To ascend Kina Balu had been an ambition of mine, even before I ever saw Borneo. To have been, the first to do it would have increased the excitement and the pleasure. However, this satisfaction was not for me. Mr. Low, colonial treasurer of Labuan, had long meditated the same scheme, and in 1851 made the attempt. It was thought at the time but little likely to succeed, as the people and the country were entirely unknown; but by determined perseverance Mr. Low reached what may fairly be entitled the summit, though he did not attempt to climb any of the rugged peaks, rising a few hundred feet higher than the spot where he left a bottle with an inscription in it.

In 1856, Mr. Lobb, a naturalist, reached the foot of the mountain, but was not allowed by the natives to ascend it.

In 1858, Mr. Low and I determined to make another attempt; and early in April I went over from Brunei to Labuan to join him. We waited till the 15th for a vessel, which we expected would bring us a supply of shoes, but as it did not arrive we started. This was the cause of most of our mishaps,—as a traveller can make no greater mistake than being careless of his feet, particularly in Borneo, where all long journeys must be performed on foot.

In 1851, Mr. Low had gone by the Tawaran, but the Datu of Tampasuk, who was on a trading voyage to Labuan, having assured us that it was easier to get to the mountain from his river, we determined to try that route. He started before us, and on April 15th we followed, in a pinnace, obligingly lent us by Dr. Coulthard, of the Eastern Archipelago Company, our party being very large for the conveyance—Mr. Low and myself, two servants, six crew, and seventeen followers. During the night we passed Pulo Tiga, and were off Papar in the morning. We sailed along as beautiful a coast as can be conceived: ranges of hills rising one beyond the other, some grass-covered, others still clothed in forest, with soft valleys and lovely bays, and here and there patches of bright sandy beach, with Kina Balu towering in majestic grandeur as a background. In fact, the prospect increased in beauty until, on the evening of the 17th, we reached Abai, where we found the Datu of Tampasuk in his prahu. The little bay at the entrance of the Abai affords shelter from all winds except the N.W.; the bar, however, having only a fathom at low water prevents any but small craft from entering the river. On the sandy point of the grassy plain, at the west side of the entrance, is a small well where boats may water. The Datu came off and agreed to go up the Abai with us, and send his own boat round by sea to Tampasuk.

Started at four A.M., but made very slow progress, the wind blowing down the river, and the flood-tide not being strong. However, by towing and warping, we managed to reach our anchorage about ten P.M. The banks near the entrance appear to be high, but it was almost dark as we passed them; then narrow mangrove swamps fringed the shores with occasionally grassy hills in the background. On the left bank there are two small branches, Gading and Paka Paka, inhabited, the Datu said, by some villages of Ida’an. There appear to be but few people living on this river, or rather salt-water creek. Three very small hamlets, containing altogether about thirty houses, were all I saw. There are numerous sheds for making salt, which appears to be the principal industry of the Bajus. The manufacture is conducted as follows:—Great heaps of the roots of the nipa palm, that always grows in salt or brackish water, are collected and burnt; the residue is swept up and thrown into half-filled pans, where the ashes and small particles of wood are separated, and the water boiled;—a coarse, bitter salt is the result. It is not disagreeable after a little use, and I much prefer it to the common article brought from Siam, and generally sold in these countries. The natives of the north seldom use the imported salt, except for preserving fish; whereas, towards Sarawak, the Siamese is rapidly taking the place of that procured from the nipa palms.

The nipa palm is indeed a blessing to the natives; as we have seen, they make a salt from the ashes of the root; they extract a coarse sugar from the stem; they cover in their houses with the leaf; from the last also they manufacture the mat called kejang, with which they form the walls of their houses, and the best awning in the world for boats, perfectly water-tight, and well adapted to keep out the rays of the sun. Their cigars are rolled up in the fine inner leaf; and a native could doubtless tell of a dozen other uses to which it is put. In ascending rivers there is nearly always deep water near the nipa, but shallow near the mangrove.

The Abai creek has generally more than two fathoms from the mouth to the hamlets, but never less. We anchored opposite a Lanun chief’s house, which, though on the left bank, is still towards Tampasuk, as the river, after proceeding in a southerly direction, suddenly turns to the north-east.

The Rajah Muda, the Lanun chief, came on board, and was very civil. He is a handsome-looking, manly fellow, and extremely polite. From what I have heard and seen, he is a type of his countrymen—a different race from the Baju: a slight figure, more regular features than the Malays, a quiet, observant eye; he wore a delicate moustache. He is the son of the late Pañgeran Mahomed, of Pandasan, whose grave, ornamented with seven-fold umbrellas, we passed on the river’s bank.

Knowing that we could ride from Abai to Tampasuk, we had brought our English saddles, and were soon mounted on indifferent ponies, making our way towards the Datu’s house in an easterly direction. The Baju saddle, made of wood, covered with thin cloth, is very small. Instead of stirrups they have a rope with a loop in the end, into which they insert their big toe, and ride with the soles of their feet turned up behind; and when they set off on a gallop they cling with their toes under the pony’s belly.

The Baju is essentially a non-walker. He never makes use of his own legs if he can possibly get an animal to carry him. He rides all the horses and the mares, even when the latter have but just foaled. Cows are equally in requisition, and it was laughable to observe one of these animals with a couple of lads on her back trotting along the pathways, a calf, not a week old, frisking behind her. The water buffalo, however, appeared to be the favourite—the strong beast constantly carrying double. Every man we met had a spear, which was extremely useful in fording rivers, as well as for defence.

We rode at first over a small plain, about two miles in extent, half of which we had to traverse: it was bounded on either side by a low sandstone range, and before us was a connecting ridge, which we had to cross before entering the Tampasuk district. From its top, we had a view of the country: beneath us was a plain, extending some miles beyond the river; not very pleasant riding, as every here and there a slushy, muddy stream crossed the path, into which our ponies sunk up to their girths, and found some difficulty in floundering through. There were signs that cultivation is occasionally carried on here, and I should imagine it well adapted for rice fields. As it happened to be a very warm day, we were not sorry, after a ride of two miles and a half, to reach the river’s bank, where we found a most agreeable shade under gigantic mango trees. I call them gigantic—they were for this country, being above two feet in diameter, and probably sixty feet high. Unfortunately, it was not the fruit season. Very few mangoes in Borneo are worth eating. Occasionally we find them with delicate flavour; but nothing to equal the magnificent fruit of Bombay. I was anxious to taste the produce of these trees, as from former intercourse with the Spaniards the natives might have obtained seeds from Manilla, where the fruit arrives at great perfection. A half mile of shady ride brought us to the ford opposite to the Datu’s house, where we found the Tampasuk, a hundred yards wide, but not more than three feet deep—clear, cool, and rapid.

