Toward evening the river got exceedingly narrow, and fallen trees
obstructed our way, so that we had sometimes to lie flat on our backs
to pass under them, and at other times we had to get out while our
canoe was hauled over the mud at the side.
Just before we reached our destination for the night, we came to a
spot where the bank was hung with bits of coloured cloth and calico
fastened to sticks, I also noticed some bananas and dried fish tied to
the sticks. This signified that there was a native burial ground close
by, and all the canoes were stopped, the scullers putting their paddles
down, while the Hadji and all his men proceeded to wash their faces
in the river. This they did to ensure success in their nest-collecting.
We stayed the night in one of two raised half-thatched huts used only
by the natives in the collecting seasons, a ladder from the river
leading into them. It was almost dark when we arrived, and hardly were
we under shelter when rain came down in torrents. It poured all night,
and when we started off on foot at sunrise the next morning we found
the track in the forest a regular quagmire; in places we waded through
mud up to our knees. As we scrambled and floundered through the mud
at our best pace we heard a great crashing noise just in front of us,
and the air resounded with cries of "Gajah, gajah!" (elephant).
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