“Frank Hatton, without being precocious as a child, developed singular versatility of talent at a very early age. He could swim, shoot, skate, and had some long spins on his tricycle. He spoke French, wrote his native language with the polish of a Gentleman, and was versed in the local tongues of Borneo.”

“When he left England for the islands of the eastern seas, young Hatton was close upon six feet in height, and carried no surplus flesh. In eighteen months in Borneo he accomplished solid work in a country thick with a jungle-growth of centuries, and peopled by half-naked savages, many of whom had never before seen a white man. Following are excepts from his diary:”

“The men have not a grain of rice to eat. I was thinking over the situation when one of the men said he could see a house on the top of a hill. He pointed it out to me, and I determined to go up and try to get food. Taking some cloth and four men, I went forward. At our approach all the people ran away."

"When they saw we did not intend to murder them, they came back, but they did not want to sell us any rice. When told my men had nothing to eat, and if they did not get rice they would surely starve, the people merely laughed. However, we frightened them a little, and finally succeeded in getting some rice. We left these inhospitable shores at four o’clock.”

“The cutting ceremony was to take place at my hut. At about 12 o’clock boatload after boatload began to arrive, until some one-hundred men had collected, all armed with spears and swords. The chief now came up, and we at once proceeded with the ceremony.”

“Having called in a loud voice for his god to be present, he and I took hold of the head and legs of a fowl while a third person cut its head off with a knife.

We then dropped our respective halves and the movements of the dying fowl were watched. If it jumps toward the chief, his heart is not true. If towards the person to be sworn in, his heart is not true.

Luckily in my case, the fowl hopped away into the jungle and died.”

“Two chiefs accompanied us on our first day’s tramp overland. We often had to climb heights of two thousand feet… In the distance was range upon range of tree-capped mountains.

I shall never forget this lovely scene, but more especially shall I remember the wonderful tints and shades presented by the distant giant hills of Borneo.”

“On the fourth of April I was initiated into the brotherhood of Bendowen Dusuns. All the tribe having assembled, the ceremonies began. The men began to declaim “Oh, Kinarahingan, hear us!” The sound echoed away down the valley. An arrow was shot into the air, and we placed our four guns on the ground. Several volleys were shot over the place, and the ceremony terminated.”

“These extracts are of the briefest; and yet we only have space to refer to the explorer’s last diary entry, March 1st, 1883. This was to terminate all his work in this world.

The diary is posted up to 3:40, the time when he left his boat on his fatal excursion with the elephants.

The trophies of the young scientist’s work are packed away in the room he used to occupy in the home that knows him no more; none more pathetic than the thumbed log of his last journey, and the compass which he consulted for his last observation.

I who write these lines am his father. He lost his life on his way home. The news of his safety and his good health preceded by a few days the telegraphic report of his death.”   Joseph Hatton