TUBA FISHING. 257 



tainted water breaking the surface of the stream to 

 inhale the freshness of the air. But the fish, though 

 distressed, has not lost its senses, and before the spear 

 can be thrust it has disappeared. 



A broad brown back is seen as a temoli swims 

 slowly down the river, and two boats dart towards it. 

 Neck and neck they race until they are within a few 

 yards of the fish, when the splashing of their paddles 

 alarms it, and it dives. A hundred yards farther 

 down the river it rises to the surface again, and the 

 race begins anew. Gradually one boat gains on the 

 other, and at last is some three yards ahead. As the 

 occupant of the leading boat raises his arm to stab, 

 the Malay in the other hurls his spear. 



Under the steel of the descending spear the point 

 of the long spear of the thrower flashes and then 

 buries itself, quivering, fair between the shoulders of 

 the temoli. 



It is a splendid throw, and, despite their discom- 

 fiture, the occupants of the first boat join in the 

 applause. 



A few minutes later a great belida, that has been 

 skulking under a bank, and hoping perhaps to make 

 a dash up-stream to purer water, is transfixed and 

 held up by an exultant Malay for all to see. 



The tuba is doing its work well, and on every side 

 we shout our compliments and congratulations to 

 Pawang Duhamat. We shout because the Malay 

 fully realises that a compliment, like a libel, owes 

 much to its publication. 



Some fish are half dead when seen for the first time, 

 and therefore afford no excitement, unless a race is 



R 



