The Penyahbongs, men of the jungle, who left us to return home, had not proved such good workers as the Saputans, who, though in a pronounced degree smaller, mostly below medium size, are very strongly built. The first named, nevertheless, are their superiors both physically and morally. The more homely-looking Saputans, though friendly and willing to assist you, try to gain an advantage in bargaining. They set high prices on all things purchased from them and cheat if permitted to do so. Although no case of actual stealing came to my notice, they are dishonest, untruthful, and less intelligent than the tribes hitherto met. The chiefs from two neighbouring kampongs paid us visits, and they and their men made a somewhat better impression, besides having less skin disease.

The Saputans are a crude and somewhat coarse people who formerly lived in caves in the mountains further east, between the Mahakam and the Murung (Barito) Rivers, and migrated here less than a hundred years ago. Lidju, a Long-Glat raja from Batokelau, who at one time was my interpreter and assistant, told me that the Saputans had made a contract with his grandfather to take them to the Kasao. This report was confirmed by the kapala of Batokelau. The Saputans probably do not number over 500 all told.

The custom of cutting the teeth, eight in upper front and six in the lower jaw, is observed to some extent, but is not regularly practised. Both sexes have shrill, sharp voices. The men admire women who have long hair, light yellow skin, and long extension of the ear-lobes. The women like men to be strong and brave on headhunting expeditions. Suicide is very rare. They may use ipoh or tuba for the purpose. All animals are eaten without restriction. The men are good hunters and know how to kill the tiger-cat with sumpitan or spear. They also make good, large mats from split rattan, which are spread on the floor, partly covering it. The women make mats from palm leaves, and when the Saputans are preparing for the night's rest the latter kind is unrolled over the rattan variety. Formerly sumpitans were made in sufficient number, but the art of the blacksmith has almost died out, only one remaining at the present time, and most of the sumpitans are bought from the Bukats on the Mahakam River.

There appear to be more men than women in the tribe. Children are wanted, and though the usual number in a family is four, sometimes there is only one. There are no restrictions in diet for a pregnant woman beyond the prohibition of eating of other people's food.

Only when the chief has a wedding is there any festival, which consists in eating. There is no marriage ceremony, but having secured the girl's consent and paid her father and mother the young man simply goes to her mat. They then remain two days in the house, because they are afraid of the omen birds. On the third day both go to fetch water from the river and she begins to husk rice. Monogamy is practised, only the chief being allowed to have five or more wives. The very enterprising kapala of Data Laong, to the displeasure of his first wife, recently had acquired a second, the daughter of a Penihing chief. While the payment of a parang may be sufficient to secure a wife from among the kampong people, a chiefs daughter is worth ten gongs, and in order to raise the money necessary to obtain the gongs he set all the men of the kampong to work, gathering rattan, for one month. Though each of them received something for his labour, it was less than one-fourth of the amount accruing from the sale of the product, leaving him sufficient to pay the price demanded for the new bride. In Long Iram a gong may be bought for f. 30-80, and for purposes of comparison the fact is mentioned that a Malay usually is required to pay f. 60 to the girl's father to insure his consent to the marriage.

April was rainy, with frequent showers day and night, and thunder was heard every evening. Life there was the same as in most Dayak kampongs, nearly all the people being absent during the day at the ladangs, and in the evening they bring home the roots of the calladium, or other edible roots and plants, which are cooked for food. The paddi had been harvested, but the crop was poor, and therefore they had made no feast. There is no dancing here except war dances. For a generation they have been gathering rubber, taking it far down the Mahakam to be sold. Of late years rubber has nearly disappeared in these parts, so they have turned their attention to rattan.

One day a man was seen running with a sumpitan after a dog that had hydrophobia, and which repeatedly passed my tent. The apparent attempt to kill the animal was not genuine. He was vainly trying to catch it that he might tie its legs and throw it into the river, because the people believe that the shedding of a dog's blood would surely result in misfortune to their health or crops. After three days the dog disappeared.