After enjoying a pleasant bathe, we strolled on for a hundred yards to the Datu’s house, which is really a good and comfortable one, and we were agreeably surprised at the excellent accommodation. It is double-storied, with plank walls. The lower part of the house consisted of one great room, surrounded by broad verandahs; the end ones being partially partitioned off. In one of these we were lodged, and found all the ladies of the family engaged in preparing our apartment and covering the floor with nice clean mats of brilliant colours, which, with our own bedding, soon made us comfortable. The great room, or hall, was the chief’s, in the centre of which was an immense resting-place or bed, and behind were heaps of boxes, containing the wealth of the family, piled as I had seen done in Sulu. The upper story appears to be reserved for the daughters and other unmarried girls, who, as their floor was only of split bamboo, could look through and watch all our movements; and the occasional light laughter showed that we afforded them some amusement.

The Datu of Tampasuk is considered the head of the Bajus in these districts, but his power is more nominal than real. The race is, individually, very independent, and no one appears ready to obey authority; and the same character may be given to their neighbours, the Lanuns and Ida’an. Mengkabong and Tampasuk are their chief ports, though they are scattered in many other districts, both on this and the north-eastern coast. They were formerly very piratical, and even now are unwilling to let a favourable opportunity pass. Their lawlessness is proverbial: one instance will suffice. A large party went on an expedition to the island of Banguey, where they anchored opposite a village, and commenced trading, being, they said, particularly anxious for tripang, or edible sea-slug. The fishermen dispersed in quest of this article, but had no sooner gone than the crews of the prahus landed, surprised the village, killed or drove away the few men that remained, and captured about twenty-eight women and children. This little incident was much talked of at the time, as they managed to seize a young bride, just decked out for a wedding, loaded with all the gold ornaments of the village. This young girl, contrary to their usual custom, was, it is said, put up to auction by her captors, as she was too valuable to be one man’s share. Yet both the people of Banguey and Mengkabong are claimed by the Brunei Government as their subjects. I have little doubt that, on hearing of this affair, the only reflection of the ministers was—“We wish those Mengkabong people were nearer, that we might have a share of the plunder.”

When not engaged in sea expeditions, the Bajus employ themselves in a peddling trade with the aborigines, exchanging nipa salt, with a little iron and cloth, for tobacco and rice; the former they sell to the Malays. I must not omit to notice that the Bajus are very expert fishermen, and catch and salt a great quantity every year, which they sell to the inhabitants of the hills. Some few have gardens, and plant rice, and, in a lazy, careless way, rear cattle, ponies, and buffaloes. They profess Islamism, but do not probably understand much beyond the outward observances, though they keep the fast with greater strictness than most of the Malays. No one can accuse the Bajus of being a handsome race; they have generally pinched-up, small faces, low foreheads, but bright eyes; the men are short, slight, but very active, particularly in the water; the women have similar features, and are slighter and perhaps taller than the Malay; they wear their hair tied in a knot on the fore part of the head, which has a very unbecoming appearance. I never saw a good-looking face among them, judging even by a Malay standard. The Datu had five daughters, as well as five sons—a large family, but a thing by no means rare in Borneo.

We saw many men that differed totally from the above description, but, on inquiry, found they were of mixed breed. I asked one of what race he was. He answered four—Baju, Lanun, Malay, and Chinese. He was a broad-faced, ugly-looking fellow, one of our guides. Another, rather good-looking, claimed to be descended of four races also—Baju, Sulu, Lanun, and Malay. Almost all those we asked were of mixed parentage, which renders it difficult to describe a particular tribe; yet the Baju is a distinct animal from the Malay, and does credit to his name of Sea Gipsy, as he has quite the appearance of that wandering tribe.

We heard much of their differences with the Lanuns, who occupy the mouth of the Tampasuk, and were formerly very powerful on this coast; their own oppressive conduct turned the people of the interior against them, and at Tawaran they were driven out. They were accused of stealing the children of the Ida’an. I say driven out—I should rather have said, teazed out. No people in this country can cope with them in battle; so the Ida’an kept hovering around the Lanun villages to cut off stragglers. At last, no one could leave the houses even to fetch firewood, unless accompanied by a strong armed party, which interfered so much with their piratical pursuits that they at last abandoned the country, and retired to Tampasuk and Pandasan. Here they were in 1845 attacked by Sir Thomas Cochrane, and their villages burnt. This again broke up their communities, and most of those who were addicted to piracy retired to the north-east coast, to Tungku and the neighbouring rivers. Since then they have gradually so dwindled away in these countries, that now, it is said, they scarcely muster two hundred fighting men. Even these are under various chiefs, who delight in giving themselves high-sounding names, as Sultan, Rajah, Rajah-Muda; though, perhaps, scarcely able to man a war prahu with their followers.

The present cause of quarrel between the Lanuns and Bajus is theft, mutual reprisals ending in the death of one of the latter. The Datu talked of nothing but war; he said he had been advised by the Spanish missionary, Signor Cuateron, to apply to the Spaniards at Balabak to assist him in expelling the Lanuns, and that he was determined to do so. I related to him the fable of the horse and his rider, and left him to find out its application. His ready laugh told he had caught the meaning. The Datu said he could muster 600 fighting men in Abai and Tampasuk, and that the Lanuns have but 150. At Pandasan the Lanuns have but forty men to oppose to 400 Bajus. Still, the latter have no stomach for the fight. I doubt if they give very correct information about the numbers at Pandasan, as in 1851 they were very much more numerous; in fact, several hundreds were then seen around the houses of the chiefs. They themselves said that comparatively few lived on the Tampasuk. Mr. Low ascended the Pandasan and found a village under Panquan Mahomed, whose grave we saw on the Abai; and, farther up this shoal and narrow river, he came to the village of Asam, the residence of Pañgeran Merta and other chiefs. Beyond that, on the tongue of land caused by the river dividing, was the village of Sultan Si Tabuk. About twenty-five miles to the north of Pandasan are the small rivers of Kanio Kanio and Layer Layer, also inhabited by Lanuns. They are very fond of boasting of their courage, and say, if the Europeans would but meet them sword in hand, they would fight them man to man.

I may notice that the Lanuns, Bajus, and Sulus do not shut up their women in the same manner as is practised by the Malays of the capital and most other Mahomedans; on the contrary, they often sit with the men, and enter freely into the subject under discussion. I should like to be able to ascertain whether this comparative freedom renders them more chaste than the Malay women; they could not well be less so. In Sulu, the wives of the chiefs are entrusted with the principal management of the accounts, and carry on much of the trade; it is said that they have acquired considerable knowledge from the Manilla captives, who are often of a superior class.

We stayed a day at the Datu’s house, waiting the arrival of our baggage, for which we had despatched buffaloes. The chief, to show his hospitality, determined to kill a fatted calf to feast us and our followers. The endeavours, first to catch a cow, then a calf, were very amusing. The beasts were particularly active, half-wild things; and the Bajus gave chase on horseback, galloping boldly over the rough ground, and through the long grass. We expected every moment to see man and horse roll over, but by dint of hard chasing, at last a half-grown heifer was driven into the enclosure; man, horse, and game being equally blown.

In the afternoon we rode over towards Pandasan, in search of plants; from the summit of the first low hill we had a beautiful view of the lovely plain of Tampasuk, extending from the sea far into the interior. Groves of cocoa-nuts were interspersed among the rice grounds, which extended, intermixed with grassy fields, to the sea-shore, bounded by a long line of casuarinas. Little hamlets lay scattered in all directions, some distinctly visible, others nearly hidden by the rich green foliage of the fruit-trees. The prospect was bounded on the west by low sandstone hills, whose red colour occasionally showed through the lately-burnt grass, affording a varied tint in the otherwise verdant prospect; to the south, Kina Balu and its attendant ranges were hidden by clouds.

