The orchestra was placed on one side of the hall. It consisted of a set of gongs, called the Kromang, seven or eight in number, decreasing in size, fixed in a wooden frame, each gong sounding a different note--a scale, in fact. These gongs are beaten by one individual, and when skilfully played they sound like running water. Other members of the orchestra played gongs hung singly on poles, and there were also drums beaten at both ends with the musician’s fingers. These instruments played in concert and with remarkable rhythm were pleasant to listen to. When the band had finished the overture, two young men got up after an immense amount of persuasion, and walked shyly to the middle of the cleared space. They were dressed in Malay clothes--trousers, jackets, and sarongs--and smoking-caps, ornamented with tassels, were placed on one side of their heads. They fell down suddenly in front of us, their hands clasped above their heads, and bowed till their foreheads touched the floor. Then they got up slowly, looked at one another, giggled, and walked away. The master of the house explained that they were shy, and thought their conduct quite natural. It was evidently the thing to do, for several other couples went through this same pantomime. At last the first couple were induced to come back, when their shyness vanished, and the performance began. One of the dancers held two flat pieces of wood in each hand, clicking them together like castanets. The other man danced with china saucers held in each hand, keeping time to the orchestra by hitting the saucers with rings of gold which he wore on each forefinger. He was as skilful as any juggler I had seen, for he twisted the saucers round and round, his rings hitting against them in time to the music with wonderful accuracy. The dancers were never still for a second. Their arms waved about, their bodies swayed to and fro, they knelt first on one knee with the other leg outstretched before them, then on the other, sometimes bending their bodies in a line with the floor--the castanets and the saucers being kept going the whole time. Although the movements looked stiff, it was impossible for them to be ungraceful, and at every new pose they managed to fall into a delightful arrangement of lines. The dances were evidently inspired by Malay artists, although performed by Dyaks, for they were full of restraint. Other dances followed, all interesting and pretty. Sometimes empty cocoa-nut shells, cut in two, were placed in patterns on the floor. The dancers picked up one in each hand, clashing them together like cymbals, whilst hopping in and out of the other cocoa-nuts, this performance being called by the people “the mouse-deer dance,” for they imagine that the noise made by clashing the cocoa-nut shells resembles the cry of plandoks (mouse-deer) in the forests.