In Data Laong few were those men, women, and children who had not some form of the skin diseases usual among the Dayaks, which were rendered still more repugnant by their habit of scratching until the skin bleeds. A man and wife whose skin looked dry and dead, the whole body exhibiting a whitish colour, one day came to my tent. Standing, or crouching, before the tent opening they formed a most offensive picture, vigorously scratching themselves, while particles of dead skin dropped in such quantity that after some minutes the ground actually showed an accumulation resembling snow. They were accompanied by a twelve-year-old daughter who, strange to say, had a perfectly clean skin.

The belief about disease and its cure is identical with that of other tribes I have met. The evil antohs are believed to be very numerous in the mountainous region at the headwaters of the Kasao River, from whence they visit the kampongs, though only the blians are able to see them. The dead person is given new garments and the body is placed in a wooden box made of boards tied together, which is carried to a cave in the mountains, three days' travel from Data Laong. There are many caves on the steep mountain-side and each kampong has its own.

The Saputans were shy about being photographed, but their objections could be overcome by payments of coin. The kapala, always alive to the value of money, set the example by consenting to pose with his family for a consideration of one florin to each. But the risks incurred, of the usual kinds hitherto described, were believed to be so great that even the sum of ten florins was asked as reward in the case of a single man. A prominent man from another kampong was preparing to make holes through the ears of the kapala, and for a compensation I was permitted to photograph the operation, which is an important one. It is the privilege of chiefs and men who have taken heads to wear a tiger-cat's corner tooth inserted in a hole in the upper part of each ear. The operation must not be performed when the man in question has a small child.

Surrounded by four men, the kapala seated himself on the stump of a tree. The hair was first cut away above the ears, a long board was placed upright behind and against his right ear, and the operator adjusted his tool - an empty rifle cartridge of small calibre, which was encased in the end of a small piece of wood. After having carefully ascertained that all was in order he struck the tool, using a loose axe-head with sure hand, two or three times. The supporting board was removed and a bamboo cylinder of exactly the same size as the empty cartridge, which was held in readiness, was immediately put into the hole. The round piece of cartilage which had been cut out was taken care of, lest it be eaten by a dog and cause illness. Blood streamed profusely from the ear, and, strange to tell, the robust man looked as if he were going to faint. The four assistants closed round him, stroking his arms, and he attempted to rise, but had to resume his seat.

Usually nothing untoward happens at such operations, but in this case an evil antoh had taken possession of the kapala and was eating blood from the wound. The principal blian was hastily sent for, and arriving promptly, proceeded to relieve the suffering kapala. He clapped his hands over the ear, and, withdrawing, opened them twice in quick succession, then, after a similar third effort, a fair-sized stone (less than a centimetre in diameter) was produced and thrown into the river. Slight rain began to fall, and the scene was brought to a dramatic conclusion by the exhausted chief being ignominiously carried away on the back of a strong young man. At the house another stone was produced by the same sleight-of-hand, but more strenuous measures had to be adopted in order to remedy the uncanny incident.

A pig was brought up into the room, where blood from its throat was collected. Part of it was smeared on the kapala, and part was mixed with uncooked rice as a sacrifice to some good antoh, who is called upon to drive the evil one away. Outside on the river bank four stalks of bamboo, which had branches and leaves at the top, were placed in a slanting position. From the stems of these were hung two diminutive bamboo receptacles made in the form of square, stiff mats, on which was placed the mixture of rice and blood for the antoh to eat. Also suspended were two short pieces of bamboo cut open lengthwise so as to form two small troughs, into which a little blood was poured for the same supernatural power to drink.

When all this had been made ready the old blian, accompanied by two young pupils, took position before the sacrifice. For about ten minutes he spoke, with his face to the south, requesting a good antoh to come and the evil one to depart, after which he, the young men, and the kapala, who stood near, all repeatedly threw up rice in a southerly direction. This was done in expectation that the good antoh, having eaten of the sacrifice, would feel disposed to drive the bad one away.