Riding on over the undulating ground, we entered a plain that lies between the districts of Tampasuk and Pandasan; it looked parched, and was in no way to be compared to the one we had left: clouds of smoke from the burning grass occasionally obscured the prospect. Here Mr. Low found a beautiful gardinia, growing on slight elevations, on barren, decomposing rock, and plentiful wherever the land was undulating. It seemed to flourish in positions exposed to the hottest rays of the sun, and in situations where the reflected heat was also very great. It was a bush, varying from a few inches to two feet in height, and bore flowers of a pure white. We observed some of the shrubs not six inches in height, which were covered with blossoms, yielding a powerful aromatic odour. In fact, as we rode among them, the whole air appeared filled with their fragrance. I imagine the dwarfing of the plants resulted from the inferior nature of the soil, and the great heat which kept the moisture from their roots. The high range that separates these districts from Maludu Bay does not appear to be very far off; in fact, it is but two days’ journey on horseback, which, in the mountains, would not be much faster than walking, since the paths are very bad. We galloped home, the natives evidently amused by our novel style of sitting a horse. Our ride had been in a north-easterly direction.

On our arrival at the Datu’s house, we found all our followers assembled, and the baggage in heaps near our beds. We therefore made preparations for starting in the morning. On dividing our luggage, however, it appeared that we should require at least a dozen Bajus to assist; these had been promised, but were not forthcoming. Guides to carry nothing were easily procurable; but it being the month of the Ramadhan was an excuse for any amount of laziness.

When we started next morning, the Datu came with us a few miles and helped us with some of his men; so that, having packed up, we were enabled to leave about nine A.M. Our route lay through lowland for about a mile and a half, crossing the river once. We stopped at a village situated on and about a low hill. By the way, we saw a herd of fine cattle, both white and piebald—an unusual colour in Borneo; they were in a very flourishing condition, and I endeavoured in vain to make arrangements to transport the whole lot to my grounds near the Consulate. We stayed at a house occupied by Rajah Ali, a Baju, for about an hour, trying to get men to take the place of the Datu’s, who had helped us so far, but could not tempt really useful men. We had already four guides, and might have had as many more as we pleased, but porters were not to be procured.

The house where we rested was on top of a little hill, commanding a very extensive prospect: at the foot the river divided into two, one branch stretching away towards the E.S.E., whose course we could trace for eight or ten miles; it then appears to take a southerly direction, towards Kina Balu, from which the natives say it issues: the right-hand branch bore S. by E., and this is visible for several miles—perhaps eight; it then appears to turn more easterly. Near the banks the ground is generally flat, while towards the west the hills are numerous.

Finding it impossible to get men enough to carry all our things, we resolved to push on with those we had, and then send back for the remainder. Our impedimenta were numerous, as we had boxes for specimens, planks with quires of brown paper, besides the cloths and brass wire required to purchase provisions. Every man also was provided with a musket.

Our course lay at first over hills with soil of a reddish colour, but a couple of miles brought us to the low land bordering the river. Here we brought up under a clump of cocoa-nut palms, to allow our straggling party to collect, and having obtained permission, our men soon secured a supply of the fruit. I have no doubt that many travellers in tropical countries will agree with me, that nothing is more refreshing after a walk in a broiling sun (and it was indeed broiling to-day) than a draught of cocoa-nut-milk, duly tempered with a dash of wine or brandy. For some time I preferred a glass of sherry or madeira, now I incline to a tablespoonful of brandy, as forming the most agreeable and healthy compound. I have seen to-day a great many clumps of cocoa-nut-trees very unhealthy. I think they must be injured by the constant drain to which they are subjected by the aborigines in extracting toddy from them. These trees belonged to the Piasau Ida’an, whose villages were scattered in every direction. Piasau is the word used by the Borneans of the capital for cocoa-nut.

While reclining under the shade of these palm-trees, we had a beautiful view of the country beyond. The Tampasuk flowed past us, bubbling and breaking over its uneven bed; here shallower, and therefore broader, than usual. To the left the country was open, almost to the base of the great mountain; to the right the land was more hilly, and Saduk Saduk showed itself as a high peak, but dwarfed by its neighbourhood to Kina Balu, whose rocky precipices looked now of a purple colour. The summit was beautiful and clear, and I remained in earnest study of its features till aroused by an exclamation of my companion, who, pointing to a remarkable indentation surmounting an apparently huge fissure in gloomy shade, said, “I am sure that is the spot where I left a bottle in 1851.” With the aid of a telescope we could distinctly note the position of every crag, and I determined, if possible, we would visit that fissure, and see if the bottle still remained. Kina Balu looked more grand to-day than ever as there were no hills between us to mar its noble proportions. I made a sketch of the crags on the summit in order to recognize them again, if we should be sufficiently fortunate to reach them.

Having collected our party, now amounting to about thirty, we moved on. Our path lay near the river, which we had to ford eight times, and where the stream was rapid, the operation proved very fatiguing. Between the reaches our path ran over granite débris of the size of coarse sand; it was so hot that it felt painful through our shoes, and those who were barefoot danced along over it as if they were on burning stones:—it was trying walking. We fully intended to have reached Ginambur, but having had so many detentions, we found that at 4 P.M. it was still several miles off; it was useless, therefore, to expect to reach it, particularly as our men, unaccustomed to walking, were greatly fatigued. We determined, therefore, to put up at the farm-houses of the Buñgol Ida’an, which were built conveniently on the banks of the river. It had been threatening rain, which came on before the evening closed in. Our general direction all day had been a little to the east of south.

The Datu of Tampasuk had promised to accompany us himself, but the fast gave him an excellent excuse; he, however, sent some men as guides, whom he called his relations. These men of course came with us, fancying that by trading for us with the Ida’an they would be enabled to make a great profit beyond the regular pay. They did not fail to let us know their intentions, by telling us that the Ida’an were asking half a dollar’s worth of goods for a fowl; so we declined taking it, telling the Bajus that we were well aware that they themselves could get a dozen for the same amount. We expected and intended to let them fleece us moderately, but this was too barefaced. We had tin meats,—so managed to make an excellent dinner without the fowl. Such provisions are certainly of great assistance to the traveller, but the addition of a fowl, or of any fresh vegetable, takes away that unpleasant taste always observable in preserved meats.

It was here I first saw natives ploughing. Their plough is of a very simple construction, and serves rather to scratch the ground than really to turn it over: it is made entirely of wood, and is drawn by a buffalo, and its action was the same as if a pointed stick had been dragged through the land to the depth of about four inches. After ploughing, they use a rough kind of harrow. Simple as this agriculture is, it is superior to anything that exists south of Brunei, and it would be interesting to investigate the causes that have rendered this small part of Borneo, between the capital and Maludu Bay, so superior in agriculture to the rest. I think it is obviously a remnant of Chinese civilization. I must elsewhere dwell upon the Chinese intercourse, as it is too extensive a subject to be introduced into a journal while waiting for the cook to get the dinner ready. The farm hut in which we spent the night was about twelve feet by six, and of exceedingly neat construction: the bamboo was employed for posts, and split afforded both good flooring and walls; the roofing leaves were also excellent, and made from the sago palm. The musquitoes were very numerous, and soon drove us to bed: the natives assert that these insects are not to be found near running fresh water—a statement which experience completely disproves.

