The Island Of Singapore Consists Of A Multitude Of Small Hills,
Three Or Four Hundred Feet High, The Summits Of Many Of Which Are
Still Covered With Virgin Forest.
The mission-house at Bukit-tima
was surrounded by several of these wood-topped hills, which were
much frequented by woodcutters and sawyers, and offered me an
excellent collecting ground for insects.
Here and there, too,
were tiger pits, carefully covered over with sticks and leaves,
and so well concealed, that in several cases I had a narrow
escape from falling into them. They are shaped like an iron
furnace, wider at the bottom than the top, and are perhaps
fifteen or twenty feet deep so that it would be almost impossible
for a person unassisted to get out of one. Formerly a sharp stake
was stuck erect in the bottom; but after an unfortunate traveller
had been killed by falling on one, its use was forbidden. There
are always a few tigers roaming about Singapore, and they kill on
an average a Chinaman every day, principally those who work in
the gambir plantations, which are always made in newly-cleared
jungle. We heard a tiger roar once or twice in the evening, and
it was rather nervous work hunting for insects among the fallen
trunks and old sawpits when one of these savage animals might be
lurking close by, awaiting an opportunity to spring upon us.
Several hours in the middle of every fine day were spent in these
patches of forest, which were delightfully cool and shady by
contrast with the bare open country we had to walk over to reach
them.
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