A Sakai village?—?The "elder"?—?The family?—?Degrees of relationship?—?Humorists disoccupied?—?On the march?—?Tender hearts?—?Kindling the fire?—?A hecatomb of giants?—?The hut?—?Household goods and utensils?—?Work and repose.

A real village, such as we understand it to be, does not exist among the Sakais, but I have been obliged to make use of the word for want of a better one to explain the meaning. Each hut is some hundreds of yards distant from the other so that altogether a village covers an area of from twenty to forty miles. Nearly always the boundaries of village territory are marked by secondary water-courses (the true Sakais never encamp near a navigable river) which give their names to the people living round the shores.

Only the width of a brook or torrent divides two of these settlements that I have called villages, therefore the distance is much less than that lying between the two extremities of a single village.And yet, beyond being on neighbourly and friendly terms, they have nothing to do with each other, for one Sakai tribe does not like mixing with another and will not recognize any tone of authority, or receive any word of advice unless proceeding from a close relation, and even then it must be given in the form of fatherly counsel or affectionate exhortation otherwise the person to whom it is addressed would probably leave his own people, not to have further annoyance from them, and go to live among his wife's kinsfolk.

The inhabitants of a village are all one family, belonging to the first, second, third and even fourth generation for they are all descended from the same old man, who is called the "Elder" and who is regarded with esteem and consideration by everybody.

It is he who acts as magistrate or arbitrator in any dispute or quarrel (that very rarely takes place) amongst his offspring and the sentence pronounced by him is rigorously respected. It is he, too, who selects the spot for a clearing when, as often happens, the Sakais change their place of encampment, forming their village in quite another part of the forest.

Besides this he has nothing else to do, unless he is still able to work.

The Elders of the various villages are upon a perfect footing of cordiality and never incite to or permit the shedding of blood, or even a conflict between their tribes.

If upon the death of an Elder there happens to be two or more brothers still living the oldest one succeeds him, and should any misunderstanding eventually arise between them, or should the number of those composing the village become too great, the other emigrates to a far off corner of the forest, followed by all the families which are, in a direct line, closely related to him, thus forming the nucleus of a new Sakai village which never exceeds a few hundreds of inhabitants.In the plains, however, a great many families may be found living together in the same village, sometimes even to three thousand persons.

But it is not here that one is able to study and observe the habits and customs of the genuine Sakais.

Notwithstanding the practice of living in groups, one family isolated from the other, fraternity of race is very profoundly felt and if to-morrow a common danger should be menaced they would all unite like one man to resist and overcome it, besides being always ready to help each other in time of need.

Not many degrees of relationship are recognized by the Sakai.

The male and female children of the same father and mother are considered, as with us, brothers and sisters, but also the sons and daughters of brothers (who among us would only be cousins) are classed the same and call all their uncles "father".

That established for the descendants of females is quite different, and this is natural because the girls of one village marry into another.

The children of a woman are supposed to bear no relationship to those of their mother's brothers and very little attention is paid to that which exists between them and their uncles.

Sisters' children are considered brothers instead of cousins, and the aunts are all called mothers, even when they live in other villages.

The wives of brothers call themselves sisters and are known by the name of "mother" by their nephews and nieces but sisters' husbands have no claim to relationship, other than that of cordial friendship.

Grandchildren give the title of "father" also to their grandfather and great-grandfather and that of "mother" to their grandmother so that these two words which have such a sacred significance to us, to the Sakais are but common appellations.

No tie whatever exists between the parents of the husband and those of the wife and neither between the latter (the father and mother of the wife) and their sons-in-law. They are only upon simple friendly terms.

Humourists who are fond of exercising their wit upon the eternal mother-in-law question would find no ground for their jokes among this people.

The daughter-in-law, on the contrary, recognizes her husband's parents as her own father and mother.

This does not, however, prevent her from still feeling and cherishing a fond affection for those who are nearest to her in blood and who were the authors of her being.

She goes very often to see them and is welcomed with great joy. At parting they give her good wishes and advice.

"Go, follow thy husband!".

"Take care not to fall by the way!".

"Abor!".

"Abor!".

As far as I know there are no other relations acknowledged by the Sakais who dwell on the forest heights, beyond these I have mentioned and even these are reduced to four names: father, mother, sister and brother. It is very difficult, though, to get information about the bonds of kinship.

Judging from the youthful age at which they marry and have children and assuming that the greatest age which they reach is that of 60 years old (a calculation purely by guess as it is impossible to ascertain precisely) it may be said that every village is populated by the second, third, fourth and even fifth generation of the same people.