In the middle of April I was seized with an attack of filariasis, a disorder caused by the sting of a certain kind of mosquito. During the day I had felt pain in the glands of the loins, which were swollen, without giving the matter any particular attention. As I am not in the habit of being ill, in fact, so far had prided myself on growing younger each year, this experience of suddenly becoming very weak and miserable was most unexpected. Vomiting set in, so I went immediately to bed, and slept soundly during the night and also most of the next day, when I found myself with an extremely high fever, much more severe than that which accompanies malaria, a pernicious form of which I once passed through on the west coast of Mexico. Until many months afterward I did not know the nature of my disorder, but resorted to the simple remedy always available - to stop eating, as Japanese soldiers are reported to do when wounded. On the fourth day the fever abated, after which improvement was rapid. Two days later my general condition was fair, although the lower part of the right leg, especially about the ankle, was red and swollen. I soon felt completely restored in spite of the fact that a painless swelling of the ankle remained.

Two months later I had another attack, as sudden and unexpected as the first. This was ushered in by a chill exactly like that preceding malaria, but the fever that followed was less severe than on the former occasion, and in a few days I was well again.

More than a year afterward hypodermic injections of sodium cacodylate were attempted with apparent success, though the swellings continued. Many months later an improvement in the condition of the leg was gradually brought about, to which perhaps a liberal consumption of oranges separate from meals, largely contributed. This affection is not common in Borneo. A native authority in Kasungan, on the Katingan River in South Borneo, himself a Kahayan, told me of a remedy by which he and eight other natives had been completely cured. It is a diffusion from three kinds of plants, applied externally, samples of which I took.

On the last day of April we were able to continue our journey down the Kasao River, in seven prahus with twenty-eight men, twenty-four of whom were Penihings, who, with their raja, as the chiefs are called on the Mahakam, had arrived from below by appointment. Owing to my recent distressing experience I was not sorry to say farewell to Data Laong, where the women and children were afraid of me to the last, on account of my desire to have them photographed. The Saputans are kind, but their intellect is of a low order, and the unusual prevalence of skin disease renders them unattractive though always interesting subjects.

A glorious morning! The river, running high and of a dirty yellowish-green colour, carried us swiftly with the current in the cool atmosphere of the morning mist which the sun gradually cleared away. Repeatedly, though for a few moments only, an enchanting fragrance was wafted to me from large, funnel-shaped, fleshy white flowers with violet longitudinal stripes that covered one of the numerous varieties of trees on our way. Many blossoms had fallen into the water and floated on the current with us. It was a pleasure to have again real Dayak paddlers, which I had not had since my travels in the Bultmgan.

We dashed through the tall waves of many smaller rapids and suddenly, while I was having breakfast, which to save time is always taken in the prahus, I found myself near what appeared to be a rapidly declining kiham. A fathomless abyss seemed yawning before us, although the approach thereto was enticing, as the rushing waters turned into white foam and played in the strong sunlight. We passed a timid prahu which was waiting at one side of the course, but had I desired to do so there was no time to stop my prahu. That might have meant calamity, for we were already within a few seconds of the rushing, turbulent waters. So down we went, with a delightful sensation of dancing, falling water, strong sunlight, and the indescribable freshness and swiftness of it all. The Penihing at the bow looked back at me and nodded with a satisfied expression on his countenance, as if to say: "That was well done."

There were kihams after kihams to be passed; at one place where the rapids were long, from twelve to eighteen men helped to direct each prahu with rattan ropes, preventing it from going where the water was deep and the waves ran high. But my men, who appeared to be skilful, evidently decided not to depend on the rattan but steered deliberately out into the deep water; the prahu began to move swiftly, and, tossed by the big waves, the large tins and boxes were shaken about and threatened to fall overboard. The bundle of one of the Dayaks actually dropped into the water. There were only four men in the prahu, and the one at the bow, on whom so much depends for safety, seeing that it was his bundle, immediately jumped after it, leaving the boat to its fate. Luckily there was no reason for the others to do likewise, and I escaped with drenched legs and a wet kodak.

