After pulling a few miles up the river we reached a landing place, where the chief of the true Lundus was waiting to guide us to his village. For six or seven miles our path lay through the jungle over undulating ground, and we found the houses situated at the commencement of a great valley lying between the mountains of Poè and Gading. The soil is here excellent, but now little of it is tilled, though there are thousands of acres around that might support an immense population. Most of it, however, had, in former times, been cleared, as we saw but very little old forest. The Lundu houses, on the top of a low hill, are but few in number, neat and new. The tribe, however, has fallen; they fear there is a curse on them. A thousand families, they say, once cultivated this valley, but now they are reduced to ten, not by the ravages of war, but by diseases sent by the spirits. They complain bitterly that they have no families, that their women are not fertile; indeed, there were but three or four children in the whole place. The men were fine-looking, and the women well favoured and healthy--remarkably clean and free from disease. We could only account for their decreasing numbers by their constant intermarriages: we advised them to seek husbands and wives among the neighbouring tribes, but this is difficult. Their village is a well-drained, airy spot. On our return, one of those sudden squalls came on that are so frequent in Borneo: we were among the decayed trees that still stood on the site of an old farm. As a heavier gust swept from the hills, the half-rotten timber tottered and fell with a crash around us, rendering our walk extremely dangerous. I was not sorry, therefore, to find myself in the boat on the broad river. The banks are tolerably well cleared by Chinese, Malays, Millanaus, and Dayaks. A few months after this, a sudden squall struck the British brig “Amelia,” and capsized her: ninety-three went down with her, but twenty escaped in the jolly-boat. In the evening Kalong’s wife was taken in the pains of childbirth. The Rev. F. Dougall, now Bishop of Labuan, offered his medical assistance, as it was evident the case was a serious one, but they preferred following their own customs. The child died, and we left the mother very ill. A young girl, bitten by a snake, was brought in; the wound was rubbed with a piece of deer’s horn, she became drowsy and slept for several hours, but in the morning she was about her usual occupations.