20 



ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY BULLETIN 



gravely, and finally confessed that there were 

 no elephants in that encounter. Ashamed to 

 admit that our American armies were destitute 

 of elephants. I hinted that the jungle was too 

 thick for their use. And Angad Singh shook 

 his head sympathetically. 



In the great Punjab and northwest provinces, 

 the Sikhs form a marvelous body of men. In 

 numbers they equal the Norwegians. Their 

 caste is high, their laws strict. They may not 

 touch wine or tobacco. They are not born to 

 the title Singh, or lion, but acquire it by bap- 

 tism, the water of which is called amrit. or nec- 

 tar. The Sikhs form the backbone of the Eng- 

 lish native army and constabulary in India. 

 When, as master, you win the respect and affec- 

 tion of a Sikh servant, you need fear neither 

 poison nor steel in so much as it is humanly 

 possible for him to protect you. At first it is 

 sometimes difficult to keep the line quite dis- 

 tinct, to preserve the balance and distance of 

 your relationship. For his gentle courtesy and 

 dignity is natural and very charming, and in 

 appearance they are the most aristocratic, hand- 

 some race of living men. As one looks deep 

 into their clear eyes one longs for a hint of their 

 true ancestry. It seems altogether reasonable 

 that their forefathers were the remnants of 

 Alexander's Grecian army, many of whom set- 

 tled in the northern provinces. And the kin- 

 ship of face, of morals, makes of them compan- 

 ions beyond all other native tribes. 



From Angad Singh, type of aristocratic dig- 

 nity, my thoughts go to Cinghalese Yeddahs — 

 low, savage, apelike, sniffing as they trail, long- 

 armed, cowering before me, but doglike grate- 

 ful of any gift of food. It was long before I 

 could make them understand that I wished 

 much to find the eggs of a j unglef owl and when 

 I had almost given up, a Veddah led me a long 

 tram]) through a scrub and jungle, and at last 

 squatted panting, for all the world like an over- 

 worked pointer, and there in front of him was 

 the last egg of a nestful of wild j unglef owl. 

 He knew his wilderness as well as the Sikh, yet 

 his whole nature was slavish. Every race, 

 Portuguese, black and yellow, with which his 

 ancestors had come in contact had crushed him. 

 beaten him to the wall, until there was no re- 

 covery. His race is on the verge of extinction 

 and it will die out, not as the sabre-toothed ti- 

 gers died, but like the passing of some light- 

 starved plant — to a kismet which may perhaps 

 give him some new chance, an opportunity to 

 dominate in turn. 



Of all my memories of savage hunters, those 

 of the Dyaks of Borneo are most thrilling. 



They, more than any others, entered into the 

 spirit of the chase with most enthusiasm. They 

 had no idea what I wanted with pheasants, but 

 they loved the hunt and were eager to put all 

 their knowledge and skill at the service of 

 burong-orang, the bird-man. Science was an 

 abstraction far beyond their experience and im- 

 agination, but they speculated among them- 

 selves on my motives and the underlying pur- 

 poses of the trip. They saw the bodies thrown 

 away — plainly food was not the object. Some 

 were certain that the feathers and bones were 

 to be used as medicine, or at any rate were to 

 be sold, in time, for some indefinite purpose. 

 Others held, and these were in the majority, 

 that the feathers were to be used for head- 

 dresses. I was tracking head-dresses through 

 the marshes and the jungle, and some day, at 

 some auspicious hour, I would take them back 

 to the white man's land — for the men to wear. 

 For it goes without saying that such things are 

 not for women. 



These Dyaks could build a camp or break it 

 with great speed and thoroughness. When the 

 river bank was muddy, causeways were built in 

 an hour. They were superior woodsmen, and 

 knew the secrets of the jungle. They would 

 follow or they would wait at the signal, and 

 they asked no questions. But they would look 

 wistfully at my gun when game came within 

 sight, and their faces would be troubled and 

 overcast when I elected to watch and not to 

 shoot. At night, about the eampfires, thej' 

 talked about this, expressing a gentle indigna- 

 tion and a profound wonder. A bush would 

 represent the roui or argus, the sempidan or 

 fire-backed pheasants which I had hunted ; a 

 blow -pipe, my gun. I would see them sometimes 

 absorbed in this drama. Once, I asked about 

 it. and I learned that it had been decided that 

 I was an unaccountable hunter, but that they 

 respected whatever I chose to do, since it was 

 evident that I, too, was governed by signs and 

 by omens. Doubtless, the shooting of my pheas- 

 ants was no light matter, and if a white butter- 

 fly crossed the sun at the moment the burong 

 appeared, then Tuan was more than justified in 

 saving his fire. In this tolerance, in this 

 withholding of judgment, I saw what was finest 

 in the Dyak character. What they did not un- 

 derstand they did not therefore condemn. 



Another shift of the focus of memory sharp- 

 ens the boisterous crowd of coolies of the Hills 

 — the thirty odd Tibetans who carried all my 

 luggage and food, and guns, and cameras, from 

 Darjeeling to their own country of the snows 

 and back again — good-natured, jolly, restless, 



