in me very
much akin to what schoolboys denominate "funk," I determined to jump
for it, but cross that infernal stick--never! Consigning Matang and
all things connected with it to a considerably warmer sphere than
Borneo, I "threw my heart over" and followed it a run, a wild bound in
the air, a scramble, and I was over, L. almost jumping on my back, and
both being ignominiously hauled out of danger by H., who showed no
more interest in the whole affair than he would have done in crossing
Piccadilly!

This little adventure over, matters were easy enough, until within a
short distance of the summit. It then became terrible work. Tearing
and struggling through masses of briars and thorns, cut about the feet
by sharp rocks, and having literally to pull ourselves upwards by tree
trunks and branches, on we went, until a shrill yell from L. gave us a
happy excuse for a halt. He had been bitten by a "sumut api," or
fire-ant, the pain of whose bite is intense, and strongly resembles
the running of a red-hot needle into the flesh. "Never mind," said H.,
"you won't feel it in a minute." We resume the climb, and I am just
beginning to be aware that very few minutes more of this work will sew
me up altogether, when, O joyful sound! a faint cry from H., who is
some distance ahead, comes back to us. "Hurrah! here's the top!"
Panting and exhausted, we at length reach the summit, and throw
ourselves on the ground dead beat.

When sufficiently recovered in wind and limb to get up and look around
us, we feel that double the hard work undergone would have been amply
repaid by the magnificent view now disclosed to us.

Far away in front of us, surrounded by an interminable forest of
jungle, lies Gunong Poe, the south-west boundary of Sarawak, while
behind it again rise the long low hills of Sambas, in Dutch Borneo.
Stretching far out to sea, and to the right of Poe, is the long spit
of land, or promontory, known as "Tanjong Api," on this side of which
lies the mountain of "Gading," or Mount Brooke, in Sarawak territory.
Nearer to us again are Santubong and Moratabas, and far down the coast
the Sadong mountains, the home of the Mias or orang utan of Borneo.

We can plainly trace the course of the Sarawak river, which looks from
here like a thin silver thread, as it winds its way past Kuching, its
white houses glittering in the sunshine. The mountains of Singgi and
Cerambo are plainly discernible, as also the sharp rugged hills of
Legora