Now came a ceremony new to me: a young pig was brought in by the pretty waiting-maid and handed over to one of the men present, who bound its legs, and carrying it out opposite to where the _Pluto_ was anchored, placed it on the ground. Mats were laid around, and a chair was provided for me. Tamawan now came forward and commenced an oration. His voice was at first thick from the potency of his previous draughts; but warming on his subject, he entered at large on the feelings of friendship with which he regarded the English; spoke of the wonderful vessel that came with oars of fire; seized my hand, and gesticulated excitedly with the other; then pointing to the pig, he entered on what appeared to be a prayer, as he seemed appealing to something beyond him; he took a knife, and cut the pig’s throat; the body was then opened, and the heart and liver taken out and placed on two leaves, and closely examined, to judge from their appearance whether our visit would be fortunate for the Kayan nation. Every chief present felt their different proportions, and Tamawan pointed out to me the various indications. Luckily for our friendship, they found that every portion portended good fortune. With his bloody hand Tamawan grasped mine, and expressed his delight at the happy augury. Throwing away the auricle of the heart, they cut up the rest to eat, and placed the pieces over the fire, using a bambu as a cooking vessel. I now took my leave, rather tired with my four hours’ exertions, and returned on board. The ceremony of examining the heart and liver of the pig was too classical not to merit particular notice, though I have already mentioned that the Sakarang Dayaks practise the same. Next day being Sunday, the Malays kept the Kayans from coming on board. I inquired particularly as to the meaning of Tamawan’s address yesterday, and I hear that it was an invocation to the spirits of good and evil to allow him to discover from the heart of the sacrifice whether our visit was to prove fortunate or not to the Kayan nation.