The farmhouse we occupied was one of many scattered over a narrow plain, perhaps four or five hundred yards in breadth, which skirted the banks of the river for several miles. It was evident that these Ida’an kept this land under continued cultivation, and that each portion was strictly private property. We found every house had about four acres of ground belonging to its owner, which were divided from one another by slight embankments. The soil appeared of admirable quality—in fact, a rich black mould. Heaps of panicles were lying near the houses, and the amount seemed to show that they must have had a very good crop last year.

Having induced three Buñgol Ida’an to start with buffaloes to fetch the baggage that was left at Rajah Ali’s house, we moved on a little before ten for Ginambur, intending to await their arrival there. Our path lay along the left bank, over low ground covered with long grass and brushwood, which prevented our obtaining other than glimpses of the mountain, but at a rapid we had a good view. The Baju guides gave these Ida’an the character of great thieves, and requested us to have everything carefully put away at night, affirming that these inhabitants of the plain were of a different character from those on the hills. It may be so, but we have never found the aborigines inclined to pilfer; on the contrary, they are remarkably honest; and should these prove to be of a different disposition, it will be an unique instance. Here as at Buñgol we could not purchase fowls except at absurd rates, which we declined. It is curious that these people show no hospitality—never offering us a single thing; but, instead, trying to overreach us in every transaction.

The house in which we lodged was the best I have ever seen among the aborigines: it was boarded with finely-worked planks; the doors were strong and excellently made, with a small opening for the dogs to go in and out; everything looked clean—quite an unusual peculiarity. The flooring of beaten-out bamboos was very neat, and free from all dirt, which I have never before noticed in a Dayak house, where the dogs generally render everything filthy. As this was the cleanest, so I think my friend the Bisayan chief’s house on the Limbang was the dirtiest—to describe its abominations would turn the reader’s stomach.

These Ida’an are very good specimens of the interior people—clear-skinned, free from disease, with pleasant, good-humoured countenances. None of the women are good-looking; still, they would not be called ugly. We noticed two peculiarities: that all the girls and young women wore a piece of black cloth to conceal their bosoms, which was held in its place by strips of coloured rattans; their petticoats were larger than usual, a practice that might have been followed with advantage by their elders. The second was that the young girls had the front of the head shaved, after the manner of the Chinese.

I have not noticed that any of the men are tattooed, but during our walk to-day we met many large parties of Ida’an loaded with tobacco, who were on their way to Tampasuk to trade, among whom there were some ornamented in this fashion:—A tattooed band two inches broad, stretched in an arc from each shoulder, meeting on the stomach, then turning off to the hips; others had likewise a band extending from the shoulders to the hands. They were all small, slight men, and armed with spears and swords.

As we were the first Europeans who had ever penetrated so far into the country, we excited great curiosity, particularly among the female portion of the tribe: every action was watched and commented upon, though I am bound to state that my little China boy, Ahtan, with his long tail, excited equal surprise; and when the black Madras cook commenced operations, we were totally abandoned, and a most attentive crowd collected round him, watching his every motion. As he proceeded to prepare the curry and the stew, the pressure became too great for his patience, so that he ran out declaring he could not cook the dinner. The crowd then drew back a little, but his actions did not escape the most attentive inspection. We were told that there was another extensive village of their people on the slope of the hills, embowered in groves of fruit-trees. It is a great advantage to live on the banks of a running stream, as all the population can keep themselves clean by frequent bathing. Another great preventive to disease is their having sufficient food: they appear well off, with plenty of buffaloes and cattle—a contrast, indeed, to their miserable brethren on the Limbang.

We soon began to find the effect of starting without proper shoes: yesterday my boots had blistered one heel so much that I determined to walk barefooted. Mr. Low’s feet became likewise so painful that he made up his mind to follow my example.

Our baggage did not arrive till the morning; we were then detained to procure men to carry it. At last Suñgat, the chief, agreed to follow us with six of the villagers. We started about eleven. Our course lay along the banks of the river, cutting off the points, and occasionally in the bed of the old stream. It having rained on the night previous, the river was somewhat swollen, which prevented either ourselves or our men fording it without Baju assistance; this rendered our progress slow. Mr. Low having never before walked without shoes, suffered much in passing over the pebbles, which were heated by the bright midday sun, and I also, though more used to it, felt it very much occasionally: in four hours we did not make more than three miles.

Having passed a very deep ford at 2.45 P.M., we agreed to stop for the night, and pitched our tents on the banks of the river on some dry sand, to have the benefit of the cool water that flowed by. We might have gone to the Ida’an houses, but preferred the independence of our own tents, both as more cool and less crowded; besides, we were there free from the suspicion of insects. The fords we passed during the day were composed of black sand, with small blocks of granite and serpentine mixed with sandstone.

The name of this place was Batong: from it Kina Balu bore S.E., and Saduk Saduk 15° east of south; the latter appears from this view to be a peaked mountain between 5,000 and 6,000 feet high. Kina Balu of course absorbed our attention: at night, as the sun shone brightly on its peaks, it wore a very smiling appearance. The summit seemed free from all vegetation, and streams of water were dashing over the precipices.

Started next morning at a quarter to eight, and soon arrived at a place where the river divided, the Penantaran coming from an E.N.E. direction. Its bed was full of large blocks of serpentine (though after passing the mouth of this branch we met with very few specimens of that kind of rock). There is a village of the same name as the branch close to the junction. We followed the right-hand branch—direction about south—keeping close to the banks, crossing and recrossing continually, seeing occasionally a few houses. We were now passing through sandstone ranges, but the country had no remarkable features. At 9.40, stopped to breakfast, having made about four miles; our followers gradually closed up. At eleven we pushed on again. Huge granite boulders are now common, and under the shelter of one mighty stone we rested for half an hour, waiting the arrival of our straggling followers.

One of the greatest advantages of travelling with an intelligent companion is the interchange of ideas, and consequently the more accurate noting of observations. As we sat beneath the shade of the huge granite boulder, surrounded on all sides by sandstone hills, we could not but speculate how it came there. Without having recourse to the glacier theory, the reason appeared to me simple. It is evident that the level of the country was very much greater in former times than at present, and that water is the great agent by which these changes have been effected.

The streams continually cut their way deeper in the soil, as we may daily observe: the increasing steepness causes innumerable landslips, and the process going on for ages, the whole level of the country is changed, and plains are formed from the detritus at the mouths of the rivers. Huge granite masses, falling originally from the lofty summit of Kina Balu, would gradually slip or roll down the ever-forming slopes which nature is never weary of creating.

