The Misses Shaw and I were on a blanket on the gridiron under the roof,
which just allowed of sitting up; Mr. Hayward, who had never been up
the river before, and was anxious about the navigation, sat, vigilant
and lynx-eyed, at the edge of it; Babu, who had wrapped himself in
Oriental impassiveness and a bernouse, and Mr. Hayward's police
attendant sat in front, all keeping their positions throughout the
night as dutifully as the figures in a tableau vivant, and so we
silently left Permatang Pasir for our jungle voyage of eighteen hours,
in which time, by unintermitting hard work, we were propelled about as
many miles, though some say twenty-nine.

No description could exaggerate the tortuosity of the Linggi or the
abruptness of its windings. The boatmen measure the distance by turns.
When they were asked when we should reach the end they never said in so
many hours, but in so many turns.

Silently we glided away from the torchlight into the apparently
impenetrable darkness, but the heavens, of which we saw a patch now and
then, were ablaze with stars, and ere long the forms of trees above and
around us became tolerably distinct. Ten hours of darkness followed as
we poled our slow and tedious way through the forest gloom, with trees
to right of us, trees to left of us, trees before us, trees behind us,
trees above us, and, I may write, trees under us, so innumerable were
the snags and tree trunks in the river. The night was very still,--not
a leaf moved, and at times the silence was very solemn. I expected,
indeed, an unbroken silence, but there were noises that I shall never
forget. Several times there was a long shrill cry, much like the
Australian "Coo-ee," answered from a distance in a tone almost human.
This was the note of the grand night bird, the Argus pheasant, and is
said to resemble the cry of the "orang-outang," the Jakkuns, or the