A report came to me that the people of kampong Long Isau (Long = sound;
Isau = a kind of fruit) were making preparations to catch fish by
poisoning the river, and that they were going immediately to build traps
in which the stupefied fish are caught. I decided to go at once, and a few
hours later we were on our way up the Isau River, a tributary to the
Kayan, at the junction with which lies Long Pangian. We made our camp just
opposite the kampong, which has a charming location along a quiet pool
formed by the river at this point. The natives here and on the Kayan river
above Long Pangian are Kenyahs. Our presence did not seem to disturb them
in the least, nor did the arrival of some Malays from Long Pangian, who
had closed their little shops in order to take part in the fishing.
The chief was a tall, fine-looking man, the personification of physical
strength combined with a dignified bearing. He readily granted permission
to photograph the women coming down to the river to fetch water. The
Kenyah women wear scantier attire than those of any other tribes of
Borneo - simply a diminutive piece of cloth. It was picturesque to see
these children of nature descend the steps of the rough ladder that leads
down to the river, gracefully carrying on their backs a load of five or
six bamboos, then wade into the calm water, where they bathed for a few
moments before filling their receptacles. The Kenyah drinks water by
taking it up in his hands while looking at it. In the house he drinks from
the bamboo utensils which are always conveniently placed. The Malay throws
water quickly into his mouth with his right hand.
There seemed to be an epidemic of cholerine among the children, three
having already died and one succumbed while we were at the kampong. The
sounding of a gong drew attention to this fact and people assembled at the
house of mourning where they wailed for an hour. The fishing was postponed
one day on account of the burial, and the work of making the coffin could
be heard over on our side of the river. During the night there was much
crying.
Next day at noon the funeral took place. First, with quick steps, came two
men and two women, parents of children who had died before, followed by
the father of the dead child and another man of the family who carried the
coffin. The procession embarked in three prahus. The relatives were all
attired in simple but becoming mourning garments, made from wood-fibre,
consisting of tunics, and wrappers around the loins, which as regards the
women covered practically the whole body, and on their heads they wore
pointed hats of the same material. In the first prahu the little coffin
was placed, and immediately behind it the mother lay with face down. Over
her breast was a broad band of fibre which passed around to the back where
it was tied in a large bow. The mourning garb worn in this and other Dayak
tribes by relatives of a deceased person is an attempt to elude the evil
spirit (antoh) who is regarded as the cause of death and whose wrath the
remaining relatives are anxious to evade by disguising themselves in this
way. The men poled fast, and ten minutes later the cortege ascended the
bank without following a path, and deposited the coffin in a small,
old-looking house. Once daily for three days food is deposited near a dead
child, while in the case of adults it is given for a long time.
The following day we all started up the river for the great catch. About
300 Dayaks had gathered, with 80 prahus. There were people from as far
east as Kaburau, but those of the kampongs west of Long Pangian did not
appear as expected. Some of the men carried spears specially devised for
fishing, and some had brought their shields. We passed seven traps, in
Kenyah called "bring," some in course of making, and others already
finished. These rapidly made structures were found at different points on
the river. Each consisted of a fence of slightly leaning poles, sometimes
fortified with mats, running across the river and interrupted in the
middle by a well-constructed trough, the bottom of which was made from
poles put closely together, which allowed the water to escape but left the
fish dry.
The poison which stupefies or even kills the fish, without making it unfit
for food, is secured from the root of a plant called tuba and described to
me as being a vine. The root, which is very long, had been cut up into
short pieces and made into about 1,800 small bundles, each kampong
contributing its share. The packages had been formed into a beautifully
arranged pile, in accordance with the artistic propensities of both Kenyah
and Kayan, whose wood-stacks inside the rooms are models of neatness. The
heap in this case was two and a half metres long and a metre high, a
surprisingly small amount for the poisoning of a whole river.
Before daylight they began to beat these light-brown tuba pieces until the
bark became detached. The bark is the only part used, and this was beaten
on two previously prepared blocks, each consisting of two logs lashed
together, with flattened upper sides. On either side of these crude tables
stood as many men as could find room, beating earnestly with sticks upon
the bark, singing head-hunting songs the while with much fervour.
Occasionally they interrupted the procedure to run about animatedly,
returning shortly to resume their labour.
Later an augury was to be taken, and all gathered closely on a wide pebbly
beach.
