292 TWO YEARS IN THE JUNGLE, 



began to pour in literal earnest, and kept it up during the greater 

 part of that day. 



Our steamer, instead of making straight for the town, describes 

 a perfect fish-hook on the chart, leaving Singapore away off to our 

 right and behind us. We enter a little strait which at first we take 

 to be a river, it is so narrow and so completely shut in by green 

 hills and banks of reddish brown shale. But there are large ocean 

 steamers and ships, wharves, dry docks, and coal sheds all along 

 the northern side ; so this must be New Harbor. 



Having reached the barb of our fish-hook, we tie up at the 

 Borneo Company's wharf, and pull our relaxed energies together 

 for another collecting campaign in a strange locality. I was very 

 loth to quit such a delightful ship as the Yengtse, and actually en- 

 vied the passengers who were going on to Japan in her. Usually, 

 however, one does not feel so. 



This is indeed the end of our voyage, but we are still three 

 miles from the European quarter of the city, so off we go in a rickety 

 bandy with a cart-load of trunks and boxes following slowly after. 



Entering Singapore by way of New Harbor is like getting into 

 a house through the scullery window. One's first impressions of 

 the town are associated with coal-dust, mud, stagnant water, and 

 mean buildings, and I found it required quite an effort to shake 

 them off. This back-door entrance is by no means fair to Singa- 

 pore, for under its baleful influence the traveller is apt to go away 

 (by the next steamer usually) with a low estimate of the city, every 

 way considered. 



For the first stage out from New Harbor, the road is built 

 through a muddy and dismal mangrove swamp. Here and there 

 we pass a group of dingy and weather-beaten Malay houses stand- 

 ing on posts over the soft and slimy mud, or perhaps over a thin 

 sheet of murky water. Delightful situation, truly, for the habita- 

 tions of civilized human beings. Monkeys Avould choose much 

 better. A Malay prefers to build over water ; and, faihng that, 

 he builds over the softest mud he can find, usually on the bank 

 of a river or lagoon. His house is quite in keeping with its 

 location. The roof is made of palm leaves, and very often the 

 walls also. The windows are mere slits across the wall near the 

 floor, vrith clumsy wooden bars across ; there is not a speck of 

 paint or whitewash or colored paper visible anywhere, and the 

 whole structure reminds one of an old crow's nest. 



Farther on, we emerge from the swamp and pass a Chinese Joss 



