Then and there I determined21 that some day I would myself sail those adventurous22 seas in a vessel23 of my own, that I would poke24 the nose of my craft up steaming tropic rivers, that I would drop anchor off towns whose names could not be found on ordinary maps, and that I would go ashore25 in white linen26 and pipe-clayed shoes and a sun-hat to take tiffin with sultans and rajahs, and to barter27 beads28 and brass wire for curios—a curly-bladed Malay kris, carved cocoanuts, a shark's-tooth necklace, a blow-gun with its poisoned darts29, a stuffed bird of paradise, and, of course, a huge conch-shell and an enormous piece of branch-coral—which I would bring home and display to admiring relatives and friends as convincing proofs of where I had been.
But school and college had to be gotten through with, and after them came wars in various parts of [3]the world and adventurings in many lands, so that thirty years slipped by before an opportunity presented itself to realize the dream of my boyhood. But when at last I set sail for those far-distant seas it was on an enterprise which would have gladdened the old sailor's soul—an expedition whose object it was to seek out the unusual, the curious, and the picturesque31, and to capture them on the ten miles of celluloid film which we took with us, so that those who are condemned32 by circumstance to the humdrum33 life of the farm, the office, or the mill might themselves go adventuring o'nights, from the safety and comfort of red-plush seats, through the magic of the motion-picture screen. When I set out on my long journey the old whaling captain whose tales had kindled34 my youthful imagination had been sleeping for a quarter of a century in the Mattapoisett graveyard35, but when our anchor rumbled36 down off Tawi Tawi, when, steaming across Makassar Straits, we picked up the Little Paternosters, when our tiny vessel poked37 her bowsprit up the steaming Koetei into the heart of the Borneo jungle, I knew that, though invisible to human eyes, he was standing38 beside me on the bridge.
Until I met the young-old man to whom those magazines which devote themselves to the gossip of the film world admiringly refer as "the Napoleon of the movies," it had never occurred to me that adventure has a definite market value. At least I had never realized that there are people who stand ready to buy [4]it by the foot, as one buys real estate or rope. I had always supposed that the only way adventure could be capitalized was as material for magazine articles and books and for dinner-table stories.
"What we are after" the film magnate began abruptly40, motioning me to a capacious leather chair and pushing a box of cigars within my reach, "is something new in travel pictures. Like most of the big producers, we furnish our exhibitors with complete programmes—a feature, a comedy, a topical review, and a travel or educational picture. We make the features and the comedies in our own studios; the weeklies we buy from companies which specialize in that sort of thing. But heretofore we have had to pick up our travel stuff—where we could get it from free lances mostly—and there is never enough really good travel material to meet the demand. For quite ordinary travel or educational films we have to pay a minimum of two dollars a foot, while really unusual pictures will bring almost any price that is asked for them. The supply is so uncertain, however, and the price is so high that we have decided41 to try the experiment of taking our own. That is what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Before the war," he continued, "there was almost no demand in the United States for travel pictures. In fact, when a manager wanted to clear his house for the next show, he would put a travel picture on the screen. But since the boys have been coming back from France and Germany and Siberia and Russia the [5]public has begun to call for travel films again. They've heard their sons and brothers and sweethearts tell about the strange places they've been, and the strange things they've seen, and I suppose it makes them want to learn more about those parts of the world that lie east of Battery Place and west of the Golden Gate. But we don't want the old bromide stuff, mind you—mountain-climbing in Switzerland, cutting sugar-cane in Cuba, picking cocoanuts in Ceylon. That sort of thing goes well enough on the Chautauqua circuits, but it's as dead as the corner saloon so far as the big cities are concerned. What we are looking for are unusual pictures—tigers, elephants, pirates, brigands42, cannibals, Oriental temples and palaces, war-dances, weird43 ceremonies, curious customs, natives with rings in their noses and feathers in their hair, scenes that are spectacular and exciting—in short, what the magazine editors call 'adventure stuff.' We want pictures that will make 'em sit up in their seats and exclaim, 'Well, what d'ye know about that?' and that will send them away to tell their friends about them."
"Like the publisher," I suggested, "who remarked that his idea of a good newspaper was one that would cause its readers to exclaim when they opened it, 'My God!'?"
