Happily the Gospel message, though profound in truth, is very simple in form. A plain narration of the life of Jesus Christ always produces a deep impression upon the Dyak. It is quite a new revelation to him, the Incarnation of the Son of God, bringing him totally new thoughts and ideas of God.
A great help to the work of the Missionary is the example of some man who has bravely emancipated himself from the burdensome traditions of his forefathers, and puts his whole trust in God. There are many such living in the Saribas district, and they were a great help to the Mission work there. That a Dyak can succeed in his labours, or even exist for any length of time without the observance of bird omens, or paying heed to dreams, or continually making sacrifices to gods and spirits, is to Dyaks in general such a remarkable thing that it rouses their minds to consider what Christianity means. To give up heathen practices, and to pay no heed to the omens of birds, is but a small part of the Christian religion, but it sets men thinking. It is a mark of freedom from the slavery of tyrannous superstition, and clears the ground for the foundation of a real Christian belief and trust in God.
But it may be asked: “How are services provided for these Dyak Christians who live so far away from the Church and the Mission House?” Well, we do the best we can for them. By the side of each Dyak house where there are Christians we build a small prayer-house. It is a very plain and simple building, and is the same in material and style as their own houses. The Christian Dyaks build it themselves. They go out into the jungle and get whatever is necessary for it. It is an oblong structure, raised a few feet off the ground on posts of wood. The walls and the roof are of palm-leaf thatch, work which the natives can do themselves; the flooring is of laths of wood fastened down with cane or creepers. And there are no seats in the building—no forms or chairs—everyone sits on the floor, on which mats are spread. At one end we have a little table, which the natives make themselves, and that we use as an altar when we have a celebration of the Holy Communion. Altogether it is as primitive a house of worship as it is possible to imagine, but it is enough for necessary purposes, and is the best that can be done under the circumstances. The building does not last long, but is easily rebuilt where there is a will to do so. To build permanent churches would in most cases be useless waste, for the Dyaks are constantly moving their village houses to new sites.
The services held in these little prayer-houses are very reverent. The offertory at the celebration of Holy Communion is worthy of remark. At our up-country churches and prayer-houses, we receive in kind as well as in money. Dyaks very seldom have money, but they have rice, and that is the “kind” in which the offertory is made. The rice is brought in little baskets or cups, and emptied into a large basket. Sometimes eggs or fruit are given. The Missionary gives an equivalent in money for the rice, etc., collected, and that money is given to the man who has charge of the offertory. This “church-warden” is some Christian living in the Dyak house near.
The Missionary has a very large district in his charge, and travelling is so difficult that he cannot very often visit the different houses where there are Christians; and the native teacher has also a large ground to cover, and cannot very often hold services at the different prayer-houses. So if we can find some man in the house who is a good Christian, and has been to school and can read, we ask him, in the absence of the Missionary and of the native teacher, to conduct services. On the Sunday morning in many Dyak houses, when neither the Missionary nor the native teacher is there, one of themselves—some young man—will collect the Christians together, and they will go to the little prayer-house, and he will read the prayers, and they will offer up their petitions and thanksgivings to God. In many Dyak houses, however, though there are Christians, there is no one whom we can ask to read the prayers. They have to go without their services, sometimes for long intervals, until such time as the native teacher or the Missionary can visit them.
Visiting the houses where there are Christians, and holding services in the little prayer-houses built by themselves, is pleasant and interesting work. The Dyaks are told beforehand when the Missionary is coming, and they look forward to his visit, and as many as are able leave their farm-huts where they may be staying so as to be at the house to welcome him. The Dyaks are civil, natural in manner, kindly disposed, and cheerful. They are also very intelligent, and I have had many interesting conversations on my Missionary visits. Questions are often asked by the Dyaks showing that they have thought over something that has been said on a former visit; and in the Saribas district, where so many Dyaks had learnt to read, it was no unusual thing to be asked to explain some particular passage in the Gospels, the Dyak translation of which many of them had.
Travelling by river is safe enough except where there are sandbanks, and there a little extra care is necessary. But during the north-east monsoon—October to March—the sea is generally very rough, and travelling by sea in the kind of boat the Missionary uses is sometimes dangerous. He has to use a boat that draws very little water, because of the sand banks in the rivers, and such a boat is not suitable for the sea. I am thankful to say that during all the years I was in Borneo my boat was only swamped once. We have had many narrow escapes—the boat full of water over and over again, and two men baling out the water as fast as possible while the others were rowing. The boat I used in my travels was made of light wood, and the only part of it that was made of harder wood was the keel. Even if it were full of water, it would still float, and we could often row through the waves without anything worse than a thorough wetting.
On the occasion when my boat was swamped I was returning from the capital, Kuching, where I had been Acting-Chaplain for some months, to my up-country station at Temudok on the Krian River. It was during the north-east monsoon, and the sea was very rough. After leaving the Kuching River we put in at Sampun, a little stream near. There we stayed seven days. Early every morning we put out to sea, but it was impossible to row through the waves, and we had to put back. Then we ran short of food; we had no rice for the men. At the next flood-tide I told my boatmen to row up the Sampun stream, as I felt certain I should be able to buy rice from some people living there. After two hours’ rowing we came to the hut of a Chinaman. He said he had only three gantangs of rice. (A gantang is a dry measure, and equal to about three-quarters of a peck.) I asked him to sell me all the rice he had. He was quite willing to do so, and said that if I would wait a day, he would have some paddy pounded, and be able to supply me with more rice. I said what he had would be sufficient, and I told my boatmen that whatever the weather was next day, we must put out to sea.