Ran away from the Dutch

by M. T. H. Perelaer

“An awkward business,” observed the Colonel, “devilishly awkward for those poor fellows, but scarcely less so for me. Besides the dangers which may attend my pursuit after them, I shall have to weather the reprimands from headquarters. You know our authorities always turn these matters against us. Whenever the Dutch government has a difficulty the first impulse of all in power is to look out for a scapegoat.”

“But our Commander-in-Chief is not the man to do that.”

“Oh, I am not afraid of him. The bother will come from higher sources. From Batavia will go the report to the war office of the Hague, that through the negligence of a colonel four European soldiers have escaped—in war time. They will be careful to add, ‘Colonel severely reprimanded.’ Then the Hague authorities will be satisfied because none of them can be held responsible.” [[18]]

“Not responsible,” said the doctor, passionately, “not responsible. Why then the whole blame rests with the Hague for——”

“Tut, tut; no politics, I beg,” said the Colonel. “Even if you are right, you are wrong; that is my experience in life. Come, it is late; let us retire, for day will begin early for us to-morrow.”

They shook hands and the doctor left the room to seek his couch, but the Colonel, before retiring for the night, went the rounds once more to assure himself that all was safe.

For a moment he paused at the southern bastion. This work commanded the whole expanse of water formed by the confluence of the rivers Poeloe-Petak and Kapoeas-Moeroeng, about twelve hundred yards wide at this point. The night was lovely; the stars glittered in the dark blue sky and were brilliantly reflected in the water. The woods which bordered the banks stood out boldly against the dusky horizon. On the eastern banks of the river Poeloe-Petak the outlines of the Dayak dwellings could be traced between the green herbage and here and there the flame of a lamp glittered among the trees and shrubs.

Silence reigned around, broken only by the distant barking of some watchful dog and by the soft murmur of the river.

While the Colonel stood leaning against the parapet and gazing upon this charming scene the sounds of the titih were suddenly heard. The titih is the death bell of the Dayaks. The sounds are produced by a series of strokes upon four metal basins of different sizes. The first knell is struck when a death occurs; the second when the body is coffined; the third when the corpse is being carried to the grave, and the parting knell when the grave is closed. The titih is struck continuously during the progress [[19]]of the funeral, but on the other occasions there are intervals of four or five minutes between the sounds, just like our passing bell. The continuous strokes of the funeral knell are gentle at first but are interrupted every two minutes by a loud bang, and the echo of that ting, ting, toong, along the broad streams of Borneo sounds extremely mournful and disposes one to melancholy.

The Colonel pricked up his ears at the first knell and tried to recollect whether anyone had died in the kampong; but his thoughts soon returned to the deserters. When the titih continued without intermission, he knew that a funeral was in progress and this somewhat excited his curiosity. Not that it was of rare occurrence for the Dayaks to bury their dead at night. But the Colonel had recently requested the natives not to have any nocturnal funerals during war time except when absolutely unavoidable. This request, or rather command, had been hitherto respected, but now, now—it was very strange!