"That's the idea," he agreed. "And if the pictures are from places that most people have never heard of before, so much the better. I'm told that you've spent your life looking for queer places to write about. So why can't you suggest some to take pictures of?"
[6]"But I've had no practical experience in taking motion-pictures," I protested. "The only time I ever touched a motion-picture camera was when I turned the crank of Donald Thompson's for a few minutes during the entry of the Germans into Antwerp in 1914."
"Were the pictures a success?" the Napoleon of the Movies queried44 interestedly. "I don't recall having seen them."
"No, you wouldn't," I hastened to explain. "You see, it wasn't until the show was all over that Thompson discovered that he had forgotten to take the cap off the lens."
"Don't let that worry you," he assured me. "We'll take care of the technical end. We'll provide you with the best camera man to be had and the best equipment. All you will have to do is to show him what to photograph, arrange the action, decide on the settings, obtain the permission of the authorities, the good-will of the officials, the co-operation of the military, engage interpreters and guides, reserve hotel accommodations, arrange for motor-cars and boats and horses and special trains, and keep everyone jollied up and feeling good generally. Aside from that, there won't be anything for you to do except to enjoy yourself."
"It certainly sounds alluring," I admitted. "The trouble is that you are looking for something that can't always be found. You don't find adventure the way you find four-leaf clovers; it just happens to you, like the measles45 or a blow-out. Still, if one has [7]the time and money to go after them, there are a lot of curious things that might pass for adventure when they are shown on the screen."
"Where are they?" the film magnate asked eagerly, spreading upon his mahogany desk a map of the world.
It was a little disconcerting, this request to point out those regions where adventure could be found, very much as a visitor from the provinces might ask a New York hotel clerk to tell him where he could see the Bohemian life of which he had read in the Sunday supplements.
"There's Russian Central Asia, of course," I suggested tentatively. "Samarkand and Bokhara and Tashkent, you know. But I'm afraid they're out of the question on account of the Bolsheviki. Besides, I'm not looking for the sort of adventure that ends between a stone wall and a firing-party. Then there are some queer emirates along the southern edge of the Sahara: Sokoto and Kanem and Bornu and Wadai. But it would take at least six months to obtain the necessary permission from the French and British colonial offices and to arrange the other details of the expedition."
"But that doesn't exhaust the possibilities by any means," I continued hastily, for nothing was farther from my wish than to discourage so fascinating a plan. "There ought to be some splendid picture material among the Dyaks of Borneo—they're head-hunters, you know. From there we could jump across to the Celebes and possibly to New Guinea. And I understand[8] that they have some queer customs on the island of Bali, over beyond Java; in fact, I've been told that, in spite of all the efforts of the Dutch to stop it, the Balinese still practise suttee. A picture of a widow being burned on her husband's funeral pyre would be a bit out of the ordinary, wouldn't it? That reminds me that I read somewhere the other day that next spring there is to be a big royal wedding in Djokjakarta, in middle Java, with all sorts of gorgeous festivities. At Batavia we would have no difficulty in getting a steamer for Singapore, and from there we could go overland by the new Federated Malay States Railway, through Johore and Malacca and Kuala Lumpur, to Siam, where the cats and the twins and the white elephants come from. From Bangkok we might take a short-cut through the Cambodian jungle, by elephant, to Pnom-Penh and——"
"Hold on!" the Movie King protested. "That's plenty. Let me come up for air. Those names you've been reeling off mean as much to me as the dishes on the menu of a Chinese restaurant. But that's what we're after. We want the people who see the pictures to say: 'Where the dickens is that place? I never heard of it before.' They get to arguing about it, and when they get home they look it up in the family atlas46, and when they find how far away it is, they feel that they've had their money's worth. How soon can you be ready to start?"
"How soon," I countered, "can you have a letter of credit ready?"
