The house, as is the universal custom in Borneo, stands
on piles, and in erecting it a slave who, according to ancient custom, was
sacrificed, in that way to insure good luck, had been buried alive
underneath the central post, which was more substantial than the others.
During rain it is conducive to a sense of comfort and security to be
safely roofed and sheltered in a house, but usually I preferred my tent,
and occupied it unless the river was too threatening. From the trees in
its close proximity a species of small frog gave concerts every evening,
and also occasionally favoured me with a visit. One morning they had left
in my quarters a cluster of eggs as large as a fist, of a grey frothy
matter, which the ants soon attacked and which later was eaten by the
hens.
The fowls, coarse, powerful specimens of the poultry tribe, were a source
of great annoyance on account of their number and audacity. As usual among
the Malays, from whom the Dayaks originally acquired these domestic birds,
interest centres in the males on account of the prevalent cock-fights, and
the hens are in a very decided minority. For the night the feathered tribe
settles on top of the houses or in the surrounding trees. Hens with small
chickens are gathered together in the evening by the clever hands of the
Dayak women, hen and brood being put into an incredibly small wicker bag,
which is hung up on the gallery for the night. Otherwise carnivorous
animals, prowling about, would make short work of them.
At dawn, having duly saluted the coming day, the numerous cocks descend
from their high roosts and immediately begin their favourite sport of
chasing the few females about. The crowing of these poorly bred but very
powerful males creates pandemonium for a couple of hours, and it is like
living in a poultry yard with nearly fifty brutal cocks crowing around
one. During the remainder of the day sudden raids upon kitchen or tent by
one or more of these cocks are of frequent occurrence, usually overturning
or otherwise damaging something. Although repeatedly and easily frightened
away, they return as soon as they see that the coast is clear again. This
is the one nuisance to be encountered in all the kampongs, though rarely
to the same extent as here.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SCALY ANT-EATER - THE PORCUPINE - THE BLOW-PIPE - AN UNUSUAL ADVENTURE
WITH A SNAKE - HABITS AND CUSTOMS OF THE MURUNGS - AN UNPLEASANT AFFAIR
A Murung one day brought and exhibited to us that extraordinary animal,
the scaly ant-eater (manis), which is provided with a long pipe-like
snout, and is devoid of teeth because its only food, the ant, is gathered
by means of its long tongue. The big scales that cover the whole body form
its sole defence, and when it rolls itself up the dogs can do it no harm.
Unable to run, it cannot even walk fast, and the long tail is held
straight out without touching the ground. Its appearance directs one's
thoughts back to the monsters of prehistoric times, and the fat meat is
highly esteemed by the Dayaks. The animal, which is possessed of
incredible strength in proportion to its size, was put in a box from which
it escaped in the night through the carelessness of Rajimin.
A large live porcupine was also brought for sale by a Dayak woman who had
raised it. The creature was confined in a kind of bag, and by means of its
strength it managed to escape from between the hands of the owner.
Although she and several Dayaks immediately started in pursuit, it
succeeded in eluding them. However, the woman believed implicitly that it
would return, and a couple of days later it did reappear, passing my tent
at dusk. Every evening afterward about eight o'clock it was a regular
visitor, taking food out of my hand and then continuing its trip to the
kitchen, which was less than a hundred metres farther up the river bank.
Finally it became a nuisance, turning over saucepans to look for food and
otherwise annoying us, so I bought it for one ringit in order to have it
skinned. The difficulty was to catch it, because its quills are long and
sharp; but next evening the Murungs brought it to me enmeshed in a strong
net, and how to kill it was the next question.
The Dayaks at once proposed to shoot it with the sumpitan - a very good
scheme, though I fancied that darkness might interfere. However, in the
light of my hurricane lamp one man squatted on the ground and held the
animal, placing it in a half upright position before him. The executioner
stepped back about six metres, a distance that I thought unnecessary,
considering that if the poisoned dart hit the hand of the man it would be
a most serious affair. He put the blow-pipe to his mouth and after a few
moments the deadly dart entered the porcupine at one side of the neck. The
animal, which almost at once began to quiver, was freed from the
entangling net, then suddenly started to run round in a small circle, fell
on his back, and was dead in less than a minute after being hit.
It was a wonderful exhibition of the efficiency of the sumpitan and of the
accuracy of aim of the man who used the long heavy tube. The pipe, two
metres long, is held by the native with his hands close to the mouth,
quite contrary to the method we should naturally adopt. The man who coolly
held the porcupine might not have been killed if wounded, because the
quantity of poison used is less in the case of small game than large.