In ascending some of the steeps that rise on either side of the streams near Kina Balu, we continually came across boulders of granite, which, in comparatively few years, will, through landslips, roll many hundred feet into the stream below, to commence their gradual movement from the mountain. I have continually come across evidences of the Bornean rivers having flowed at a much higher level than at present, finding layers of water-worn pebbles, a hundred feet above the present surface of the stream. In Borneo, where the rain falls so heavily, the power of water is immense. After a heavy storm, the torrents rise in confined spaces often fifty feet within a few hours, and the rush of the stream would move any but the largest rocks, and wash away most of the effects of the landslips.

Standing on a height overlooking a large extent of country, it is instructive to be able to survey at a glance the great effect caused by the rivers and all their tributaries, deep gullies marking every spot where an accession joins the parent stream. After heavy rains, the rivers present the colour of café au lait, from the large amount of matter held in temporary suspension, and on taking out a glassful, I have been surprised by the amount of sediment which has immediately fallen to the bottom.

The walk was becoming rather tiring; drizzling rain rendering the stones very slippery, and having continually to make the mountain torrent our path, it was severe work for our bare feet. The rain continuing, and the stream rapidly rising, we halted at some farm-houses in the midst of a long rice-field. Fording the river is difficult work; the water rushing down at headlong speed, renders it necessary to exert one’s utmost strength to avoid being carried away: the pole in both hands, placed well to seaward, one foot advanced cautiously before the other, to avoid the slippery rocks and loose stones. I found that this fatigued me more than the walking. The water became much cooler as we approached the mountain, while the land is rapidly increasing in elevation. The river was full of Ida’an fish-traps, made by damming up half the stream, and forcing the water and fish to pass into a huge bamboo basket. They appeared to require much labour in the construction, particularly in the loose stone walls or dams. As we advanced, we found the whole stream turned into one of these traps, in which they captured very fine fish, particularly after heavy rain. I bought one with large scales, about eighteen inches long, which was of a delicious flavour.

To see the young Ida’an ford the stream, raised both my envy and my admiration; with the surging waters reaching to their armpits, with a half-dancing motion, they crossed as if it were no exertion at all. So much for practice. During the last three hours we did not make more than four miles, though out of the stream the paths were good. The rain continuing to pour heavily, we determined to stop, as I have said, at these Ida’an huts, which were situated opposite the landing-place of the village of Tambatuan, concealed by the brow of a steep hill rising on the other bank. We sent a party there to buy rice, which became cheaper as we advanced: these villages also possessed abundance of cattle and buffaloes. We were much pleased to find the great confidence shown by the people; we often met parties of women and girls, and on no occasion did they run away screaming at the unusual sight of a white face. Several of them came this afternoon to look at us, and remained quite near for some time, interested in watching our proceedings. Kina Balu was cloud-hidden this evening.

During the night our rest was much disturbed by bees, who stung us several times, and Mr. Low, with that acuteness which never deserts him in all questions of natural history, pronounced them to be the “tame” bees, the same as he had last seen thirteen years ago among the Senah Dayaks in Sarawak. About midnight we were visited by a big fellow, who, our guides assured us, wanted to pilfer; but we found next morning that he had come to complain of his hives having been plundered. On inquiry, we discovered the man who had done the deed. He was fined three times the value of the damage, and the amount handed over to the owner.

A great many questions were asked as to what could be our object in visiting Kina Balu: to tell them that it was for curiosity would have been useless: to say that we were seeking new kinds of ferns, pitcher-plants, or flowers, would not have been much more satisfactory to them. Some thought we were searching for copper or for gold, while others were equally convinced we were looking for precious stones. One man sagaciously observed that we were seeking the Lagundi tree, whose fruit, if eaten, would restore our youth and enable us to live for countless years, and that tree was to be found on the very summit of Kina Balu. To-day an Ida’an came, I suppose to try us, and said he knew of copper not more than half a day’s journey from our path, and offered to take us to it; seeing we were not to be tempted, another told us of a tree of copper that was to be found a few miles off; but even that did not alter our determination to make the best of our way to the mountain. We left the questioners sadly puzzled as to what possibly could be our object in ascending Kina Balu.

All the Bajus and Borneans are convinced that there is a lake on the very summit of this mountain, and ask, if it be not so, how is it that continual streams of water flow down its sides. They forget that very few nights pass without there being rain among the lofty crags, even when it is dry on the plains. Sometimes the sun, shining on particular portions of the granite, gives it an appearance of great brilliancy; and those who formerly ascended the summit with Mr. Low, reported that whenever they approached the spot where these diamonds showed themselves at a distance, they invariably disappeared: as these men have a perfect faith in every wild imagination of the Arabian Nights, they easily convinced themselves and their auditors that the jinn would not permit them to take them. The old story of the great diamond, guarded on the summit of Kina Balu by a ferocious dragon, arose probably from some such cause. The Malays are great storytellers, and these wonders interest them. I may notice that most of the men that were with us accompanied us to the mountain of Molu the preceding February, and then one of the Borneans commenced a story which lasted the seventeen days we were away, and he occasionally went on with it during our present journey. It was the history of an unfortunate princess, who for “seven days and seven nights neither eat nor drank, but only wept.”

Opposite our resting-place we observed some remarkably elegant tree ferns, whose stems rose occasionally to the height of ten feet, and with their long leaves bending gracefully on every side, they were an ornament to the river’s bank. We noticed as yet but little old forest. The only fine trees we saw were near the villages, and these were preserved for their fruits. Where the land is not cultivated, it is either covered with brushwood, or trees of a young growth.

Drizzling rain prevented our departure till near eight, when we continued our course along the ricefields: we had been told we should find the path very bad, but were agreeably surprised by it proving dry and principally among plantations of kiladi. We crossed the river only five times, and passed over a sandstone range about five hundred feet above the plain: it was nearly three miles from our resting-place. The stream had now become a perfect mountain torrent, breaking continually over rocks.

Occasionally the fords were difficult, as the continued rains rendered the river very full. At one place where an island divides the Tampasuk, it was so deep that it was found necessary to swim over, and only a very expert man could have done it, as the water rushed down with great force. The Bajus, however, were quite prepared; they did not attempt to cross the stream in a direct course, but allowed themselves to be carried away a little, and reached the other side about fifty yards farther down. They did it very cleverly, carrying all our luggage over, little by little, swimming with one hand and holding the baskets in the air with the other. As we could not swim, two men placed themselves, one on either side of us, told us to throw ourselves flat on the water and remain passive; in a few minutes we were comfortably landed on the opposite bank, drenched to the skin, it is true, but we had scarcely had any dry clothes on us during the whole journey; however, no sooner did we arrive at our resting-places, than we stripped, bathed, rubbed ourselves into a glow, and put on dry clothes. Nothing is so essential as this precaution, and I have twice had severe attacks of fever from neglecting it. The hills as we advanced began closing in on the river’s banks, leaving occasionally but a narrow strip of flat ground near the stream.

