That evening, after dinner, he sent for Apai Minggat, the chief who had accompanied him to Kuching. We were sitting in the dining-room when this individual entered, a middle-aged Sea Dyak chieftain, who had often fought the Rajah’s battles by his side and saved his life on more than one occasion, for he was a famous warrior, with a considerable following of fighting men. He seemed to be treading on eggshells, his toes were turned out, and his body bent. A dingy handkerchief was twisted round his head, which was clean-shaven, with the exception of a lock of hair hanging at the back of his neck; this he had retained, like all Sea Dyaks, in a spirit of true courtesy, in case his head were taken by an enemy, when this lock would serve as a handle for them to carry his head by. He had on a waistcloth, and a dirty plaid covered his shoulders. He put out his hand from the folds of this garment to shake hands with the Rajah and with me. I was anxious to hear a war yell, and I asked the Rajah to get him to give vent to one of these sounds of gratification heard when any heads are taken by Dyaks without loss to themselves. A curious falsetto sound issued from his lips. It went higher and higher, louder and louder, something between the crowing of a cock and the whistle of a steam-engine, and then it died down into a whisper. Two or three times he repeated this performance, which greatly interested me. It was not so terrible as I had imagined it must be, but the Rajah explained that when heard in a chorus of thousands of men, all yelling at once, as he had heard these sounds of victory after successful skirmishes against the pirates, it was a most terrifying experience, and froze the blood in one’s veins.