We encamped on the summit of one of the mountains; and, having found a little water, we cooked. I noticed that none of the men followed our example of sparing the food, but eat as if they had been at home; so that but half have any rice left. I had for a week preserved a small glass of brandy; and, believing it impossible to feel more exhausted, I drank it, for the last climb had been such as to render a farther advance impossible for any of us.
7th.—To-day the walking was worse than ever—so steep that my heart almost failed me, but knowing how everybody looked to me, I did not give way. How continually those lines came to my memory, and how often I found myself repeating them—
“Jog on, jog on the footpath way,
And merrily hent the stile-a;
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.”
We kept on till twelve, when we stopped at a stream to breakfast on the cabbages of the bengkala palm; exceedingly delicious, but not satisfying; it was like living on sugar and water. Here the old Pablat man said he must stay behind, as he had an attack of elephantiasis. I left his son-in-law with him, and pushed on.
We followed the torrent’s course for some time over broken rocks, when the man we had constituted our guide turned to the left towards a mountain that looked nearly perpendicular. There was almost a mutiny; even Musa declared that they could not face it—they must try the bank of the river. I represented to them that the Muruts had warned us that it was impossible to follow that course; but they kept repeating they would like to try, so I gave way, and we continued for half an hour, till we reached the Limbang. Here the banks were perpendicular, and we all sat down for half an hour, looking gloomily at the foaming stream.
But this being of no use, I rose and told the guide that we must go back to the spot he had before chosen. The men feeling rather ashamed of themselves, got up with more alacrity, and we faced the difficulty, commencing the ascent at two p.m., but did not reach the summit till six p.m., and yet we worked as hard as we possibly could, hoping to get down to the banks of a running stream. These were evidently the Paya Paya, or the “very difficult” hills. For several hundred yards we moved up a narrow spur, about five feet broad generally, but occasionally narrowing to a single foot, so steep that we had to place our rifles and guns before us as far as we could reach, and then pull ourselves up to them.
The sun went down before we stopped for the night. There was no water, but there was a prospect of heavy rain, and strong puffs of wind, as black clouds were gathering to the north-east. It was seven o’clock before I got my tent pitched on a ridge not three feet broad; and then, there being nothing to eat or drink, we lay down and slept on our weariness. Fortunately for me, I had managed to dry my Scotch plaid during our stay for breakfast; and, wrapping myself up in that best of all companions, I did not feel the cutting winds. I awoke for a few minutes in the middle of the night, to find that the cold had driven the men to light a fire; but before I could distinctly distinguish any one I was off to sleep again, and did not wake till the sun shone on my face. Yesterday satisfied me that I was in excellent condition to endure fatigue, as, though I had not drunk any water since breakfast, I felt no thirst.