The thirsty soil drinks up the moisture rapidly, and soon after the rain ceases, which is scarcely ten minutes from the time the storm broke, the ground is free of puddles. The air is cool and refreshing and there is a clean smell in it that is invigorating. The sun comes out again and the rain-washed palms take on a brighter green, as though some accommodating painter had touched them up anew.
Our tent has shed the water perfectly, and we and our belongings are as dry as one could wish. Shortly after the storm we have a visitor. It is Intelligence. He brings with him our gifts of yesterday. These he tenders us with downcast countenance, telling us at the same time that he cannot find the bones of the Tuan.
His abject sorrow at disappointing us is evidence that he has met with utter failure, though from what cause we are not sure. Very likely it is on account of the opposition encountered from the other natives. As we feel that his efforts in our behalf merit some token of our appreciation, we tell him that he may keep the articles and he withdraws, anxious to get away and cover his chagrin. Our hopes of securing the remains of the Swiss must be abandoned.
Our disappointment is to be tempered, however, for in a short time signs of life are evident in the spaces before the houses and we note that drums are being tuned, feathered ornaments donned, and an air of expectancy pervades the village. We recognize the signs as preparations for a feast, and the loud squealing of a pig, ending abruptly, somewhere back of the house, is conclusive evidence that a jollification is planned.
Shortly before nightfall a delegation of natives waits upon us and requests that we follow them to the beach. This we do, wondering the while what is in progress; but as the men are most friendly in their behavior, we feel sure that whatever it is, it is planned for our entertainment. Arriving at the beach, we find the men of the kampong assembled and as we step from the palms they raise their voices in a chant of welcome. With all the wild savagery of the scene it is strangely thrilling. As we approach they spread out and arrange themselves in a large circle around a forked stick from which hang two human skulls. We are led to the center of the circle where, after an impressive speech by the kapala kampong, we are presented with the skulls. These are a token of highest esteem and we accept them as such,—and, too, as a sort of consolation prize for our disappointment of an hour ago. Moh snaps a picture of the ceremony for us, but remarks when returning the kodak:
“Tuan, ini gamber tida biak, Sahya korang preska brapa, Tuan. [Master, this picture is not good; I do not know how, Master.]”
As it turns out, however, Moh got the picture.
CHAPTER XI
The Feast
The presentation of skulls is but the prelude to a great entertainment. It has been planned for our especial benefit. As a sort of opening chorus and introductory number, we are entertained with the Kia Kia song of welcome as the circle of witnesses to the skull-presentation ceremony breaks up.
The medicine man—who, by the way, is supposed to hold communion with the spirits that every native believes inhabit the jungle—leads in the opening number, which is an ensemble of all the adult males of the kampong. He is attended by two others, who circle around him with heads bowed, rattling castanets made of the great pincers of the crayfish with which the coast abounds. These have a sound which reminds one of the never-to-be forgotten but hard-to-describe warning of the diamond-back crotalus or rattlesnake of America.