Our little coup de maître has fallen flat, so to speak. One of the dusky damsels relieves the situation for us. She is inclined to be forward, but this we do not think of censuring, for it saves the day. She says in very good Malay, “Ada rocco?” It is tobacco they want. Luckily, we have a little with us and when it is distributed among the ladies, who immediately fill their mouths with it, diplomatic relations are opened. They seem ready to entertain almost any proposal, within reason, that we may make. We seize the opportunity to impress upon them that as long as we are their guests and are treated as such, each member of the tribe will receive his or her daily ration of tobacco. All this palaver, carried on as it is in the sign language, takes time, but the savages seem to catch our meaning with increasing facility. Yes, we are getting along famously. We even essay the making of a photograph or two, but the cameras are regarded with suspicion, so we desist and let the matter rest until we shall have become better acquainted. There will, no doubt, be plenty of time for picture-taking.
With a sweeping gesture, we indicate the rest of the kampong, and the chief, not to be outdone in generosity, gives us the key to the city by means of an all-embracing wave of his arm. This is as it should be, and we thank him, with a “we-expected-as-much” air, and proceed to inspect the entire place. In fact, the only one of us who does not seem to be quite at ease is Moh. He is having a bad day.
Twice we encounter stalwart warriors standing like sentinels, as though disdainful of concealment
The body is placed in a sitting position after being gaily decorated for the funeral
CHAPTER VIII
We Take up Quarters in the Kampong
Our first visit has turned out so well and the natives seem so friendly that there seems to be no reason why we should not move camp so as to be near them and thus save a long hike through the jungle every time we wish to see them. A walk through the jungle is the occasion of a fight with mosquitos, particularly at this time of year, February, which is the beginning of the rainy season. With the assistance of several of the younger men we transfer our belongings from the beach to the kampong and settle down for a long visit. This kampong is as good as any to study the natives in and the inhabitants seem fairly trustworthy.
Our tent is placed, this time, between two of the large family shacks, and after a day or two we begin to feel quite at home. The natives do not interfere with us, and as we are careful not to impose upon them, all is well. The first night of our stay in the kampong is one of sadness for the natives, we find, for one of their very old men has passed away in its course. He has been ailing a long time, they tell us, and it has surprised them all that he should last so long. They are very much like civilized people in the affection they appear to feel for any sick or ailing member of their immediate family.
We stumble upon a Kia Kia mourning party quite unexpectedly. When one of these people dies the body is placed in a sitting posture in the spot where death overtook him, if that is in the house, and his nearest relatives decorate him with fresh paint and feathers. There is no wailing while the body is kept in the house. One or two members of his family hold a vigil beside him and fan the flies away, while others go to the burial ground to prepare the grave. This is usually about six feet deep, but as the body must be placed within it seated there is a shelf built two feet from the bottom on which the deceased rests. When the grave is ready—and its preparation may consume three or four days—the body is transferred to it with much solemnity. The grave is not filled with earth, but a framework covered with a heavy thatch of palm-leaves is placed over the dead and the earth is piled to a depth of two feet on that. As the body is lowered into the grave the relatives begin a quavering chant and all present seem to feel deeply the loss of their kinsman.