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By Louis T. Talbot, D.D.
The Editor’s Two Weeks with the Dyaks
Dr. Talbot preaching to Dyaks who not many years ago were head hunters, with Mr. Mouw interpreting.
T HE month of October, 1949, will always be remembered by me for one of the most extraordinary ex periences of my life. From the time our Catalina Flying Boat landed with a splash in the river at the drowsy old port town of Pontianak, on the west coast of Borneo, to the day when, two weeks later, we set forth on another leg of our missionary journey around the world, every moment was filled with in credible sights and sounds. For years I had read about the wild men of Borneo and their dense jungles in the uncivilized part of the Dutch East Indies, but the reality far exceeded my wildest imagin ings. But the wonder of wonders that I beheld, surpassing all the natural phe nomena and the amazing customs of the people, was the Dyak Christian church, which the missionaries have claimed from that wilderness for God. To see those men and women who such a short time before were savage head hunters, worshipers of the wild pig, believers in the efficacy- of the blood of a chicken, and haters of their own kind, transform ed into lovers of the Lord Jesus Christ, was a sight I would not have missed for anything. The work in Borneo is certain ly one of the outstanding miracles of the grace of God in this generation. Before I proceed with the story of my travels, I desire to pay tribute to that noble band of missionaries who are doing such a mighty work of God in those parishes which number thousands. I wish I knew the names of all of them, but I desire particularly to mention Mr. and Mrs. Buck, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Schisler and, of course, our host and his wife, Rev. and Mrs. J. Arthur Mouw. I am proud to say Mr. Mouw attended the Bible Institute of Los Angeles. He has labored in those jungle fastnesses for seventeen years under the Christian and Missionary Al liance Mission. When I saw what had been accomplished under his leadership, I immediately placed him in the ranks of Adoniram Judson, J. Hudson Taylor, and David Livingstone. These mission aries are all held in highest esteem by the Dutch and native officials. Their exploits read like the Book of Acts, and my visit with them gave me an entirely new con- D E C E M B E R , 1949
vided marvelous refreshment in that steaming, sticky atmosphere. The meth od was simple: you soaped yourself, dipped the water out of the bucket and poured it over you, and it drained away through the cracks in the floor! You weren’t obliged to be sparing of the water, for Rambu was only too happy to draw more from the river for you. Adventure with a Sandbar When we started up the river in the late afternoon of the seventeenth, it looked very picturesque and peaceful. Along the banks grew the graceful palms and stately banana trees, and in the dis tance we had glimpses of huge rubber plantations. Occasionally we observed an impressive dwelling with a veranda reaching to the bank—home of some plantation owner or oflicial—and there were many quaint huts of Malay coolies who work from daybreak to dusk cutting the rubber trees and collecting the sap that we at home may run our cars on real rubber tires! In the moonlight the river was a yellow ribbon.
cept of the missionary enterprise. While their ministry has spiritual compensa tions which we at home cannot com prehend, still it is a difficult, dangerous, and lonely life, and they need our con stant prayers. Up the River The flight from Singapore along the Malay peninsula over Sumatra to Java was inspiring. We found Batavia, the capital of the Dutch East Indies, a mod ern city. After spending two days there, we set off for Borneo. Since the pilot was an old Australian college friend whom I had providentially encountered in that “jumping off place of the world,” Dr. Bauman and I were permitted to sit be side him at the controls for the four- hour flight, I shall never forget the thrilling spectacle as we wove in and out among the great masses of white clouds. As there is no airfield at Ponti anak, we came down on the river whence we were conveyed to a little wharf. Great was our joy to see among a group of bronze-skinned natives, Mr. Mouw and Mr. Buck. They welcomed us most warmly. We were also greeted by a young cloudburst, common to that region of 200-inch annual rainfall! Since the equator runs right through the town, we felt as if we were being ushered into a Turkish bath. But we had no time to lose. Hastily purchasing some provisions and loading them into the missionary launch, we started on our 250-mile journey up the Kapoeas and Belitang Rivers to Balai Sepoeak. Five of us were on board the Kalam Hiedup (Word of Life)—the two mis sionaries, Dr. Bauman, a 16-year-old Christian Dyak boy, Rambu, and L The craft had a fairly good motor, but since the river was running rapidly and we were traveling against the current, the best speed we could make was five miles per hour. Racks on the side of the boat served as sleeping quarters, and at the stern there was a little kitchen. But the most popular spot was the improvised shower bath which we frequented many times a day. It was only a little booth under a canvas containing a ten-gallon bucket of water and a can, but it pro
A head hunter—“ the wild man of Bor neo.” In the background are Christian Dyaks. Page Nine
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