The controleur, Mr. H.P. Schouten, had just returned on the Selatan from a trip up the Katingan, and turned it over to my use. When the coaling had been done and our goods taken on board, the strong little boat lay deep, but the captain said it was all right. He was the same able djuragan of two years before. Having received from the controleur letters to the five native officials located on the Katingan, we departed, and the following morning arrived at the mouth of the river. At first the country was very thinly inhabited, because the banks are too low to encourage settlement. As hitherto noted the country bordering on the lower portions of the great rivers is populated by Malays exclusively, and here their territory stretches almost to Kasungan. The remainder of the riparian lands is occupied by Katingans. There is some slight difference in the language spoken by those who live on the middle part, from Kasungan to Bali (south of Kuala Samba), and those who from Bali northward occupy the rest of the watercourse. They are termed by the Malays Lower and Upper Katingans. Those of the first category appeared to be of medium size and inclined to stoutness; on the upper stretches of the river they are taller. These and other differences may be due in a measure to tribal changes brought about by head-hunting raids. It is known that there was an influx of Ot-Danums from the Samba on account of such raids. While all Katingans eat snakes and large lizards, the upper ones do not eat rusa but the lower ones do. Their total number is estimated to be about 6,000. In 1911-1912 this river was visited by cholera and smallpox, which reduced the population by 600 and caused the abandonment of some kampongs.
Under favourable circumstances one may travel by prahu to Kuala Samba, our first goal, in sixteen days, the return journey occupying half that time. On reaching Kasungan the river was not quite two metres deep, dimming our chances of proceeding further with the steam-launch. The djuragan put up his measuring rod on the beach, for unless the water rose he would have to go one day down stream. The prospect was not pleasing. The under kapala of the district, a native official whose title for the sake of convenience is always abbreviated to the "onder," at once exerted himself in search of a large boat belonging to a Malay trader, supposed to be somewhere in the neighbourhood, and a young Dutchman who recently had established himself here as a missionary was willing to rent me his motor-boat to tow it.
After several days of preparation, the river showing no sign of rising, we started in an unusually large prahu which was provided with a kind of deck made of palm-leaf mats and bamboo, slightly sloping to each side. It would have been quite comfortable but for the petroleum smoke from the motor-boat, which was sickening and made everything dirty.
In 1880, when Controleur W.J. Michielsen visited the Katingan and Samba Rivers, the kampongs consisted of "six to ten houses each, which are lying in a row along the river bank and shaded by many fruit trees, especially cocoanut palms and durians." A similar description would serve to-day. The large communal house as known in most parts of Borneo does not seem to obtain here. Communal houses of small size were in use ten years previously and are still found on the Upper Samba. Their gradual disappearance may be explained by the fact that the government, as I was informed, does not encourage the building of communal houses.
Whatever the reason, at the present time the dwelling is a more or less flimsy structure, built with no thought of giving access to fresh air, and sometimes no provision is made for the escape of smoke from the fireplace. But the people are very hospitable; they gladly received us in their houses, and allowed me, for purposes of ventilation, to demolish temporarily part of the unsubstantial wall, which consisted of bark or stiff mats. The high ladder is generally provided with a railing leaning outward at either side.
The Katingans are shy, kind-hearted natives, the great majority of them being unusually free from skin disease. No illness was apparent. With some of the Lower Katingans the calf of the leg was below normal size. This was the case with three women in Pendahara, and also with a blian who otherwise was a stout man. All the men have a large representation of the full moon tatued on the calf of the leg, following the custom of the Ot-Danums, Murungs, and Siangs. As far as I ascended the river the Upper Katingans rarely have more tatuing than this, but the Lower Katingans are elaborately ornamented, chest and arms being covered with illustrations of familiar objects. Several old men, now dead, had their bodies, even their backs, legs, and faces, covered with tatu marks, and one thus decorated was said still to be living.
Near the kampong Pendahara, where we camped the first night, were many of the majestic tapang trees which I first noticed on the Barito. In the calm evening after a light shower, with the moon almost full, their tall stems and beautiful crowns were reflected in the placid water. The Katingans guard and protect these trees because they are the abode of bees, and when the Malays cut them down the Dayaks are indignant. Both honey and wax are gathered, the latter to be sold. The nest is reached in the customary manner by a ladder of sharpened bamboo pegs driven into the rather soft wood as the man ascends. The gathering is done at night, an assistant bearing a torch made of bark and filled with damar or wax. The native first smears himself with honey in order that the bees shall not sting him; when he reaches the deposit a large bark bucket is hoisted up and filled. In lowering it the honey sometimes disappears, my informant said, because antoh is very fond of it.
About noon, as we were passing a ladang near Bali, we heard the beating of a gong, also weird singing by a woman. It was evident that a ceremony of some kind was in progress, probably connected with funeral observances, so I ordered a halt. As we lay by many people gathered on the top of the steep bank. We learned that an old woman had died and that the ceremonies were being performed in her honour. I climbed the ladder and found in front of me a house on poles, simply constructed, as they always are at the ladangs. Several of the men wore chavats; an elderly female blian sang continuously, and a fire was burning outside.
Ascending the ladder of the house I entered a dingy room into which the light came sparingly. In a corner many women were sitting silently. Near them stood one of the beautiful red baskets for which the Katingans higher up the river are famous. As I proceeded a little further an extremely fine carved casket met my astonished eyes. Judging from its narrowness the deceased, who had been ill for a long time, must have been very thin when she passed away, but the coffin, to which the cover had been fastened with damar, was of excellent proportions and symmetrical in shape. The material was a lovely white wood of Borneo, on which were drawn large round flowers on graceful vines, done in a subdued light red colour procured from a pigment found in the earth. The effect was magnificent, reminding me of French tapestries. Two diminutive and unfinished mats were lying on the cover, symbolising clothing for the deceased, and tufts of long, beautiful grass had been tied to the top at either end. The coffin was to be placed on a platform in the utan. Its name in Katungan is bákan rúni; (bákan = form, exterior; rúni = dead person)
To see such an artistic production was worth a great deal of trouble. Usually this and similar work is made by several working in unison, who co-operate to obtain the best result in the shortest time. I was gratified when they agreed to make an exact copy for me, to be ready on my return from up country. When one of the men consented to pose before the camera his wife fled with ludicrous precipitation. A dwarf was photographed, forty years old and unmarried, whose height was 1.13 metres.