At 11.20 A.M. we reached Koung, a large, scattered village on a grassy plain: it is a very pretty spot, the greensward extending to the river’s banks, where the cattle and buffaloes graze: about a hundred feet up the side of a neighbouring hill is another portion of the village. The roaring torrent foams around, affording delicious spots for bathing, the water being delightfully cool. In the bed of the stream there were masses of angular granite, mixed with the water-worn boulders. It was the first time we had ever seen it of that sharp form, but similar blocks were afterwards noticed on the summit. The wild raspberry is very plentiful here. One cannot help having one’s attention continually drawn to the air of comfort, or, rather, to the appearance of native wealth observed among the Ida’an: food in abundance, with cattle, pigs, fowls, rice, and vegetables; and no one near them to plunder or exact. Accustomed as I had been to the aborigines around the capital, the contrast struck me forcibly.

Next day we hoped to reach Kiau, the village from which Mr. Low started for the mountain in the spring of 1851. There was an apparent hitch about getting from that place; but we thought perhaps the reports arose from tribal jealousy. At four P.M., Koung: barometer, 28·678°; thermometer, 77·5°; unattached, 78·3°. So that this village must be about 1,500 feet above the level of the sea: a very rapid rise for the stream in so short a distance. The sandstone hill we crossed to-day had the same characteristics as those I had observed up the Sakarang, Batang Lupar, and near the capital—all being very steep, with narrow ridges, and buttresses occasionally springing from their sides: on the one we crossed to-day was a quantity of red shale.

Near our last night’s resting-place, I noticed, for the first time on this river, some sago palms; they have again shown themselves to-day, and there are a few round the village, but neither these trees nor cocoa-nut nor areca palms are plentiful. At every village I made inquiries about cotton, and, like the men with tails, it was always grown a little farther off; only we know cotton must be grown somewhere in this neighbourhood, as at the very moment I was writing my journal I saw an old woman engaged spinning yarn from native material. The Lanuns also furnish a cloth which is highly prized among every class of inhabitants in Borneo; it is a sort of checked black cloth, with narrow lines of white running through it, and glazed on one size. This was formerly made entirely of native yarn; but I am afraid this industry will soon decline, as connoisseurs are already beginning to discover that the Lanun women, finding English yarn so cheap, are using it in preference, though it renders the article much less durable. It is also worthy of notice that this cloth is dyed from indigo grown on the spot. These Ida’an purchase their supplies of cotton of the Inserban and Tuhan Ida’an who live on the road to the lake, while the Bajus obtain theirs from the Lobas near Maludu Bay. I saw one plant growing near the hut where we rested last night; it was about ten feet high, and covered with flowers.

They told us at Koung that the Ida’an were at war; but though they may have quarrels, they must be trifling, as we met every day women and children by themselves at considerable distances from their houses. Besides, parties of a dozen men and boys of the supposed enemies passed us on their way to Tampasuk to trade, and in none of their villages did we notice heads.

All these Ida’an appear to pay particular attention to the cultivation of the Kiladi (arum), planting it in their fields immediately after gathering in the rice crop, and keeping it well weeded: they grow it everywhere, and it must afford them abundance of food. It is in shape something like a beetroot, and has the flavour of a yam. Roasted in the ashes, and brought smoking hot to table, torn open, and adding a little butter, pepper, and salt, it is very palatable, particularly among those hills.

Saduk bore N.E. and Kina Balu due E. from the southern portion of the village.

Started about seven in a S.E. by E. direction, ascending a hill on which the village of Labang Labang is situated: here occurred a scene. Mr. Low and I, with a few men, were walking ahead of the party; as we passed the first house, an old woman came to the door, and uttered some sentences which struck us as sounding like a curse: however, we took no notice; but as we approached the end of the village, we were hailed by an ugly-looking fellow, with an awful squint, who told us to stop, as we should not pass through his village: this was evidently a prepared scene, the whole of the population turning out, armed: so we did stop to discuss the point. We asked what he meant: he answered that they had never had good crops since Mr. Low ascended the mountain in 1851, and gave many other sapient reasons why we should not ascend it now; but he wound up by saying that if we would pay a slave as black mail, they would give us permission to pass and do as we pleased: this showed us that nothing but extortion was intended; yet, to avoid any disagreeable discussion, we offered to make him a present of forty yards of grey shirting; but this proposition was not listened to, and he and his people became very insolent in their manner.

We sent back one of the men to hurry up the stragglers, and in the meantime continued the discussion. They then said they would take us up the mountain if we would start from their village; but being unwilling to risk a disappointment, we declined. They remembered how the Kiaus had turned back Mr. Lobb, because he would not submit to their extortions, and thought they might do the same with us. As the Ida’an were shaking their spears and giving other hostile signs, we thought it time to bring this affair to a climax; so I ordered the men to load their muskets, and Mr. Low, stepping up to the chief with his five-barrelled pistol, told the interpreter to explain that we were peaceable travellers, most unwilling to enter into any contest; that we had obtained the permission of the Government of the country, and that we were determined to proceed; that if they carried out their threats of violence, he would shoot five with his revolver, and that I was prepared to do the same with mine; that they might, by superior numbers, overcome us at last, but in the meantime we would make a desperate fight of it.

This closed the scene: as long as we had only half a dozen with us, they were bullies; but as our forces began to arrive, and at last amounted to fifty men, with twenty musket-barrels shining among them, they became as gentle as lambs, and said they would take two pieces of grey shirting; but we refused to give way, keeping to our original offer, and then only if the chief would follow us on our return, and receive it at Tampasuk. We ordered the men to advance, and we would close up the rear: no opposition was offered; on the contrary, the chief accompanied us on our road, and we had no more trouble with the Labang Labang people. We were detained forty minutes by this affair. Our guides explained the matter to us: when Mr. Low was here last time, many reports were spread of the riches which the Kiaus had obtained from the white man, and they were jealous that the other branch of their tribe should obtain the wealth that was passing from them through their village. The Koung people tried to persuade us last night to start from their place, and as they were very civil we should have liked to oblige them, but they were uncertain whether they could take us to the summit. Mr. Lobb, when he reached Kiau, had but a small party, and was unarmed, so they would not allow him to pass, except on terms that were totally inadmissible.

Immediately after passing the village, we descended a steep and slippery path to one of the torrents into which the Tampasuk now divided. After crossing it, we were at the base of the spur on which the village of Kiau is situated. We passed several purling streams which descended, in a winding course, the face of the hill. From one spot in our walk, we had a beautiful view of two valleys, cultivated on both banks, with the foaming streams dashing among the rocks below. Over the landscape were scattered huts, which had the peculiarity of being flat-roofed: the Kiaus using the bamboo as the Chinese use their tiles, split in two; the canes are arranged side by side across the whole roof, with their concave sides upwards to catch the rain; then a row placed convex to cover the edges of the others, and prevent the water dropping through. They are quite water-tight, and afforded an excellent hint for travellers where bamboos abound.

The latter portion of the road was difficult climbing, the clay being slippery from last night’s rain; but as we approached our resting-place, the walking became easier. Kiau is a large village on the southern side of the spur. The houses scattered on its face are prettily concealed from each other by clumps of cocoa-nuts and bamboos. It covers a great extent of ground, but is badly placed, being more than 800 feet above the torrent—that is, the portion of the village at which we stayed. The eastern end was nearer the stream. The inhabitants supplied themselves with drinking-water from small rills which were led in bamboos to most of their doors. We brought up about eleven, our course being generally E.S.E. Thermometer 73° at twelve in the house. We felt it chilly, and took to warm clothing.

