The day had not risen when Mr. Bampfylde, Bertram, Dr. Langmore, and I, started from Kapit Fort two days after the floods had ceased and the river had resumed its normal aspect. We were followed down the steep steps leading to the river by a great company of Kayans and Dyaks, our Chinese cook, our Malay servants, and Ima, my inseparable attendant when I lived in Sarawak. Mr. Bampfylde, Ima, and I, occupied one of the war-canoes, and Bertram and Dr Langmore another. Our boat was called _Bujang Naga_ (Bachelor Dragon), and was a splendid specimen of a Dyak war-boat. Our crew, amongst whom were the élite of the chiefs staying with us in Kapit Fort, numbered about forty. Salleh was steersman, and stood at the stern with half his body appearing above the roof, his head protected from the sun by a large conical straw hat. The rudders of these boats are like those used by ancient Egyptians, according to the pictures in the British Museum, for they are rigged on the side of the vessel, instead of being fixed on the stern. A covering of palm leaves was stretched from one end of the boat to the other, and I could see from where I sat some twenty-five naked arms paddling as though for dear life. Those seated nearest to us were Unggat, Merum and Grasi, all renowned warriors. Our journey being a peaceful one, the chiefs had discarded their beautiful war accoutrements, and their appearance was homely, not to say dowdy. Hovering Hawk was wrapped in an old tartan petticoat or sarong, The Cobra had a loincloth as his only covering, and their companions followed suit. But the younger warriors were very smart; they had stuck alamanda and hibiscus blossoms in their head-handkerchiefs, and their waistcloths were bewilderingly bright. We paddled on, hour after hour, and I thought it extraordinary that these men could last so long without a break in their fatiguing labour. They appeared as though they enjoyed themselves, and when the rhythmic stroke of the paddles flagged, a shrill scream from the man sitting in the bows, and who directed the speed of the boat, instilled renewed vigour in the crew, especially when the leader plunged his paddle into the water, flung a comet-like spray, reaching beyond the boat’s stern, yelling and shouting, “Paddle, paddle,” “Do not get slow,” “Don’t get soft.” “Ah-a-a,” he would scream again. Sometimes our crew raced Bertram’s boat, and when his boat shot on ahead, Hovering Hawk and Flying Snake gave vent to ejaculations of disgust, abusing our crew roundly, and asking them whether they were asleep or awake. I remember passing a little stream, where, near the bank, about twenty or thirty yards away, a crocodile lay motionless flush with the water. Hovering Hawk pointed it out to me, and the man in the bows stopped the boat. My rifle lay loaded by my side--I cannot explain why it was there; I suppose I thought it sporting to carry a gun about. Mr. Bampfylde suggested I should try and shoot the crocodile, which I did,