibans, closed in
from both sides and fell upon them. A few of the rebels were killed,
without any fatal casualties to the Resident's party. The rest fled
through the jungle and many of them were afterwards arrested. Those
who remained on the hill promptly drew up the ladders and hurled down
rocks. To have carried the hill by storm would still have been most
difficult and costly, and, as it proved, a needless feat. The Resident
therefore contented himself with destroying all the property of the
brigands that was within reach, including a number of valuable jars
and gongs which they had secreted in a cave at the foot of the hill,
and the fields of young PADI on which they were largely dependent
for their food-supply. For he well knew that this procedure would
render the spot hateful to the Ibans; for the scene of a disaster,
especially one where they have been worsted in fight, becomes an
object of superstitious dread. The Resident therefore led back
his party by the way they had come, dismissed them to their homes,
and returned down river to Sibu, after sending a command to those
remaining on the hill that they should present themselves forthwith
at Kapit. The order was obeyed; fines, pledges, and compensations to
relatives of their victims were paid in; and the principal men were
ordered to reside for a year in the neighbourhood of Sibu Fort and
afterwards to return to their native districts.

It should be added that these Ibans frankly acknowledged that the
Resident had been too clever for them, and that they bore him no
ill-will; and that some of them, accompanying him on later excursions,
proved themselves willing helpers and agreeable companions.

Other and larger expeditions of armed forces have in the past been
led against tribes or villages, generally on account of their having
refused to surrender to the government members guilty of taking heads
or of attacking other villages wantonly and without permission. In
all cases the government officers have relied almost exclusively
upon the services of bodies of natives under the immediate charge of
their own chiefs and armed only with their native weapons. In some
cases the offending parties have fled from their villages without
offering active resistance; and in these cases the government force
has usually been content to inflict punishment by burning down their
houses and taking what property was left in them.

It is perhaps too much to hope that no cases of taking heads or of
wanton attack on jungle parties or on weak villages will ever again
occur. But such incidents have become very infrequent and the offenders
have seldom escaped punishment; for, unlike our own population, many
thousands of whom live detached from all local bonds as isolated
floating units unknown to the government and to those among whom
they dwell, every man in Sarawak, with the partial exception of the
nomad jungle-dwellers, is a member of some local group which is held
responsible by the government for his good behaviour; thus in every
district every man is known, if not as an individual, at least as a
member of some community; and every stranger (or party of strangers)
is expected to be able to give a satisfying account of himself; and
any who wish to work in the jungle of any district other than their
own are required to have government permission. It is thus impossible
for any criminal to conceal himself for any length of time from the
government; and so sure is it of effecting arrest, when necessary,
that accused persons are frequently allowed to attend to their farms
and follow their ordinary occupations pending the time of their
trial. Even when a man accused of a serious offence flees across the
border to Dutch territory, he is generally apprehended by the Dutch
officers sooner or later and sent round to Kuching by sea.