[9]Owing to the urgent requirements of the European governments, vessels47 of every description were, as I discovered upon our arrival at Manila, few and far between in Eastern seas; so, in spite of the assurance that I was not to permit the question of expense to curtail48 my itinerary49, it is perfectly50 certain that we could not have visited the remote and inaccessible51 places which we did had it not been for the lively interest taken in our enterprise by the Honorable Francis Burton Harrison, Governor-General of the Philippines, and by the Honorable Manuel Quezon, President of the Philippine Senate. When Governor-General Harrison learned that I wished to take pictures in the Sulu Archipelago, he kindly52 offered, in order to facilitate our movements from island to island, to place at my disposal a coast-guard cutter, just as a friend might offer one the use of his motor-car. There was at first some question as to whether the Governor-General had the authority to send a government vessel outside of territorial53 waters, but Mr. Quezon, who, so far as influence goes, is a Henry Cabot Lodge54 and a Boies Penrose combined, unearthed55 a law which permitted him to utilize56 the vessels of the coast-guard service for the purpose of entertaining visitors to the islands in such ways as the Government of the Philippines saw fit. And, in a manner of speaking, Mr. Quezon is the Government of the Philippines. Thus it came about that on the last day of February, 1920, the coast-guard cutter Negros, 150 tons and 150 feet over all—with a crew of sixty men, Captain A. B. Galvez commanding, [10]and having on board the Lovely Lady, who accompanies me on all my travels; the Winsome57 Widow, who joined us in Seattle; the Doctor, who is an officer of the United States Health Service stationed at Manila; John L. Hawkinson, the efficient and imperturbable58 man behind the camera; three friends of the Governor-General, who went along for the ride; and myself—steamed out of Manila Bay into the crimson glory of a tropic sunset, and, when past Cavite and Corregidor, laid her course due south toward those magic isles59 and fairy seas which are so full of mystery and romance, so packed with possibilities of high adventure.
Governor-General Harrison believed, by methods that are legitimate60, in adding to the American public's knowledge of the Philippines, and it was owing to his broad-minded point of view and to the many cablegrams which he sent ahead of us, that at each port in the islands at which we touched we found the local officials waiting on the pier61-head to bid us welcome and to assist us. At Jolo, which is the capital of the Moro country, two lean, sun-tanned, youthful-looking men came aboard to greet us: one was the Honorable P. W. Rogers, Governor of the Department of Sulu; the other was Captain Link, a former officer of constabulary who is now the Provincial62 Treasurer63. In the first five minutes of our conversation I discovered that they knew exactly the sort of picture material that [11]I wanted and that they would help me to the limit of their ability to get it. For that matter, they themselves personify adventure in its most exciting form.
Rogers, who was originally a soldier, went to the Philippines as orderly for General Pershing long before the days when "Black Jack64" was to win undying fame on battlefields half the world away. The young soldier showed such marked ability that, thanks to Pershing's assistance, he obtained a post as stenographer65 under the civil government, thence rising by rapid steps to the difficult post of Governor of Sulu. A better selection could hardly have been made, for there is no white man in the islands whom the Moros more heartily66 respect and fear than their boyish-looking governor. Mrs. Rogers is the daughter of a German trader who lived in Jolo and died there with his boots on. A year or so prior to her marriage she was sitting with her parents at tiffin when a Moro, with whom her father had had a trifling67 business disagreement, knocked at the door and asked for a moment's conversation. Telling the native that he would talk with him after he had finished his meal, the trader returned to the table. Scarcely had he seated himself when the Moro, who had slipped unobserved into the dining room, sprang like a panther, his broad-bladed barong describing a glistening68 arc, and the trader's head rolled among the dishes. Another sweep of the terrible weapon and the mother's hand was severed69 at the wrist, while the future Mrs. Rogers owes her life to the fact that she fainted and slipped [12]under the table. I relate this incident in order to give you some idea of the local atmosphere.
A few weeks before our arrival at Jolo, Governor Rogers, in compliance70 with instructions from Manila, had ordered a census71 of the inhabitants. But the Moros are a highly suspicious folk, so, when some one started the rumor72 that the government was planning to brand them, as it brands its mules73 and horses, it promptly74 gained wide credence75. By tactful explanations the suspicions of most of the natives were allayed76, but one Moro, notorious as a bad man, barricaded77 himself, together with five of his friends, three women and a boy, in his house—a nipa hut raised above the ground on stilts78—and defied the Governor to enumerate79 them. Now, if the Governor had permitted such open defiance80 to pass unnoticed, the entire population of Jolo, always ready for trouble, promptly would have gotten out of hand. So, accompanied by five troopers of the constabulary, he rode out to the outlaw81's house and attempted to reason with him. The man obstinately82 refused to show himself, however, even turning a deaf ear to the appeals of the village imam. Thereupon Rogers ordered the constabulary to open fire, their shots being answered by a fusillade from the Moros barricaded in the house. In twenty minutes the flimsy structure looked more like a sieve83 than a dwelling. When the firing ceased a six-year-old boy descended84 the ladder and, approaching the Governor, remarked unconcernedly: "You can go in now. They're all dead." Then Rogers called up the [13]census-taker and told him to go ahead with his enumeration85.
