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have been rather risky to camp in a Batak village, but now, said Mr. T., it is perfectly safe. "At least," he added, "I [[underlined]] hope [[/underlined]] you won't be cooked and eaten." [[strikethrough]] after [[/strikethrough]] The Bataks are only one generation removed from cannibalism.

Mr. T. had written to the Rajah that we were coming, and had asked him to send porters. No porters were in sight, and we began to commandeer some from the neighborhood. There was trouble, for the rice was being harvested, and all the men were busy in the fields. Just when we were wondering what to do next, we saw a sturdy crew hurrying down the road, and cheers went up - the Rajah's men had come after all. Everything we had was tied into bundles, and the bundles slung onto stout bamboo poles. With ten bearers ahead of us, and the son of the Rajah of Siantar as guide and interpreter, we started off. For some distance the path was wide, fairly level, and sandy - easy going. It was not long before we were in sight of real jungle, steep mountain sides covered with enormous trees and thick undergrowth.The path led down hill a great deal of the way, and as we went farther along the trail grew wilder and wilder. We had to cross little mountain streams on slippery logs, and walk along the edge of cliffs where most of the sandy path had been washed away by rain. In the distance we heard siamangs dismally proclaiming that it was about to rain again. When we finally got on a trail that led through dense woods Bill began to collect insects, and found some very interesting specimens. One was Polyrachus upsilon, an ant with a spine on its back like the Greek letter that gives it its name. Another was a Myrmecine ant that makes a carton nest - a habit which as far as Bill knows, has never been reported. The nests as six or eight inches long, about half as broad, and are built on the under side of long flat leaves. I grew very excited about a black orchid that I found in a damp and shady spot - deep purplish black in color, and with long, fringe-like stamens.

The path led up the mountain side again as we approached the kampong. The first sign of civilization was that the weeds had been cut and the path cleared in our honor. Then we saw rice drying on a curious vertical rack - evidently tied onto a framework that was fifteen feet high and perhaps twenty feet long, in little bunches close together, so that it looked like a thatched wall of yellow grain.

Just before we entered the village Mrs. Coenraad wrinkled up her nose and said "Ugh! I smell durian." Close to the path was a huge durian tree, and near it a small shelter, where a group of natives were sitting waiting for the fruit to drop. They never cut the fruit from the tree, perhaps because there is no way of telling when it is ripe, but spend the day watching for the durians to fall. As they are heavy, and covered with spikes half an inch long, it would be dangerous to be hit on the head by one, - hence the roofed-over platform where they squat and watch. I wanted to get one, as I have heard such conflicting reports as to the goodness of this native fruit, but a small signboard proclaimed in both Malay and Batak that this [[strikethrough]] fruit [[/strikethrough]] was the Rajah's personal tree and no one could have the fruit thereof except himself. Over the sign was hung a palm leaf, with the fronds falling downward - the local tabu sign.

Men, women and children, dogs, cats, pigs and chickens,