Sunday, Dec. 25th.—Christmas Day. Yery hot. I
sat all day tormented with heat, bad foot, bad
mouth, insects, &c. Curious sensations of a hot
Christmas Day; the sun blazing down, not a breath
of wind- The pit is down twenty-five feet now, and
much more oil is coming u p ; but I am sorry to say
no coal.
Monday, Dec. 26th.—Boxing Day. P it down twenty-
six feet. I t rained in the morning. Two men went
out shooting, they hit a deer, but he got away. The
Dusuns came down to trade. “ Kain” was again the cry,
and I gave a little cloth for some eggs. Kaladi, red
vegetables, in appearance something like pumpkins,
they called labu; they taste like carrots and are rather
pleasant. Kaladi is a root something like an artichoke,
and tastes like starch. They also brought long sugar-
canes, Indian corn, some sugar melons, but nothing
really of any value. We took them over to the
pit, and one of the boldest went down on the
bucket. Most of them took pieces of stone away as
mementoes.
I examined that piece of mineral from Papar. I t is
only iron pyrites. I t may contain a little gold and
silver, but very little. I will try it to-morrow.
I took to wearing a sarong to-day; 5 they are very
comfortable and nice. A few pieces of coal were found
6 The sarong is an oblong cloth; the ends sewn together make it a
sort of very broad skirt or kilt. It is tightened round the waist by a
few ingenious twists which practically make a b elt; so that the sarong
is a skirt and belt in one. The natives carry their knives in this belt.
The sarong reaches below the knees. The cloth is a native production
among the Dusuns. The Dyaks and Malays often have silk sarongs
from China.
to-day, and the whole aspect of things looks more
encouraging.
Tuesday, Dec. 27th.—I t rained all the morning, but
was very hot towards the middle of the day. Thoughts
of home (provoked perhaps by the flies) possessed me
for a long time. The pit is now being squared down
prior to putting in timber. The sea is very calm. I
must take what photos I want to-morrow, as I propose
to start on Saturday. The time flies here in the E a s t;
perhaps it is monotony, although monotony should
make time leaden wings.
Wednesday, Dec. 28th.—About the middle of the
day a woman slave from Pangeran Brunei came in a
pitiful state to seek refuge. She was wounded and
bruised in several places, and she said that if we
gave her back she would be killed. What could I do ?
I could not send her back to a brutal Pangeran to
be killed, so I decided to keep her, and send her
to Tampassuk. There was also a general petition
for me to keep her, as the men said she would be
killed if she were given back. We await the men
coming to fetch her. Shortly after four o’clock two
men came along the beach, armed with finely-made
krisses. I called to them, and they came into my
hut. One was Pangeran Brunei’s son, an Ilaum.
Pangeran Brunei is from Brunei; but his wife is an
Ilaum. They said the runaway woman was their
father’s slave, and that she had been stealing beeswax.
I asked the woman if she had ; of course she said no.
One never knows whom to believe, as truthfulness does
not form a part of a native’s character. I had it
explained to them that white men would not harbour
thieves, but that I was not in a position to send the