Snakes and alligators are the most dangerous of our
local specimens of animated nature. I was walking on
the beach with my gun at Coal Point a short time back,
and being tired I sat down under a great banyan-tree.
A group of monkeys were chattering at me about fifty
yards away. I t is surprising how familiar monkeys
will become with you, if you take no notice of them,
and remain quiet. They seem to be daring each other
to approach you, and grin and chatter at you. One
Knowing little fellow came within ten yards of me,
showed his teeth, grinned, and then ran back, screaming,
to his companions. I was watching this little comedy,
when, happening to look up into the tree under which I
was sitting, I saw a large boa constrictor, about eight or
ten feet long, coiled up above my head. I t was the first
time I had ever seen a big snake outside the Zoological
Gardens in London. I raised my gun and fired. The
shot took effect in the middle- of the reptile’s body,
and it uncoiled itself. I pulled the second trigger of
my shot gun, and then reloaded. The snake dropped
on the sand, twisting and twining itself about,
evidently, poor wretch, in pain. I t still, however, had
life enough left to make for me. I took steady aim at
its head, and fired both charges, one after the other.
The monster was now almost torn in tw o ; but still
both the head and tail continued to twist and move for
ten minutes afterwards, and the mouth opened and
shut for even a longer time.
Labuan was once a very unhealthy place. Fever
carried off a man a day here, but since the jungle has
been cleared, the climate has much improved, and fever
is very rare now. The jungle was all burned down
some few years ago during a very long drought.' The
devastated portion presents a weird and miserable
sight, enormous trunks rising eighty or one hundred
feet perfectly bare, some even without a branch on
them. These tree-pillars cover the interior of the
island. The undergrowth has struggled up again now ;
it consists of tall ferns and bushes, in which the big
brown jungle-hen finds a congenial retreat.
The natives are very fond of music. They make
large tambourines by stretching sheep or pig skin very
tightly over a wooden frame. The sound given out by
one of these resembles both in tone and volume that of
a kettle-drum. Each tambourine has a different note.
The other favourite instrument is a series of eight or ten
strips of glass, supported at each end ; these are struck
with a wooden hammer. Although the natives have
no idea of tune, their music is not destitute of melody,
and they keep time capitally. They will sometimes sit
up all night playing their two instruments, and producing
on them their one tune. Sound is carried an
immense distance in Bornean waters, and it is quite
strange and wild to hear these monotonous strains of
Malay music when wending your way homewards over
some lonely path at night.
Three steamers constantly visit Labuan. Thé
Gleator runs between Singapore, Labuan, and Brunei,
the “ city of lake dwellings.” She is a vessel of about
800 tons, and at present this forms the only régulai*
communication between the world and Labuan, though
the expected requirements of British North Borneo
will, it is said, soon see other steamers plying to and
fro. The Boyalist, a vessel of about 250 tons, runs
between Singapore, Labuan, Sandakan (on the east
coast of Borneo), and the distant and little-known