When the litter was ready, Mat Salleh ordered them to march behind it, and surrounded by armed Muruts and preceded by others carrying the gory heads of the poor Malays, they started up a steep mountain track through the gloom of the dark jungle. After about an hour's march they emerged from the forest into a large clearing, where paddy and sweet potatoes were planted. At the top of a conical hill in the centre of the clearing was a high stockade of bamboo enclosing some dozen houses on piles and thatched with palm leaves. As the long procession entered the clearing, a great hubbub arose out in the village. The deep notes of a big war gong mingled with the shrill cries of the women, who poured out of a gateway and danced down towards the approaching warriors. The sun had set and it was nearly dark, though a bright moon lighted up the clearing, throwing the stockade and houses into black relief against the opal sky.
Rupert glanced at Patterson. The latter shrugged his shoulders. "We're in for it, I'm afraid, Cotton. Sorry, old man, but while there's life there's hope!"
As they entered the stockade flames shot up from a huge fire that had just been lit inside, and the ruddy glow thrown on the bronze figures of the men and the naked bodies of the women who surrounded them, made a scene so weird and eerie that Rupert's blood ran cold with dread of what was about to happen in this devils' cauldron. At one end of the enclosure was a long house with an open verandah about six feet above the ground, against which was placed a single bamboo in which notches had been cut to form steps.
By this Mat Salleh and the Murut chiefs mounted, and squatting round a huge jar began to refresh themselves by sucking a reed that was inserted in the top. Similar jars were placed near the fire, and groups of warriors quickly surrounded them. Patterson and Rupert were dragged to the fire, and poor wounded Unju was also dragged there by a horrible old hag, who appeared to be the mistress of the ceremonies. The women now took the heads, still dripping with blood, and began to slowly dance round the fire, chanting a deep song with a high wailing note at the end of each stave. Their long black hair hung straight to their waists, they were naked save for a dark cloth of bark round their loins. The great wooden gong beat time and throbbed on the still night air. Gradually the time became faster, and men and women from the drinking jars joined in the dance. The gory heads were tossed from hand to hand, and it was evident to the unfortunate prisoners that the drink was beginning to inflame the dancers.
Spears and parangs flashed in the firelight, and old Unju, who had hitherto remained motionless, stirred uneasily and at last spoke to Patterson in a low voice.
"Beware, O chief, for they will take our heads presently when their blood is fired by drink."
Patterson nodded. "I'm afraid I've given you a poor run for your money, Cotton," he whispered. Rupert smiled. "I'm all right. Glad we're together."
At this moment a band of women were seen advancing from the chief's house, leading two youths who were to be initiated as warriors. They each carried a head by the hair and were led into the circle of dancers. The same old hag who had conducted the dance now smeared the youths with blood, shrieking an invocation, to which the crowd replied at intervals with a shout of "Augh!" Next an old warrior stepped forward and broke off their two front teeth with the aid of a stone and a short iron instrument, afterwards filing the stumps off to the gums.
This was done to enable the sumpitan or blowpipe to be used with greater facility and is the sign of manhood. More jars of tapi (rice spirit) were broached, and every one gave themselves up to drinking.
Patterson whispered to Unju and asked him if he was able to walk, to which the old man replied that he could walk all night if his head remained on his shoulders—about which he expressed some misgivings.