26 A JOURNEY ON FOOT TO THE PATANI FRONTIER. 
again. “Just a very little more,” thought the fisherman, and he 
still continued dragging up the chain. Again and again the warn- 
ing note sounded, but in vain, and suddenly a strong pull from the 
bottom of the pool dragged back the chain, and before the Malay 
had time to divide it with his tweezers, the last link of it had dis- 
appeared beneath the waters. A warning to all persons guilty of 
avarice and covetousness! The pools of the gong and the gold- 
en flute still, for ought I know to the contrary, preserve their 
treasures. Time pressed, and we did not seek to explore their 
depths. 
While at Jambai I was visited by Kutup Monamep (a nephew of 
the Panglima Kinta), who was on his way to Tampan with several 
followers to see me. At his invitation, I made the return journey 
down-stream on his bamboo raft. The centre of the raft, which was 
of an oblong shape, was occupied by a raised bamboo platform 
walled on three sides and roofed like a hut. Inside, comfortable 
mats were spread, handsome spears and krisses were slung to rattan 
loops on the walls and roof, and a neat little tray contaiming pipes, 
a lamp and a small horn box of chandoo proclaimed that my host 
indulged a weakness for opium. Two men, squatted in the forepart 
of the raft just in front of the little stage on which we sat, plied 
their paddles lustily, and a third between them wielded a pole with 
marvellous activity. Behind, two or three more with paddles or 
poles worked incessantly to keep the raft straight with the current, 
yelling directions of all kinds to their brethren in front, for to shoot 
a vapid broadside on would be an experiment attended with seve- 
ral inconveniences and some little danger. One brawny fellow in 
front of me got literally red with his exertions in spite of his 
brown skin, when we commenced at last to slide down a long 
reach of troubled water perceptibly out of the horizontal. The 
raft buried itself under the surface, leaving dry only our little 
stage, and the whole fabric shock and trembled as if it were about 
to break up. Yelling “ Sambut, sambut” (Receive, receive) to the 
spirits of the stream, whom Kurup MonameEp was propitiating with 
small offerings of rice and leaves, the panting boatmen continued their | 
struggles until we shot out once more into smooth deep water and 
all danger was over. ‘“Isn’t he like a buffalo ?” said Kuve Mo- 
