Our boatmen swung on their paddles steadily, pushing the boats against the current. Solid banks of foliage lined the sides of the stream, and, in places, the branches touched overhead, making a thick canopy that shaded us. In the sun, the heat was blistering.
When we arrived at Omar's kampong, the entire population was on the banks to welcome us. Omar came forward and announced that he had recruited seventy men—Malays and Dyaks—for the hunt and that he would vouch for all of them. That made a crew of a hundred, counting the thirty who came with me, and we examined one another curiously. I was the first white man that most of them had seen.
Leaving instructions that the council was to be called for the next morning, I went to the house that Omar had prepared for me. Ali and the Chinese boy accompanied me with my personal equipment, and I sat talking with Omar while I waited for my bed to be prepared, so that I could get my afternoon nap. The men loitered outside the house apparently waiting for something. I knew what they wanted—more magic. At last a deputation came with the request. Would the white man perform magic such as he had performed at the village of Mahommed Munshee?
Crocodiles were less plentiful so far up the river, and I was rather afraid that they might be disappointed if I did not at least equal the former exhibition. The story, as I have remarked before, had grown wonderfully in traveling up-country. But they were determined to see the "drunken fish," and I decided that, before beginning work, I should do well to give them some sort of amusement.
With the two headmen—they were delighted to show such familiarity with this new sport—assisting me, I stationed the natives on the banks with their boats and then I went up-stream with the dynamite. There was breathless silence as they saw me strike a match and touch it to the fuse. When the explosion came, they gave a shout and darted out in their boats to gather in the fish. After the excitement had subsided, and all the fish had been compared for size and weight, I dropped another stick. The men enjoyed the sport immensely, and we made a hilarious afternoon of it. The most sober person in the village was my coolie boy, who, as he went quietly about his business of arranging my living quarters, muttered, "Sĕmûa gîla (All crazy)."
Ali, who had become a good shot, showed the villagers my express rifle, and demonstrated what an explosive bullet could do to the trunks of trees. The men were fascinated by that power of destruction, and they passed their fingers reverently over the barrel and listened to Ali's stories while he cleaned it. Ali had traveled all over the Far East with me and he gave marvelous interpretations of what he had seen. He could hold an audience of natives spellbound for hours and, incidentally, he was an excellent publicity man for me. In his whole-hearted, childish, Malay fashion, he accepted me as the greatest man in the world and he was never contented unless others did so too. He was in great measure responsible for the success of my expeditions, for he removed many an obstacle—sometimes without my knowledge—and worked constantly to keep up the enthusiasm of the men.
I wanted the council to be a formal affair, and so I had Omar sound the call by striking on a hollow log. The older men took their places first, squatting in a semi-circle; then the younger men squatted behind them. The women and children loitered on the outskirts at a respectful distance. All of them were chewing betel-nut.
From the house, I watched the council assemble, but I did not go out until Omar came for me. Then, with Omar and Munshee walking beside me, I left the house, dressed in native costume—Chinese trousers, sârong and jacket. The chattering ceased as I approached, and all eyes were centered on me. Every one was visibly impressed by the fact that I was wearing the clothes of a native, and that they were of the finest quality, and entitled me to much consideration.
The importance of staging such an expedition—all the "magic," the talk, the council and the costume—was not to be underrated. As I have explained before, the natives are extremely impressionable; if they like a man and believe in him, they will do anything he asks, and if they do not believe in him, they will run wild at the moment when he needs them most. The orang-outang hunt was the most important and difficult thing of its kind I had ever attempted; it required the greatest technical proficiency, because there were numerous chances of failure through little miscalculations. Elephant driving is, after all, largely a matter of simple strategy combined with endurance; and capturing leopards is about on a par with setting mouse-traps when compared with getting full-grown orang-outangs into cages.
I squatted before the council and talked long and earnestly about the work that lay before us. I told the villagers that I had left important business in Singapore at the request of their headmen, to come and help them; that I had hesitated about making the trip and had been persuaded only by the promises of Omar and Mahommed Munshee that every assistance would be given me. I explained that I had the permission of the Resident-General and that he had offered me men, but that I had refused, because I knew I could depend on the men of this kampong—they knew everything that was to be known about the jungle, and the whole world knew that they were brave and cool-headed. I impressed upon them that such work was not to be taken as play, and that it was a dangerous enterprise. The natives nodded sagely. "You must be guided by what I say and do," I told them, "for I have made plans. If you do as I tell you to do, we shall be successful."