and soon after turned into our rugs beneath the awning
and slept until morning. We awoke about daybreak,
and found ourselves some miles distant from the mouth
of the river; but the heavy swell we had had all night
had now subsided, and the men were making headway
fast. About 7.30 they stopped pulling suddenly, and
pointed to a large sea-snake lying full length on the
surface of the water in the sun. It was about eight feet
in length, and of si blue-black colour, barred with rich
golden-yellow, the belly being dull white. Mr. Treacher
fired at it with a shot-gun, striking it about the centre of
its body; and we could see quite plainly where the shot
had ripped the skin. As it lay quite motionless after
the shot for several seconds, we imagined it to be dead,
but on the men paddling the boat towards it it dived
quite suddenly; and as the water was clear and still, we
could distinguish it at a great depth below the surface.
A week or two before, during my voyage from Singapore
to Labuan, we had noticed a good many of these snakes
on the surface of the sea, but none so large as the one
seen here. The natives say it is a very dangerous kind,
and some strange tales are told of their hiding themselves
ip boats and huts near the shore. About ten o’clock we
entered the mouth of the Lawas, the well-wooded banks
of which formed a beautiful foreground to the picturesque
mountains behind, which rise higher and higher right
away into the interior. We soon reached the first cluster
of huts on the right bank, and it is here that one of the
Sultan’s relatives, Pangeran Bazar, resides. His house
is built on nebong piles over the water, from which you
climb up a rude ladder on to a spacious platform, on
which are half-a-dozen or more brass swivel guns of
native manufacture. This platform is roofed over, and
an immense wooden drum hangs over the entrance.
This is formed of a hollow tree trunk, over one end of
which a deer or goat skin is stretched lightly by means
of a rattan ring and wooden wedges. It is beaten in the
evening after the old Pangeran has read from the Koran,
and sometimes on the arrival of strangers. Beyond the
platform is a large public hall, wherein strangers may
rest, and where the natives meet to hear the Koran read,
or to talk.
The Pangeran’s private residence is behind, and differs
but little from the other half-dozen palm-leaf houses
around it, being merely a superior sort of shed, with
mats in place of doors. Duties to the amount of ten per
cent, are collected from the natives who bring gutta, rice,
or other produce down the river; but by many this tax
is evaded, as they drop down the river on a dark night in
a prahu, and creep out along the coast, lying up some
ereek until a favourable breeze enables them to hoist sail
for Labuan. I have stayed several times at this place,
and always found this river chief obliging and hospitable,
but a chronic deafness on his part makes a conversation
with him anything but easy. He read from the Koran
most evenings when I was there, the choruses or
responses being chanted—I ought to say yelled—by five
or six wicked young Malay boys, who amused themselves
by laughing and talking, except just when their vocal
powers were needed.
Two or three hundred yards further up the river is the
residence of Pangeran Tanga, and here we went ashore
to eat our breakfast of cold fowl and rice, eggs and
fruit, followed by coffee and a weed. We bought a dozen
new-laid eggs here, also some freshly-plucked bananas,
and a splendid durian fruit, nearly as large as a child’s
head. We noticed a half-finished prahu, or native boat,
under one of the sheds, the timbers of which were well