The Kiaus are much dirtier than any tribes I have seen in the neighbourhood: the children and women are unwashed, and most of them are troubled with colds, rendering them in every sense unpleasant neighbours. In fact, to use the words of an experienced traveller, “they cannot afford to be clean,” their climate is chilly, and they have no suitable clothing. We observed that the features of many of these people were very like Chinese—perhaps a trace of that ancient kingdom of Celestials that tradition fixes to this neighbourhood. They all showed the greatest and most childlike curiosity at everything either we or our servants did.

In the afternoon, Lemaing, Mr. Low’s old guide, came in. Mr. Low recognized his voice immediately, though seven years had passed since he had heard it. Sir James Brooke has a most extraordinary faculty of remembering voices, as well as names, even of natives whom he has only seen once. It is very useful out here, and I have often found the awkwardness which arises from my quickly forgetting both voices and names.

Shortly after Lemaing’s arrival, a dispute arose between him and Lemoung, the chief of the house in which we were resting: both voices grew excited; at last, they jumped up, and each spat upon the floor in a paroxysm of mutual defiance: here we interposed to preserve the peace, and calm being restored, it was found that seven years ago they had disputed about the division of Mr. Low’s goods, and the quarrel had continued ever since—the whole amount being five dollars. Lemoung said that his house had been burnt down in consequence of the white man ascending Kina Balu, and that no good crops of rice had grown since; but it was all envy; he thought in the distribution he had not secured a fair share. We asked if he had ascended the mountain; he said no, but his son had brought some rice, for which, on inquiry, we found he had been paid. Drizzling rain the whole afternoon.

The thermometer registered 66° last night, and we enjoyed our sleep under blankets. At midday, we took out the barometer from its case, and found, to our inexpressible vexation, that it was utterly smashed. This will destroy half the pleasure of the ascent; in fact, our spirits are somewhat depressed by the accident, and by Mr. Low’s feet getting worse. At twelve, thermometer 77°. (The lamentable accident so disgusted me that I find no further entry in that day’s journal, but a pencilled note remarks that the Ida’an preserve their rice in old bamboos two fathoms long, which are placed on one side of the doorway. It is said that these bamboos are preserved for generations, and, in fact, they looked exceedingly ancient.)

Last night, thermometer 69°. At early dawn, we heard the war-drums beating in several houses, and shouts and yells from the boys. They said it was a fête day, but we rightly guessed it had something to do with our expedition. For some time, our guide did not make his appearance, and a few young fellows on the hill over the village threw stones as we appeared at the door—a very harmless demonstration, as they were several hundred yards off—but discharging and cleaning a revolver lessened the amount of hostile shouting. About nine, the guide made his appearance; the women seemed to enjoy the scene, and followed us to witness the skirmish; but the enemy, if there were an enemy, did not show, and the promised ambush came to nothing—it was but a trick of Lemoung to try and disgust Lemaing, and frighten us by the beating of drums and shouting. At the place where we were assured an attack would be made, we found but a few harmless women carrying tobacco.

Our path lay along the side of the hill in which the village stands, we followed it about four miles in an easterly direction, and then descended to a torrent, one of the feeders of the Tampasuk, where we determined to spend the night, as Mr. Low’s feet were becoming very swollen and painful, and it was as well to collect the party. We had passed through considerable fields of sweet potatoes, kiladi, and tobacco, where the path was crossed occasionally by cool rills from the mountains. We enjoyed the cold water very much, and had a delightful bath. The torrent comes tumbling down, and forms many fine cascades. Mr. Low botanized a little, notwithstanding his feet were suppurating. The hut in which we spent the night was very pretty-looking, flat-roofed, built entirely of bamboos.

To-day, we had a specimen of the thieving of our Ida’an followers. One man was caught burying a tin of sardines; another stole a Bologna sausage, for which, when hungry, I remembered him, and another a fowl.

Next morning, Mr. Low found it impossible to walk, and I was therefore obliged to start without him. We showed our perfect confidence in the villagers of Kiau by dividing our party, leaving only four men with Mr. Low to take care of the arms; we carried with us up the mountain nothing but our swords and one revolver. They must have thought us a most extraordinary people; but we knew that their demonstrations of hostility were really harmless, and more aimed against each other than against us. Probably, had we appeared afraid, it might have been a different matter.

Our course was at first nearly east up the sub-spur of a great buttress. The walking was severe, from the constant and abrupt ascents and descents, and the narrowness of the path when it ran along the sides of the hill, where it was but the breadth of the foot. At one place we had a view of a magnificent cascade. The stream that runs by the cave, which is to be one of our resting-places, falls over the rocks forming minor cascades; then coming to the edge of the precipice, throws itself over, and in its descent of above fifteen hundred feet appears to diffuse itself in foam, ere it is lost in the depths of the dark-wooded ravines below.

I soon found I had made a great mistake in permitting these active mountaineers to lead the way at their own pace, as before twelve o’clock I was left alone with them, all my men being far behind, as they were totally unaccustomed to the work. Arriving at a little foaming rivulet, I sat down and waited for the rest of the party, and when they came up, they appeared so exhausted that I had compassion on them, and agreed to spend the night here. The Ida’an were very dissatisfied, and declared they would not accompany us, if we intended to make such short journeys; but we assured them that we would go on alone if they left us, and not pay them the stipulated price for leading us to the summit. I soon set the men to work to build a hut of long poles, over which we could stretch our oiled cloths, and to make a raised floor to secure us from being wet through by the damp moss and heavy rain that would surely fall during the night. At three P.M. the thermometer fell to 65°, which to the children of the plain rendered the air unpleasantly cold; but we worked hard to collect boughs and leaves to make our beds soft; and wood was eagerly sought for to make fires in the holes beneath our raised floor. This filled the place with smoke, but gave some warmth to the men.

The Ida’an again tried to get back, but I would not receive their excuse that they would be up early in the morning: they then set hard at work going through incantations to drive away sickness. The guide Lemaing carried an enormous bundle of charms, and on him fell the duty of praying or repeating some forms: he was at it two hours by my watch. To discover what he said, or the real object to whom he addressed himself, was almost impossible through the medium of our bad interpreters. I could hear him repeating my name, and they said he was soliciting the spirits of the mountain to favour us.

The thermometer registered 57° last night in tent. Started at seven; I observed a fine yellow sweet-scented rhododendron on a decayed tree, and requested my men on their return to take it to Mr. Low; continuing the ascent, after an hour’s tough walking, reached the top of the ridge. There it was better for a short time; but the forest, heavily hung with moss, is exposed to the full force of the south-west monsoon, and the trees are bent across the path, leaving occasionally only sufficient space to crawl through. We soon came upon the magnificent pitcher-plant, the Nepenthes Lowii, that Mr. Low was anxious to get. We could find no young plants, but took cuttings, which the natives said would grow.

