I well remember the morning of this particular conclave. After the council of war, the Rajah, Mr. Maxwell, the chiefs, and I, went into the hall where the arms were kept. Many obsolete weapons are to be found in nearly all Sarawak Forts. Some of the blunderbusses in Simanggang Fort were more than a hundred years old, having been taken in punitive expeditions from the houses of head-hunters. A Dyak present on this occasion took from a rack an old blunderbuss, and was handling the weapon unobserved by the authorities present. Suddenly, a sharp report rang out, and we saw smoke issuing from the funnel of the blunderbuss and a Dyak in the crowd holding his head. The man smiled, “Medicine gone from that gun,” he said, “and hit my head-handkerchief.” He took the handkerchief off and held it up, when we could see it had been pierced by the charge that had so unexpectedly gone off. By a happy chance no person was wounded in the crowded room. I felt disturbed and looked at the Rajah, who was pulling his moustache as he does when anything out of the way takes place. “Strange!” he said, looking at the man; but Mr. Maxwell was very angry. “Why do you touch those things?” he said; “I always tell you not to meddle with the arms.” The man gave a grunt, but showed no other signs of disturbance, and the conversation went on as though nothing unusual had happened. When the Rajah, Mr. Maxwell, and I met at breakfast, the matter was discussed at length, and it was thought extraordinary that the powder should be sufficiently dry to ignite a charge after so many years. The mystery was never solved, but the incident had served to bring out sharply a curious trait in the native mind.