The provincial treasurer, Captain Link, is a lean, lithe86 South Carolinian who has spent fifteen years in Moroland. He is what is known in the cattle country as a "go-gitter." It is told of him that he once nearly lost his commission, while in the constabulary, by sending to the Governor, as a Christmas present, a package which, upon being opened, was found to contain the head of a much-wanted outlaw.
"I knew he wanted that fellow's head more than anything else in the world," Captain Link said na?vely, in telling me the story, "so it struck me it would be just the thing to send him for a Christmas present. I spent a lot of time and trouble getting it too, for the fellow sure was a bad hombre. It would have gotten by all right, but the Governor's wife, thinking it was a present for herself, had to go and open the package. She went into hysterics when she saw what was inside and the Governor was so mad he nearly fired me. Some people have no sense of humor."
Atop of the bookcase in Captain Link's study—the bookcase, by the way, contains Burton's Thousand and One Nights, the Discourses87 of Epictetus, and President Eliot's tabloid88 classics—is the skull89 in question, surmounted90 by a Moro fez. Across the front of the fez is printed this significant legend:
THIS IS JOHN HENRY
JOHN HENRY DISOBEYED CAPTAIN LINK
Sic Transit91 Gloria Mundi
[14]While we are on the subject, let me tell you about another of these advance-guards of civilization who, single-handed, transformed a worthless island in the Sulu Sea into a veritable Garden of the Lord and its inhabitants from warlike savages92 into peaceful and prosperous farmers. In 1914 a short, bespectacled Michigander named Warner was sent by the Philippine Bureau of Education to Siassi, one of the islands of the Sulu group, to teach its Moro inhabitants the rudiments94 of American civilization. Warner's sole equipment for the job consisted, as he candidly95 admitted, of a medical education. He took with him a number of Filipino assistants, but as they did not get along with the Moros, he shipped them back to Manila and sent for an Airedale dog. He also sent for all the works on agriculture and gardening that were to be had in the bookshops of the capital. For five years he remained on Siassi, the only white man. As even the little inter-island steamers rarely find their way there, months sometimes passed without his hearing from the outside world. But he was too busy to be lonely. His jurisdiction96 extended over two islands, separated by a narrow channel, but this he never crossed at night and in the daytime only when he was compelled to, as the narrow channel was the home of giant crocodiles which not infrequently attacked and capsized the frail97 native vintas, killing98 their occupants as they struggled in the water.
Warner, who had spent four years among the Visayans before going to Siassi, and who was, [15]therefore, eminently99 qualified100 to compare the northern islanders with the Moros, told me that the latter possess a much higher type of intelligence than the Filipinos and assimilate new ideas far more quickly. He added that they have a highly developed sense of humor; that they are quick to appreciate subtle stories, which the Tagalogs and Visayans are not; and that they are much more ready to accept advice on agricultural and economic matters than the Christian101 Filipinos, who have a life-sized opinion of their own ability. When the day's work was over, he said, he would seat himself in the doorway of his hut, surrounded by a group of Moros, and discuss crops and weather prospects102, swap104 jokes and tell stories, just as he might have done with lighter105 skinned sons of toil106 around the cracker-barrel of a cross-roads store in New England. He added that he was sadly in need of some new stories to tell his Moro protegés, as, after six years on the island, his own fund was about exhausted107. But he was growing weary of life on Siassi, he told me; he wanted action and excitement; so he was preparing to move, with his Airedale, to Bohol, in the Visayas, where, he had heard it rumored108, there was another white man.
