On the 20th, the attacking parties returned after having destroyed twenty-five villages, and having secured an immense amount of plunder. There were but few killed on either side; the enemy had given way, cowed, and had offered but little resistance. Thus was a severe lesson administered to the Sea-Dayaks, which they never forgot, and it showed them that they could and would be treated even as they had so long treated others with impunity. "There is no way," wrote the Tuan Muda, "but burning them out of house and home—dreadful as this may appear. The women too must suffer, for they are the principal inciters of these bloody exploits.[198] An attack on a Dayak force, the destruction of the whole of it, with the lives of the men, is no permanent advancement towards cessation of head-taking. But the burning down of a village, loss of goods, old relics, such as heads, arms, and jars,[199] and putting the inhabitants, male and female, to excessive inconvenience—all this fills them with fear and makes them think of the consequences of taking the heads of strangers. These inland abodes have been and are everlasting fastnesses in their imagination. Besides, they always express very freely their opinion of white men; 'they are powerful, having arms and ships at sea, but it is only we Dayaks who can walk and fight on land and clamber steep mountains.'" On the 21st, the march home was commenced, the leaders in the advance becoming now the rearmost. These were the most trusted and bravest chiefs; conspicuous among them was Pangiran Matali. Their instructions were positive—to keep a sharp look-out for the enemy, and to permit no one to lag behind. Most of the Dayaks were heavily laden with plunder, and the enemy was hovering about their track in the hope of cutting off the stragglers. On the return to the stockade: