The coast line between Sarawak and Baram point is the least beautiful of the north-west coast. Scarcely any but hills far in the interior are seen, and the land is either flat or gently undulating hill and dale, but with few distinctive features. However, in the depth of the great bay that lies between Points Sirik and Baram, near the river of Bintulu, there are some fine mountains; and once, during a very clear day, I thought I saw a far distant peak, which might be that of Tilong, according to native report, higher than Kina Balu. Bintulu is now the northern boundary of the territories of Sarawak. Although I have said the appearance of this coast is not picturesque, yet in the eye of one who looks to the commercial and agricultural advantages, it is satisfactory. Broad plains of alluvial soil, as rich, perhaps, as any in the world, and a fine succession of swelling hill and dale afford some compensation to one who, as I do, looks upon this coast as capable of as much development as a similar space in Java. Between Bintulu and Baram there are two remarkable serrated mountains--Siluñgan and Lambir; but in this ninety miles of coast one small village only is to be found, and unless you penetrate far into the interior, there are but a few wandering Punans and others who inhabit it. Baram is a dangerous point to ships, as it lies low and the sea shoals rapidly. Here in the rainy season the fresh water rushes out with so much force, as to carry it unmixed four or five miles from land, where native prahus often take in their supplies. Large trunks of trees are continually floating about, which are brought down from the interior, and are very dangerous to small vessels, and many a Malay trader has owed to them his ruin. Off Sirik Point a prahu struck and immediately sunk. Her captain reported a rock, but as the coast near was simply alluvial deposit, and the fishermen who frequent this spot have never found it, it is generally thought that he suffered from a submerged tree. I was once a passenger on board a frigate while she sailed by this point. We were sitting below, and heard her distinctly strike, and a grating sound as of crushed coral was audible. “On shore again,” was the general observation: we went on deck, to find her running before the wind at ten knots an hour. We had, I believe, simply passed over one of these huge trunks. I have mentioned elsewhere the mass of floating weeds and trees that continually gyrates in a circle about fifteen miles off this point. Although my object was to visit the Baram river, yet I was obliged to pass on to Labuan and Brunei to obtain interpreters and guides. As we approached our little English colony we found our coal was all used, and we could scarcely reach the harbour, although we burnt a horse-box and everything available on board.