Still another of the picturesque characters with whom I foregathered nightly on the after-deck of the Negros during our stay at Jolo was a former soldier, John Jennings by name. He was an operative of the Philippine Secret Service, being engaged at the time in breaking up the running of opium109 from Borneo [16]across the Sulu Sea to the Moro islands. Jennings is a short, thickset, powerfully-built man, all nerve and no nerves. Adventure is his middle name. He has lived more stories than I could invent. Shortly before our arrival at Jolo Jennings had learned from a native in his pay that a son of the Flowery Kingdom, the proprietor110 of a notorious gambling111 resort situated112 on the quarter-mile-long ramshackle wharf113 known as the Chinese pier, was driving a roaring trade in the forbidden drug. So one afternoon Jennings, his hands in his pockets and in each pocket a service automatic, sauntered carelessly along the pier and upon reaching the reputed opium den30, knocked briskly on the door. The Chinese proprietor evidently suspected the purpose of his visit, however, for he was unable to gain admittance. So that night, wearing the huge straw sun-hat and flapping garments of blue cotton of a coolie, he tried again. This time in response to his knock the heavy door swung open. Within all was black and silent as the tomb. The lintel was low and Jennings was compelled to stoop in order to enter. As he cautiously set foot across the threshold there was a sudden swish of steel in the darkness and the blade of a barong whistled past his face, slicing off the front of his hat and missing his head by the width of an eyelash. As he sprang back the door slammed in his face and he heard the bolts shot home, followed by the sound of a weapon clattering114 on the floor and the patter of naked feet. Realizing that the men he was after were making their escape by another [17]exit, Jennings hurled115 himself against the door, an automatic in either hand. It gave way before his assault and he was precipitated116 headlong into the inky blackness of the room. Taking no chances this time, he raked it with a stream of lead from end to end. Then, there being no further sound, he swept the place with a beam from his electric torch. Stretched on the floor were three dead Chinamen and beside them was enough opium to have drugged everyone on the island. That little episode, as Jennings remarked dryly, put quite a crimp in the opium traffic in Jolo.
Cockfighting, which is as popular throughout the Philippines as baseball is in the United States, finds its most enthusiastic devotees among the Moros, every community in the Sulu islands having its cockpit and its fighting birds, on whose prowess the natives gamble with reckless abandon. Gambling is, indeed, the raison d'être of cockfighting in Moroland, for, as the birds are armed with four-inch spurs of razor sharpness, and as one or both birds are usually killed within a few minutes after they are tossed into the pit, very little sport attaches to the contest. The villagers are inordinately117 proud of their local fighting-cocks, boasting of their prowess as a Bostonian boasts of the Braves or a New Yorker of the Giants, and are always ready to back them to the limit of their means.
Some years ago, according to a story that was told [18]me in the islands—for the truth of which I do not vouch—an American destroyer dropped anchor off Cebu, the second largest city in the Philippines. That night a shore party of bluejackets, wandering about the town in quest of amusement, dropped in at a cockpit where a main was in progress. Noting the large wagers118 laid by the excited natives on their favorite birds, the sailors offered to back a "chicken" which they had aboard the destroyer against all the cocks in Cebu. The natives, smiling in their sleeves at the prospect103 of taking money so easily from the Americanos, promptly accepted the challenge and some hundreds of pesos were laid against the unknown bird. At the hour set for the fight the grinning sailors appeared at the cockpit with their "chicken," the mascot119 of the destroyer—a large American eagle! Ensued, of course, a torrent120 of protest and remonstrance121, but the money was already up and the bluejackets demanded action. So the eagle was anchored by a chain in the center of the pit, where it sat motionless and apathetic122, head on one side, eyelids123 drooping124, apparently125 half asleep—until a cock was tossed into the pit. Then there was a lightning-like flash of the mighty126 talons127 and all that was left of the Cebuan champion was a heap of bloodied128 feathers. The "match" was quickly over and the triumphant129 sailors, collecting their bets, departed for their ship. Ever since then there has been a proverb in Cebu—"Never match your cock against an American chicken."
[19]Governor Rogers informed me that, in compliance with a cablegram from the Governor-General, he had arranged a "show" for us at a village called Parang, on the other side of the island. The "show," I gathered, was to consist of a stag-hunt, shark-fishing, war-dances, and pony130 races, and was to conclude with a native bull-fight. One of the favorite sports of the Moros is hunting the small native stag on horseback, tiring it out, and killing it with spears. As it developed, however, that there was no certainty of being able so to stage-manage the affair that either the hunters or the hunted would come within the range of the camera, we regretfully decided to dispense131 with that number of the programme.