New kihams soon compelled us to take out half the load and make double trips, which proved slow and tedious work. I sat on the rocks waiting, and ate luncheon, which consisted of one small tin of macquerel in oil, put up in France, very convenient for travelling. In front of me on the other side of the river a lonely Malay was working eagerly, trying to float a big bundle of rattan which had lodged in the midst of a waterfall against a large stone, and which finally he succeeded in loosening. Suddenly it floated, and as suddenly he leaped upon it, riding astride it down the foaming waters.

The prospect for some smooth sailing now appeared favourable, but scarcely had I made myself comfortable, lying down in my prahu, before I was drenched by furious waves into which we had plunged. We soon got out of them, however, and continued our swift travel downward. In the distance most of our prahus could be seen in a calm inlet on the other side, where Mr. Loing was awaiting our arrival; but my men continued on their course. In a few seconds we entered the boiling waves of the rapids, down which we went at thrilling speed. We literally jumped a small waterfall, then, sharply turning to the left, passed another. More than a third of the boat was in the air as we leaped over it. The Dayaks stand in the prahu and every nerve is at full tension. The man at the bow shouts and warns. They are daring, but manage to avoid the hidden rocks with which the course of the river is studded, now steering slightly to the left, now more to the right. Thirty or fifty centimetres one way or the other may make all the difference between safety and disaster. Three men in a small prahu which follows immediately behind, seeing that they cannot avoid dashing against a rock, jump overboard, pull the boat out of its course, and save it.

Ahead was another turn in the river where the third kiham in succession awaited us, and after some moments of comparative quiet we again dashed down into turbulent waves, and making a swift turn to the right on a downward grade glided into smoother waters. The excitement was over and the experience had been as delightful as it was unexpected. It reminded one of tobogganing in Norway and was great fun, although the enjoyment was always mingled with feelings of anxiety concerning the cameras and instruments.

The luggage was unloaded from the prahus which were waiting at the head of the last rapids, and was carried on the backs of natives who afterward took the empty boats down. Although the men had worked incessantly for nine hours, on the advice of the chief it was decided to proceed to Samariting, the first Penihing kampong. Half the goods was stored near the beach, to be called for the following day, and the now comfortably loaded prahus made ready for the descent of the next rapids, which he said were risky. He therefore was going to walk himself and advised us to do likewise. Rain began to fall. On the high river bank I waited to see them off. The first prahu had to return and take another course; the men all seemed to be hesitating. Finally it made a fresh dash forward. Near the end of the long rapids it almost disappeared from view, appeared again, steering first to right then rapidly to left again. There was the dangerous place, and having in this manner seen most of them pass successfully, I walked on and shortly afterward boarded my prahu, which carried us swiftly down to Samariting.

The river bank on which the kampong is built is lower than usual, and the place is clean and attractive. All the people look strikingly more healthy than the Saputans, and I saw a few very nice-looking young girls. The men swarmed round me like bees, all wanting in a most amiable way to help put up my tent. During the day I had lost the cover of my red kettle - annoying enough when it cannot by any means be replaced - but even a more serious loss would have been compensated by the delightful experience of the day, which was without other mishaps.

Our goods having been safely brought in, the next day about noon we started in fully loaded prahus. All went well with the exception of one of the smaller boats which, timidly working down along the bank, suddenly turned over and subsided on a rock. The men did their best to save the contents, the rapid current making it impossible for us to stop until we were a hundred metres further down, where the Dayaks made ready to gether up boxes and other articles that came floating on the current. Nothing was lost, but everything got wet.