In fact, establishing the date of his first paternity at 16 years old, it is evident that at 32 a Sakai may be a grandfather, at 48 a great-grandfather and at 64 a great-great-grandfather.

The closer and more direct the relationship the stronger is their affection.

The tenderest love that a Sakai can bestow is poured out upon his son, especially when the child is little, but gradually, with the passing of years, and the formation of new families around, the warmth of this attachment somewhat cools down, perhaps because there is no longer any need of his care.

Kind reader, I have introduced you (as best I could) to my good friends of the Malay forest; I have made you know their virtues and their defects, their habits and their family ties and now I should like you to follow with me the little tribe marching from one end of their territory to the other in order to fix upon a new dwelling-place.

The long procession moves along without any order whatever. Everybody carries something that they did not want to leave behind in the abandoned village. The very little children are fastened to their mother's backs, the others caper merrily round the women, and the old people walk slowly on, sometimes leaning on their sticks.

All the men and the youths are armed with their deadly cane and poisoned arrows.

Several dogs—not unlike little setters—escort the company and give the alarm when danger threatens. With them, in friendly intimacy, are monkeys, squirrels and tame wild-boars, while fowls cackle in the dossers where they have been put for fear of being lost in the jungle.This is an emigrating tribe. Are they then taking a long journey that they are so well provided with food?

Such a supposition would be erroneous. Those fowls, boars, squirrels and monkeys are not a reserve stock of provisions for the travelling Sakais but are their friends and companions, brought up by them with kind care and which are considered as a part of the family.

A Sakai never eats an animal that he has reared; it would seem to him to commit a crime. He uses the fowls, however (which are a trifle smaller than those in Europe) as a means of exchange for tobacco, rice and other articles but he would never eat one himself unless reduced to the verge of starvation.

How different to civilized persons who breed animals and poultry on purpose to devour them, who fatten fowls in coops, cruelly convert cockrels into appetizing capons, peg geese to the ground that their liver may supply an extra dainty for the table and protect the poetic love of pigeons in order to cook their little ones!

Oh, yes! we protect animals, even the birds that fly wild in the woods, we surround them with attention, we make laws in their favour, why? for what? That we may have the pleasure of eating them!

A halt is called. The Elder, assisted by some of the men inspect the site to see if in its vicinity there are any sort of flowers or birds of ill-omen. If any such are discovered the journey is continued but if there are none they begin at once to kindle a fire.

A little bamboo reed is taken and a hole made in it through which is passed a towy substance found upon palm-trees and known by the name of lulup among the Malays. Round this reed is wound two or three times a long piece of very flexible Indian cane and he who has undertaken to light the fire now holds the two ends of the latter, and pressing the bamboo hard with his foot, pulls first one and then the other, sharply and rapidly.

The violent friction soon brings about combustion for the larger reed is heated to such a point that the tow ignites. Leaves and dry grasses are thrown on and the Elder watches the smoke.

If this goes up in a straight column the position is good, otherwise it is not a suitable one.

The decision having been made in this manner, work commences in right earnest and a febrile activity pervades the spot.

The men carefully observe in what direction the trees are inclined, and with a small axe (that cuts into the wood wonderfully well) they begin to chop round the roots of the smaller ones.

This done they attack one of the superb giants of the forest. With primitive, but not for that less practical, ladders made of bamboo, they ascend the tree they mean to fell, and after having planted some stout poles around it they construct an ingenious platform some yards from the ground.

Up there they again make use of their little, but terrible hatchet, which is pointed in shape and marvellously resistant. It is of a moderate size, scarcely measuring 8 inches in length, 4 in breadth and 2 in thickness. Firmly fixed on a pliant bamboo cane the blows given by it have marvellous force.

The Sakais of the mountain obtain this instrument (which is never used by them as a weapon of offence or defence) from their brethren of the plain who, in their turn, get it from the Malays by bartering.

When the preliminary work has been finished the huge tree is attacked (upon one side only) and its wood is soon reduced to chips under the terrific strokes which are repeated in rapid succession.In the meantime nimble youths climb up the trunk and near the top tie two stout and very long Indian canes, letting the ends dangle to the ground. As soon as the tree gives the slightest sign of vacillation the men hurry down, grasp a rattan upon each side and with all their might, rhythmically and simultaneously, pull the vanquished colossus towards the other trees whose roots have been already recised.

The enormous tree, for a while, seems to withstand all their efforts, then begins to bend and sway, shaking as though seized by a fit of trembling; it totters for a minute or two and at last crashes down with awful violence, in its fall hurling to the ground the nearest ones that have been prepared on purpose, and these in their turn knock down those which are behind.

