Suddenly the Europeans dropped their oars and the Dayaks, following their example, stopped rowing. What was that? Sounds were heard like those given forth by an æolian harp; now far away, soft and melodious, but yet distinct; then again so near that the music seemed to be suspended over the canoe. There was a perfect harmony in the sounds, which varied between the murmur of a slight breeze and the forcible rush of a hurricane through some gigantic stringed instrument. The Europeans looked aghast at each other, unable to account for these mysterious strains. La Cueille crossed himself and muttered “Etoile de la mer, priez pour nous.” When the Dayaks perceived the anxious, frightened looks of their white companions they burst into loud laughter. For them it was an ordinary phenomenon which they called rioeng, noise, or sometimes riwoet haroesan, breath of the stream. Dalim related a legend which ascribes these sounds to unearthly music being played by some damsels drowned in that stream by the ire of Djata, the Crocodile God. He also added the information that the missionaries gave another explanation of the phenomenon. They attribute it to the friction of two currents—one, the advancing tide from the sea, and the other, the down-flowing water of the stream. Of course there are local conditions which influence the amount of friction. The correctness of this theory is proved by the fact that the sound is only heard at certain points where the sea meets the swift river water. This music accompanied the fugitives into the mouth of the Troessan which they reached toward evening when nothing more was heard of the æolian harp. “Oef!” cried La Cueille, “I feel lighter now. It seemed as if ghosts were playing music around the canoe. It would drive me mad if I had to stand it all night long.” “What are you jabbering about?” muttered one of the Dayaks; and leaning over to Johannes he whispered in his ear. Johannes now recommended them to keep silent. In a subdued tone he proceeded to explain that they were in a narrow stream, where they were likely to meet other canoes. If their conversation, conducted in a foreign language, were to be overheard, it would certainly betray them and lead to their being pursued. They continued rowing in silence, exerting all their might, so that by eight o’clock that evening they reached the mouth of soengei Dahasan. They still rowed on a considerable time until Dalim ordered a halt. He advised them to wait for daylight, as they might easily lose their way among the numerous rivulets found here. He, however, had other reasons for suspending the journey. They were all fatigued and needed rest. They had not partaken of any food for hours, nor had they slept. “But,” asked Wienersdorf, “is it safe to pass the night here?”