The passage from the mouth of the Rejang had been so smooth that it was impossible even for me to be sea-sick. The sun was setting, and in front of us the shores of the Batang Lupar were veiled with pink smoke, for it was now in September, and the Dyaks were burning their farms. I saw strange, fitful lights in the western sky, fragments of pale blue framed in golden fluff with ragged edges of copper. A colour, like a fragment of a rainbow, was seen for an instant close by the sea, then disappeared, whilst entanglements of gold and turquoise blue, intricate and delicate, covered the sky. The sun dropping behind the clouds stood out blood-red, like a glorified host; until in a few moments it was hidden behind the sea. A gleam of gold trembled on the water; it vanished, darkness came, and the day was done. Our arrival at Simanggang was a pleasant one. Our dear friend, Mr. Bailey, who for several years had ruled the district with marked success, and Mr. Kirkpatrick, then Assistant-Resident in the Batang Lupar, were at the wharf to meet us. Bertram and I walked up that sweet-smelling avenue of angsana trees leading to the Fort and to the bungalow where we were to stay, and where we spent a happy time. A great sadness comes over me now as I write about this river, for since Bertram’s and my visit to the Batang Lupar two of the Rajah’s most distinguished officers have passed away. In mentioning Simanggang, it would be a great and very ungrateful omission were I not especially to mention these two men--Mr. Frank Maxwell and Mr. Bailey. [Illustration: HUT CONTAINING EATABLES TO REFRESH THE GOD OF SICKNESS, BATANG LUPAR RIVER]