I am not aware who inserted the names in the Admiralty charts, but they are often ill spelt, and incorrectly placed. Loney Island, south of Gaya, is generally called Sinitahan, “Hold here,” Island, from the great protection it affords to native prahus in both monsoons; and our informants insisted that the islands marked Bantok, Baral, and Risa, should be Memanukan, Sulug, and Memutik, and that the opposite point, called Lutut, or the Knee, should be Aru. I only mention this, as some of the officers in Labuan might be requested to furnish the correct names to the Admiralty, as it is exceedingly inconvenient to voyagers along the coast to ask for places by names which are not recognized by the inhabitants. While speaking of these otherwise admirably correct charts, I would draw attention to the fact, that the position of Tanjong Baram, or Baram Point, in the last published general chart of Borneo, differs about ten miles from that given in the charts recording the surveys of Sir Edward Belcher and Commander Gordon. This requires explanation. Our boat having joined us, we got under way, and stood towards Pulo Tiga; the weather was squally and the night proved unpleasant, with strong gusts of wind and heavy rain, but in the morning we found ourselves opposite the island for which we were steering. A light land breeze now carried us past Nosong Point, with its curious detached rocks, but left us in a calm after we were a few miles from shore. As usual, the sea breeze sprang up in the afternoon, but it came from the south-west. As we had been awake most of the previous night, we were dozing in the afternoon, when a bustle over our heads startled us, and we went on deck to see what was the matter. We found we were among the Pine-tree Shoals, with a large water-washed rock, not marked in the charts, within fifty yards of us. To let go the anchor and take in the sail, to meet a heavy squall from the westward, was the work of a moment. A heavy squall in a dangerous position is a thing to be remembered: you see advancing upon you an enormous arch of black cloud, with a slightly white misty sky beneath, called by the Malays the wind’s eye, and when it breaks upon you with a force almost sufficient to lift you from your legs and sweep you into the sea, you feel your own nothingness, and how impotent are most of our efforts to contend against the elements.