To-day we only penetrated through the mountain and looked at the country beyond, a restricted view, as the jungle closely hemmed round the cave: afterwards I heard that we need not have returned the way we came, but that if we did not fear a steep climb, there was a cavern exactly above the one we had come through that would lead us back to the river--in fact, an upper tunnel. We thought at first it must be a joke of the Dayaks, but they assured us of the truth: so we told them to lead the way. It was difficult, in fact very difficult, until we came to an overhanging rock, against which a long pole leant with an occasional cross-piece; at the top was another overhanging one, round which it was necessary to pass by leaning the body over the abyss, and trusting entirely to our hands and to the strength of the roots. The Dayak guide led the way, and as we approached this difficulty we observed him smile. It was at an unfortunate boast. When we first proposed to make the ascent, our guide observed--“No one but a Dayak can go up there.” I unfortunately answered, “Wherever a Dayak can go, an Englishman can follow.” Hence his smile. He proceeded cautiously, as these rough ladders are often rotten, and, it is said, occasionally left unfastened to entrap an unwary thief, who may desire to pilfer the edible swallows’ nests found in the upper caves. When he had reached the summit, he invited me to follow; there was no help for it, so I tried; the pole was no great difficulty, but the rounding the overhanging rock with my body leaning over the abyss tested my strength and nerve; one of the party followed, the other thought it wiser to return by the way he came. It repaid us, however; the cave, though not lofty, was full of large chambers, of narrow passages, and occasionally of huge chasms penetrating to the depths below. They said the whole mountain was perforated by these galleries. Our return to the boat was difficult, as we had to force our way through the tangled bushes, and over ground unknown even to the Dayaks. We found our companion seated in the boat, discussing some cool claret and water, and as he beheld us coming in tired, hot, covered with dirt, and with clothes half torn from our bodies, I fear he did not envy us. Our men had now to drop their paddles once at least in every reach, and to seize their poles and force us along up the gradually lengthening rapids; the motion of the boat thus propelled is exceedingly pleasant; at one spot we noticed a Dayak suspension-bridge that spanned the river above a dangerous rapid. Kasim, a favourite follower, turned to us and said, “It was here that the Datu Tumanggong nearly lost his life.” We asked how. I will let Kasim relate his story; it is an illustration of Bornean ways.