We stopped to breakfast at a little swampy spot, where the trees are becoming very stunted, though in positions protected from the winds they grow to a great height. Continuing our course, we came upon a jungle that appeared to be composed almost entirely of rhododendrons, some with beautiful pink, crimson, and yellow flowers. I sat near one for about half an hour apparently in intense admiration, but, in fact, very tired, and breathless, and anxious about my followers, only one of whom had kept up with me.

Finding it useless to wait longer, as the mist was beginning to roll down from the summit, and the white plain of clouds below appeared rising, I pushed on to the cave, which we intended to occupy. It was a huge granite boulder, resting on the hill side, that sheltered us but imperfectly from the cold wind. The Ida’an, during the day, amused themselves in trying to secure some small twittering birds, which looked like canaries, with a green tint on the edges of their wings, but were unsuccessful. They shot innumerable pellets from their blowpipes, but did not secure one. In fact, they did not appear to use this instrument with any skill.

At four o’clock the temperature of the air was 52°, and of the water 48°.

Some of my men did not reach us till after dark, and it was with great difficulty that I could induce the Malays to exert themselves to erect the oiled cloths, to close the mouth of the cave, and procure sufficient firewood. They appeared paralyzed by the cold, and were unwilling to move.

During the night, the thermometer at the entrance of the cave fell to 36° 5´; and on my going out to have a look at the night-scene, all the bushes and trees appeared fringed with hoar frost.

After breakfasting at the cave, we started for the summit. Our course lay at first through a thick low jungle, full of rhododendrons; it then changed into a stunted brushwood, that almost hid the rarely-used path; gradually the shrubs gave way to rocks, and then we commenced our ascent over the naked granite. A glance upwards from the spot where we first left the jungle, reveals a striking scene—a face of granite sweeping steeply up for above 3,000 feet to a rugged edge of pointed rocks; while on the farthest left the southern peak looked from this view a rounded mass. Here and there small runnels of water passed over the granite surface, and patches of brushwood occupied the sheltered nooks. The rocks were often at an angle of nearly forty degrees, so that I was forced to ascend them, at first, with woollen socks, and when they were worn through, with bare feet. It was a sad alternative, as the rough stone wore away the skin and left a bleeding and tender surface.

After hard work, we reached the spot where Mr. Low had left a bottle, and found it intact—the writing in it was not read, as I returned it unopened to its resting-place.

Low’s Gully is one of the most singular spots in the summit. We ascend an abrupt ravine, with towering perpendicular rocks on either side, till a rough natural wall bars the way. Climbing on this, you look over a deep chasm, surrounded on three sides by precipices, so deep that the eye could not reach the bottom; but the twitter of innumerable swallows could be distinctly heard, as they flew in flocks below. There was no descending here: it was a sheer precipice of several thousand feet, and this was the deep fissure pointed out to me by Mr. Low from the cocoa-nut grove on the banks of the Tampasuk when we were reclining there, and proved that he had remembered the very spot where he had left the bottle.

I was now anxious to reach one of those peaks which are visible from the sea; so we descended Low’s Gully, through a thicket of rhododendrons, bearing a beautiful blood-coloured flower, and made our way to the westward. It was rough walking at first, while we continued to skirt the rocky ridge that rose to our right; but gradually leaving this, we advanced up an incline composed entirely of immense slabs of granite, and reaching the top, found a noble terrace, half a mile in length, whose sides sloped at an angle of thirty degrees on either side. The ends were the Southern Peak and a huge cyclopean wall.

I followed the guides to the former, and after a slippery ascent, reached the summit. I have mentioned that this peak has a rounded aspect when viewed from the eastward; but from the northward it appears to rise sharply to a point; and when with great circumspection I crawled up, I found myself on a granite point, not three feet in width, with but a water-worn way a few inches broad to rest on, and prevent my slipping over the sloping edges.

During the climbing to-day, I suffered slightly from shortness of breath, and felt some disinclination to bodily exertion; but as soon as I sat down on this lofty point, it left me, and a feeling came on as if the air rendered me buoyant and made me long to float away.

Calmly seated here, I first turned my attention to the other peaks, which stretched in a curved line from east to west, and was rather mortified to find that the most westerly and another to the east appeared higher than where I sat, but certainly not more than a hundred feet. The guides called this the mother of the mountain, but her children may have outgrown her. Turning to the south-west, I could but obtain glimpses of the country, as many thousand feet below masses of clouds passed continually over the scene, giving us but a partial view of sea, and rivers, and hills. One thing immediately drew my attention, and that was a very lofty peak towering above the clouds, bearing S. ½ E. It appeared to be an immense distance off, and I thought it might be the great mountain of Lawi, of which I went in search some months later; but it must be one much farther to the eastward, and may be the summit of Tilong, which, as I have before mentioned, some declare to be much more lofty than Balu itself.

Immediately below me, the granite for a thousand feet sloped sharply down to the edge of that lofty precipice that faces the valley of Pinokok to the south-west. I felt a little nervous while we were passing along this to reach the southern peak, as on Mr. Low’s former expedition a Malay had slipped at a less formidable spot, and been hurried down the steep incline at a pace that prevented any hope of his arresting his own progress, when leaning on his side his kris fortunately entered a slight cleft, and arrested him on the verge of a precipice.

Among the detached rocks and in the crevices grew a kind of moss, on which the Ida’an guides declared the spirits of their ancestors fed. A grass also was pointed out that served for the support of the ghostly buffaloes which always followed their masters to the other world. As a proof, the print of a foot was shown me as that of a young buffalo; it was not very distinct, but appeared more like the impression left by a goat or deer.

Our guides became very nervous as the clouds rose and now occasionally topped the precipice, and broke, and swept up the slopes, enveloping us. They urged me to return; I saw it was necessary, and complied, as the wind was rising, and the path we were to follow was hidden in mist.

We found the air pleasantly warm and very invigorating; the thermometer marked 62° in the shade; and as we perceived little rills of water oozing from among the granite rocks, the summit would prove a much better encamping ground than our cold cave, where the sun never penetrates. The Ida’an, however, feared to spend one night in this abode of spirits, and declined carrying my luggage.

Our return was rather difficult, as the misty rain rendered the rocks slippery, but we all reached the cave in safety. Here I received a note from Mr. Low, but he was still unable to walk. The bathing water was 49°.

During the night the temperature fell, and the registering thermometer marked 41°. My feet were so injured by yesterday’s walking that I was unable to reascend the mountain to collect plants and flowers, so sent my head man Musa with a large party. I, however, strolled about a little to look for seeds and a sunny spot, as the ravine in which our temporary home was, chilled me through. I was continually enveloped in mist, and heard afterwards to my regret that the summit was clear, and that all the surrounding country lay exposed to view. The low, tangled jungle was too thick to admit of our seeing much. I climbed the strongest and highest trees there, but could only get glimpses of distant hills.

Thermometer during the night, 43°, while in the cave yesterday it marked 56° at two o’clock.

Started early to commence our descent, collecting a few plants on our way; the first part of the walking is tolerably good—in fact, as far as the spot where we rested for breakfast on our ascent. It is in appearance a series of mighty steps. Passed on the wayside innumerable specimens of that curious pitcher-plant the Nepenthes villosa, with serrated lips.