When we arrived at Parang it looked as though the entire population of the island had assembled for the occasion. The native police were keeping clear a circle in which the dances were to take place, while the slanting132 trunks of the cocoanut-palms provided reserved seats for scores of tan and chocolate and coffee-colored youngsters. We were greeted by the Panglima of Parang, the overlord of the district, who explained, through Governor Rogers, that he had had prepared a little repast of which he hoped that we would deign133 to partake. Now, after you know some of the secrets of Moro cooking and have had a glimpse into a Moro kitchen, even the most robust134 appetite is usually dampened. But the Governor whispered "The old man has gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this show and if you refuse to eat his food he'll be [20]mortally offended," so, purely135 in the interests of amity136, we seated ourselves at the table, which had been set under the palms in the open. I don't know what we ate and I don't care to know—though I admit that I had some uneasy suspicions—but, with the uncompromising eye of the old Panglima fixed137 sternly upon us, we did our best to convince him that we appreciated his cuisine138.
But the dancing which followed made us forget what we had eaten. During the ensuing months we were to see dances in many lands—in Borneo and Bali and Java and Siam and Cambodia—but they were all characterized by a certain monotony and sameness. These Moro dancers, however, were in a class by themselves. If they could be brought across the ocean and would dance before an audience on Broadway with the same savage93 abandon with which they danced before the camera under the palm-trees of Parang, there would be a line a block long in front of the box-office. One of the dances was symbolical139 of a cock-fight, the cocks being personified by a young woman and a boy. It was sheer barbarism, of course, but it was fascinating. And the curious thing about it was that the hundreds of Moros who stood and squatted140 in a great circle, and who had doubtless seen the same thing scores of times before, were so engrossed141 in the movements of the dance, each of which had its subtle shade of meaning, that they became utterly142 oblivious143 to our presence or to Hawkinson's steady grinding of the camera. In the war-dance the participants, who were Moro fighting men, and were armed with spears, shields, and [21]the vicious, broad-bladed knives known as barongs, gave a highly realistic representation of pinning an enemy to the earth with a spear, and with the barong decapitating him. The first part of the dance, before the passions of the savages became aroused, was, however, monotonous144 and uninteresting.
"Can't you stir 'em up a little?" called Hawkinson, who, like all camera men, demands constant action. "Tell 'em that this film costs money and that we didn't come here to take pictures of Loie Fuller stuff."
"I think it might be as well to let them take their time about it," remarked Captain Link. "These Moros always get very much worked up in their war-dances, and occasionally they forget that it is all make-believe and send a spear into a spectator. It's safer to leave them alone. They're very temperamental."
"That would make a corking145 picture," said Hawkinson enthusiastically, "if I only knew which fellow was going to be speared so that I could get the camera focussed on him."
"The only trouble is," I remarked dryly, "that they might possibly pick out you."
In Spanish bull-fights, after the banderillos and picadores have tormented146 the bull until it is exhausted, the matador147 flaunts148 a scarlet149 cloak in front of the beast until it is bewildered and then despatches it with a sword. In Moroland, however, the bulls, which are bred and trained for the purpose, do their best to kill each other, thus making the fight a much more [22]sporting proposition. The bull-fight which was arranged for our benefit at Parang was staged in a field of about two acres just outside the town, the spectators being kept at a safe distance by a troop of Moro horsemen under the direction of the old Panglima. After Hawkinson had set up his camera on the edge of this extemporized150 arena151 the bulls were brought in: medium-sized but exceptionally powerful beasts, the muscles rippling152 under their sleek153 brown coats, their short horns filed to the sharpness of lance-tips. Each animal was led by its owner, who was able to control it to a limited degree during the fight by means of a cord attached to the ring in its nose. When the signal was given for the fight to begin, the bulls approached each other cautiously, snorting and pawing the ground. They reminded me of two strange dogs who cannot decide whether they wish to fight or be friends. For ten minutes, regardless of the jeers154 of the spectators and the proddings of their handlers, the great brown beasts rubbed heads as amicably155 as a yoke156 of oxen. Then, just as we had made up our minds that it was a fiasco and that there would be no bull-fight pictures, there was a sudden angry bellow157, the two great heads came together with a thud like a pile-driver, and the fight was on. The next twenty minutes Hawkinson and I spent in alternately setting up his camera within range of the panting, straining animals and in picking it up and running for our lives, in order to avoid being trampled158 by the maddened beasts in their furious and unexpected onslaughts. [23]The men at the ends of the nose-ropes were as helpless to control their infuriated charges as a trout159 fisherman who has hooked a shark. With horns interlocked and with blood and sweat dripping from their massive necks and shoulders, they fought each other, step by step, across the width of the arena, across a cultivated field which lay beyond, burst through a thorn hedge surrounding a native's patch of garden, trampled the garden into mire160, and narrowly escaped bringing down on top of them the owner's dwelling, which, like most Moro houses, was raised above the ground on stilts. It looked for a time as though the fight would continue over a considerable portion of the island, but it was brought to an abrupt39 conclusion when one of the bulls, withdrawing a few yards, to gain momentum161, charged like a tank attacking the Hindenburg Line, driving one of its horns deep into its adversary's eye-socket, whereupon the wounded animal, half-blinded and mad with pain, turned precipitately162, jerked the nose-rope from its owner's grasp, and stampeding the spectators in its mad flight, disappeared in the depths of the jungle.
