172 The Gardens of the Sim. [ch. vm. 



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 



