304 TWO YEARS IN THE JUNGLE. 



The only house in the hamlet which could afford me shelter 

 was that of Datu Pudeh, the Malay headman of the place, and hav- 

 ing been confided to his care by Mr. Syers, he took me in, and gave 

 me a corner of his front room, in which I hung up my hammock 

 and musquitero without further ceremony. When the tide was in, 

 the house stood almost at the waters edge, rather low upon its 

 posts, with slatted floor, and roof of thatch which had in it several 

 holes large enough to have thrown a dog through. I suppose that, 

 like the man of Ai'kansaw, when it rained they couldn't fix the roof, 

 and when it did not rain they didn't need to. We had no sooner 

 moved in with our belongings than it began to blow and rain very 

 hard. The bamboo curtains outside were let down over the win- 

 dows, and the place made as snug as possible, but the wretched old 

 roof leaked like a shower-bath. 



A mile above Jerom, a muddy little creek, called Sungei Bulu, 

 runs into the sea between two wide banks of soft mud which are 

 submerged at high tide, and left four feet out of water when the 

 tide is out. A little way up from the mouth is a village of Chinese 

 fishermen who are engaged in catching prawms and making them 

 up into a stinking paste called blachang. Every house in the vil- 

 lage is tumble-down, rickety and dirty beyond description, and the 

 village smells even worse than it looks. The Chinamen live more 

 like hogs than human beings ; and, for my part, I would rather 

 take up quarters in a respectable pig-sty than in such houses a{ 

 those are. 



At high tide there is no ground visible along the banks of the 

 creek, but, when the ebbing tide empties the murky little stream, 

 the channel flows between sloping banks of soft, slimy, gray mud. 

 I never before encountered mud having such a nasty, putrid smell 

 as that emitted when exposed. It smelled like sulphuretted hydro- 

 gen, and was, at times, almost overpowering. If I were making up 

 a heU out of the most disagreeable elements on earth, I would put 

 in it the Sungei Bulu at low tide, as being the most dismal, wholly 

 repulsive and sense-offending stream on the eai'th. Its water is a 

 kind of mud gruel, seasoned with salt, dead leaves, and rotten wood 

 finely pulverized. One would think that even the meanest living 

 creature would find life unendurable in such a place ; but never- 

 theless the creek is swarming with salt water crocodiles {Croco- 

 dilus porosus), all of which deserve to be shot for living in such a 

 vile place. 



At low tide they crawl out and lie among the mangroves, wal- 



