A native sleeps hard, and is not easily awakened, nor when aroused does he quickly regain his faculties. It is an important point in the Malay code of manners never to awaken any person suddenly, for it is believed that, during sleep, the soul is absent from the body, wandering around, and must be given time to return, otherwise serious, even fatal consequences, may ensue. The awakened person may become an idiot, or some great harm may happen to the unmannerly one who awakened him. Many natives have as great a fear of the wandering soul of a sleeping person as of an evil spirit or ghost. The soul is said to return to the body in the form of a small black ball, which enters the mouth. Moreover, one of the greatest, in fact, the most terrible, curse that can be uttered by many tribes, is, "May you die sleeping," for it means death to body and soul. That, however, was the fate reserved for the brothers. Towards midnight, when the cooking-fires in the coolie quarters had burnt down, and the chatter of the Chinese had subsided, when the last lights in the Europeans' houses had been extinguished, and not a sound broke the stillness of the night, the patron addressed himself to the performance of his bloody task. Slipping his sharpened bolo through his belt, he descended into the engine-room, and, seizing the coal-breaker, crept forward to where the doomed men slumbered, perhaps dreaming of the charms of that dark damsel, the enjoyment of whose embraces was to cost them so dear. Meanwhile, their fate approached; their time was come. The patron was past his prime; privations at sea and dissipation on shore had sapped his strength. But bitter hatred nerving his arm, with lightning rapidity and terrific force he discharged a blow on each sleeper's unprotected head. The sharp edge of the steel bar crashed deep into their skulls, driving in the splintered bone upon the brain. One agonised shudder from each, then all was still. A European murderer might have been satisfied with this. Not so a Tagal. A ceremony still remained to be accomplished. Their blood must flow; they must suffer mutilation. Seizing his bolo, the assassin now vented his rage in cutting and thrusting at the bodies. The heavy and keen-edged blade fell repeatedly, cutting great gashes on the throats and bellies of the victims, whilst streams of gore ran down the waterways, and trickled out at the scuppers, staining the white sides of the launch with crimson streaks.