Everybody has fled to a safe place but are deafened for a time by the loud noise of falling trunks, broken boughs, the crackling of leaves and the snapping asunder of the thick masses of foliage that the creepers have woven amongst the branches. The turmoil is indescribable. Reptiles, birds, squirrels, insects frightened at the unexpected disaster are moving wildly about in search of shelter, filling the air with their cries and buzz.

Through the gap made in the green roof of the forest the sun enters triumphantly and illuminates the prostrate forms of the gigantic victims (lying about like Cyclopses fulminated by the ire of Jupiter) that ever and anon still give convulsive starts at the breaking of some huge bough in under that can no longer bear their tremendous weight.

The opening has been made; it must now be cleared out. The work continues with feverish haste; all take part in it.

One after the other trees are stripped and maimed and, with miracles of strength and ingenuity, are pushed away as far as possible in order to make with them a solid and reliable enclosure all round.

Before night comes, in the space thus prepared, rise groups of temporary huts, and large bon-fires burn.

Following the method here described, the Sakais in a few hours succeed in clearing the forest for several miles round.

The next day they begin afresh and go on until the clearing is big enough to contain the number of huts necessary, separated, as is the use, two or three hundred yards each one from the other.

These are immense breaches which are opened in the forest but the latter also is immense and does not suffer from this raid upon its land, the less so because with its amazing power of fecundity it will soon have covered anew with vegetable life the abandoned village of the wandering tribe.

The hut (dop) of the Elder is the centre around which all the others are erected.

To defend themselves against wild beasts and other animals, as well as against the humidity of marshy ground, the Sakais of the plain often build their huts either up a tree or suspended between stout poles.

But on the hills there is no necessity to do this and the rude habitation is constructed on the ground with green branches and leaves, the roof and walls being of such poor consistency that they do not afford the very least protection. Wild beasts, as a rule, never venture into open spaces and besides are kept afar by the glare of the fires but the inclemency of the climate on those heights would render a more substantial residence desirable for comfort.

There is no furniture or other sort of household goods in the Sakai's dop. His bed consists of dry leaves and the same bark they use for their waist-cloths, strewn upon the ground. Some of them possess a coverlet, worth only a few pence, but for which the poor creatures have paid its weight in gold by means of articles given in exchange. The majority have not even this.

The hearth is placed in the middle of the hut and is made of four pieces of wood surrounding and closing in a heap of earth.

Three stones placed upon this serve to sustain the cooking-pot.

As I have said, they have no tables, chairs, stools or cupboards, and also the inventory of their kitchen utensils is very short: one or two earthen-ware pots (when they have not these they use bamboo canes for cooking), a couple of roughly-made knives, a few basins composed of cocoanut shells, and some bamboo receptacles which officiate as bucket, bottle and glass. The ladle with which they distribute their food is also of cocoanut shell.

Their plates are... banana or other leaves, adapted for the purpose, that are thrown away after they have finished eating.

At the top of the hut are hung the blow-pipes, and well-filled quivers. They are kept there for a little heat to reach them, this being considered essential to the efficacy of the poisons.

Above these, twined amongst the green, are preserved strips of bark for a change of... dress when required, together with the Sakais' musical instruments which are never forgotten.

Such total poverty of shelter and chattels I think must be explained as cause and effect of the nomadic life these people live (although I should not know how to define the former from the latter) as well as the result of their indolence and the excessive simplicity of their wants.If once the continual migrations, from one point of the forest to the other, could be prevented the huts would certainly be improved both in construction and adornment.

Round the hut a piece of ground is prepared for the cultivation of potatoes, yams and maize, but the harvest is very scanty, and the whole is frequently destroyed by the visit of a sladan. Here, too, the good-wife devotes a part of her time to fowl-breeding.

She, like all the Sakais, sleeps at her pleasure in the morning. As soon as she gets up, with the help of her daughters she prepares the morning meal and serves it out as she thinks proper without the slightest remark being heard as to the quality or quantity of the food given to each.

After breakfast every one goes about their own business; the men shooting, searching for poisons, or setting traps; the women and girls gathering tubers, bulbs and mushrooms, or catching insects, lizards and frogs, whilst the old people no longer able to go to the forest remain behind chewing tobacco or sirih and looking after the children.

Sunrise and sunset keep each other company!

Towards noon all who can, return to the village, those who cannot, after having eaten in the forest, squat themselves on the ground to rest. It is the solemn hour of silence and repose, observed by man and beast.

Only when the sun, from being right overhead, has begun to decline westward is the interrupted work or march resumed. At the first sign of twilight, which is very brief, the Sakais may be seen hastening back to their huts, on their return from labour or from other villages, where an abundant meal and ineffable peace awaits them.