"That," announced the Governor, "concludes the morning performance. This afternoon we will present for your approval a programme consisting of pony races, a carabao fight, a shark-fishing expedition, and, if time permits, a visit to the pearl-fisheries to see the divers163 at work. This evening we will call on the Princess Fatimah, the daughter of the Sultan, and [24]tomorrow I have arranged to take you to Tapul Island to shoot wild carabao. After that——"
"After that," I interrupted, "we go away from here. If we stayed on in this quiet little island of yours much longer, we shouldn't have any film left for the other places."
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dwelling
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fragrance
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doorway
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brass
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crimson
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specimen
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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10
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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11
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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12
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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13
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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14
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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15
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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16
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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17
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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18
discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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19
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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20
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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21
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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22
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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23
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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24
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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25
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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26
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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27
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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28
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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29
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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30
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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31
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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32
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33
humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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34
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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35
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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36
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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37
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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38
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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39
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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40
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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41
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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42
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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43
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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44
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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45
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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46
atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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47
vessels
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|
| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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48
curtail
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| vt.截短，缩短；削减 | |
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49
itinerary
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|
| n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划 | |
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50
perfectly
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|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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51
inaccessible
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|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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52
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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53
territorial
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|
| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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54
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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55
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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56
utilize
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| vt.使用，利用 | |
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57
winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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58
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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59
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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60
legitimate
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|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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61
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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62
provincial
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|
| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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63
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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64
jack
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|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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65
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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66
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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67
trifling
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|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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68
glistening
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|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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69
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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70
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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71
census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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72
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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73
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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74
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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75
credence
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|
| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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76
allayed
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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78
stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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79
enumerate
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|
| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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80
defiance
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|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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81
outlaw
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|
| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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82
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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83
sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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84
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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85
enumeration
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|
| n.计数，列举；细目；详表；点查 | |
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86
lithe
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|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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87
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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88
tabloid
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| adj.轰动性的，庸俗的；n.小报，文摘 | |
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89
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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90
surmounted
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|
| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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91
transit
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|
| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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92
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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93
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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94
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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95
candidly
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|
| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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96
jurisdiction
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|
| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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97
frail
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|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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98
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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99
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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100
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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101
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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102
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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103
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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104
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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105
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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106
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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107
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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108
rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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109
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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110
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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111
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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112
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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113
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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114
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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115
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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116
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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117
inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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118
wagers
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| n.赌注，用钱打赌( wager的名词复数 )v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的第三人称单数 )；保证，担保 | |
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119
mascot
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| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
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120
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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121
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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122
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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123
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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124
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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125
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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126
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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127
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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128
bloodied
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| v.血污的( bloody的过去式和过去分词 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
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129
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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130
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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131
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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132
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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133
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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134
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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135
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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137
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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138
cuisine
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| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
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139
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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140
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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141
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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142
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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143
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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145
corking
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| adj.很好的adv.非常地v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的现在分词 ) | |
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146
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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matador
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| n.斗牛士 | |
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148
flaunts
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的第三人称单数 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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149
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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150
extemporized
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| v.即兴创作，即席演奏( extemporize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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153
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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154
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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156
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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157
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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158
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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159
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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160
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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161
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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162
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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163
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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