THROUGH THE MALAY JUNGLE 43 



headed officious old man, took a charm from his 

 turban and threw it at a big rock in mid-stream, 

 crying out a prayer to the river spirit to see us safely 

 through. There were four pitches, each successive 

 one a little worse than the last ; and as we went over 

 them the old man appeared to go mad; he leaped 

 from side to side, brandishing his bamboo pole quite 

 uselessly in the air, and yelling as though he were 

 possessed of devils, beating the poor coolies, who 

 were doing all the hard work, on the back as he did 

 so. They were all shouting, too, and when on the 

 last pitch the flood rushed over the platform on 

 which we were sitting, they also seemed to lose 

 their heads and rushed about the raft like a stam- 

 peded herd of cattle. To a spectator on the bank 

 the sight must have been a ludicrous one. 



At another spot the fresh seladang track of which 

 I have spoken was found on the bank; and as it 

 was evidently but a few hours old, we followed it 

 for hours through the worst tangle of underbrush 

 it has ever been my lot to encounter. When we 

 were so close that the water in the animal's hoof- 

 prints was still muddied, the trackers who had 

 accompanied us refused to continue nearer; an 

 Englishman had not long since been killed by a 

 bull seladang in the same country, and the accident 

 had left too serious an impression on the natives' 



