and keeled over in an alarming way, but we found the
obstruction was a raft of the stems of the sago palm,
which some Muruts had felled and lashed near the bank
ready for floating down to their rude washing-sheds
below. This heavy bump woke up our men, several of
whom had previously been dozing, although paddling the
while, and we got along for a mile or two in first-rate
style. Then, in crossing the current, at an awkward
bend we were well-nigh washed away; indeed, had it not
been for the silent but strenuous exertions of our Murut
guides, the alligators would possibly have had a feed.
The stream for the moment got the better of our men,
but by a clever touch of the paddle our guides steered us
through safely, and a steady pull for an hour longer
brought us to the foot of the hill where we were to land.
We made our rattan-rope fast to a tree, and slept until
nearly daybreak. One man told us in the morning that
he had not slept a wink all night, as he was afraid our
painter would part; but it stood the strain well, although
the boat had swung about and tugged a good deal, owing
to the swift current running down. The scene at sunrise
was lovely; every stem and leaf was covered with dew-
drops, and the hazy golden mist, through which palms,
tree-ferns, and curious leafage of all descriptions loomed
out more and more plainly until we saw everything in the
foreground quite distinctly. It was a transformation
scene on a gigantic scale, and its loveliness was such as
only Turner at his best could have portrayed. The
delicate arching outline of the nebong palms was sharply
defined against the sky overhead, and large masses of a
wild musa fringed both banks with immense leaves and
clusters of delicate rosy bracts.
How comes it that none of our good landscape-painters
ever visit the tropics, where the beauty of form and
colour in the landscapes is more glorious than anywhere
else, and yet nearly all the tropical pictures one sees
remind one of the daubs of a bad scene-painter ? Here
and there clumps of bamboo reminded one of the early
summer freshness of the weeping willow beside the
silvery trout streams at home. A gorgeous scarlet
flowered climbing bauhinia draped some of the low trees
which nestled down near the water. We turned out for
a ramble with our guns while our people cooked breakfast.
I never saw birds so numerous in Borneo before.
The first shot brought down a little green tree-pigeon,
with a magenta stain on its white breast and on its head.
A Kadyan boy we had with us blazed away with an old
Tower musket to his heart’s content, and surprised us by
bringing in a long-tailed rufous-brown species of pigeon,
which we had first secured in the Sulu Islands. Two or
three other rare Bornean birds were obtained. Breakfast
over, we set about climbing. Our path lay through
the tall forest, and in places the undergrowth was so
thick that our guides and men had to cut us a path with
their parongs. For the first mile or two vegetation was
scanty, but as we ascended ferns and selaginellas became
more plentiful. We stayed here and there to examine
fallen trees for epiphytal orchids, which however were far
from abundant. About half way up the hill we came to
a gorge, down which a considerable body of water flows,
but it is screened from sight by huge boulders, which lie
near together, forming a sort of “ giant’s causeway,”
across which we picked our way; We peered down the
chasms, but could not catch a glimpse of the stream,
although we could hear it quite plainly as it forced its
way among the stones far below. In one wet spot
several species of aroids formed a little colony all to
themselves. Of those collected in flower, one proved