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I had often heard it when paddling softly up one of the wild Malayan rivers. It was the death cry of a wah-wah monkey facing the cruel jaws of a crocodile. I plunged my fingers into my ears to smother the sound. I understood it all now. Baboo's pirates, the dreaded Orang Kayah's rebels, were the troop of monkeys we had heard the night before in the tambusa trees. "Baboo," I shouted, "come here!
It was late in the afternoon when we entered the mouth of the Sungi Pahang. Aboo Din advised a delay until the next morning. "The Orang Kayah's Malays are pirates, Tuan," he said, with a sinister shrug of his bare shoulders, "he has many men and swift praus; the Dutch, at Rio, have sold them guns, and they have their krises, they are cowards in the day." I smiled at the syce's fears.
I glanced at them and hesitated. "Baboo blow Orang Kayah's men away with the breath of his mouth." As he spoke the branches above the bow were thrust aside and a dark form hung for an instant as though in doubt, then shot straight down upon the corrugated surface of the deck.
Baboo 'fraid for Tuan, Tuan great and good, save Baboo from tiger, Baboo break up all glass bottles old bottles Tuan no want old bottle Baboo and Aboo Din, the father, put them on deck so when Orang Kayah's men come out of jungle and drop from trees on deck they cut their feet on glass. Baboo is through talking, Tuan no whip Baboo!"
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