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 they have proven their worth over a period of time in terms of being good writers, thoughtful editors, kind and helpful to others, the kinds of values that we look for in an administrator.

And the administrators have the ability to do things like temporarily lock pages. We can do that in a couple of different ways. One of the ways that has been very successful is what we call to semiprotect a page, which means anyone can edit that page as long as they have been around and had an account at Wikipedia for 4 days, a very low threshold for entry into participation. But this really helps us in cases where a particular article has been highlighted in a news story or something like this and there are a lot of newcomers coming in and things like that.

Certain articles on very controversial topics tend to be semi-protected pretty much all of the time. An example would be George W. Bush, for example.

Chairman. Right. Let me understand, this is really interesting. The administrator is empowered to essentially make a judgment call if the administrator thinks that a page may be subject to piling on or any thing else, because it is controversial?

Mr. . That is right. And a lot of times we try to keep this to be something of a cooling off period. In other words, something has been in the news, we will semi-protect it for a few days until everybody relaxes a little bit. And there are over a 1,000 active administrators in the English Wikipedia. And of course, they have conversations and discussions and disputes amongst themselves over whether things should be protected or unprotected.

Occasionally some brave soul will say I think we should unprotect the George W. Bush article, they unprotect it, and say I will watch and make sure there is no vandalism. And usually about 6 hours later they are exhausted and protect it again and go to sleep.

So there are some areas of high potential for pranksters and people like that, that end up semi-protected most of the time.

We also have the ability to block IP numbers. So if there is some form of misbehavior and where it is coming from—the typical case would be a high school, a parliament building, this sort of thing. That’s a joke, actually, although it has happened.

We will see some sort of juvenile behavior. And normally what we do in a case like that, is we just simply block that IP number from editing Wikipedia for 24 hours or so. Hopefully that will just calm them down. So that is another sort of tool in our pack.

We have things like recent changes, so there are people who monitor every change that is coming in. Individual users have personalized watch lists. So if you are a particular expert on birds, for example. I met a scientist at Cornell University who is an ornithologist. He monitors a lot of the bird articles. He does not have time to do it personally everyday, but about once a week he said he comes in and checks out a lot of the bird articles. And he can quickly look at the change, just the change in the article. Rather than him to reread the whole thing from scratch, he can quickly see what has changed since the last time he has been there to make sure it seems suitable to him.

So all of those kinds of tools are important, but probably one of the most important tools of all is that the entire history if every


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 The Puritan suggest the type. Even in their irresponsibility these figures had a touch of Irish tartness and realism; but the type has been too much insisted on to the exclusion of others equally national and interesting. To one of these it is worth while to draw attention. At intervals during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries there has appeared a peculiar kind of Irishman. He is so unlike the English image of Ireland that the English have actually fallen back on the pretence that he was not Irish at all. The type is commonly Protestant; and sometimes seems to be almost in its acrid instinct for judging itself. Its nationalism only appears when it flings itself with even bitterer pleasure into judging the foreigner or the invader. The first and greatest of such figures was Swift. Thackeray simply denied that Swift was an Irishman, because he was not a stage Irishman. He was not (in the English novelist's opinion) winning and agreeable enough to be Irish. The truth is that Swift was much too harsh and disagreeable to be English. There is a great deal of Jonathan Swift in Bernard Shaw. Shaw is like Swift, for instance, in combining extravagant fancy with a curious sort of coldness. But he is

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 article is kept in the database with very rare exceptions. Occasionally, we completely delete things from the database, privacy violations or other legal reasons. But typically if it is simply a bad version of an article or something like that, the old versions are there. And so if somebody comes in and begins to damage an article, it is typically one click for anyone to go back in and save the previous version as the current version. And so it is hard to do any damage at Wikipedia. Whenever you come in and make a change, you are actually just creating a new version. And if you have done some harm, someone can quickly come behind you and fix it.

Chairman. Very interesting. I presume though, it is a different kind of activity that you would say some of those methods you have for protecting the integrity of the system are also relevant for collaborative technologies used by the Federal Government?

Mr. . Absolutely. Some of these techniques are not necessarily as useful in internal facing wikis. If you have an internal wiki and everybody who is editing it is logged in and they are an employee, typically you do not need to block them from editing. You fire them or whatever you need to do to tell them to stop misbehaving.

But other of the tools, for example, the history. You can easily have people who disagree and someone will say you made these edits to this article, but I do not feel that it really improved it. I am going to go back to the previous version and then let us go to the talk page and hash this out.

So these kinds of tools are applicable for internal wikis and external, but a lot of the concepts may be valuable outside even the wiki framework. The idea of understanding that if you can generate a thoughtful community, you can have that community do a lot of the policing that otherwise it would not be cost effective to do.

A similar example would be Craig’s List. People post advertisements there, free advertisements. And the staff at Craig’s List is really too small to really supervise and monitor everything. But their community can simply, if you see something that is spam or is somehow inappropriate, they can simply flag it and if it gets flagged a certain number of times it just disappears. Overall, this does a pretty good job. And those are the kinds of techniques that I think we are going to be exploring in the industry over the next few years.

Chairman. That is fascinating and encouraging because there is a kind of confidence there based on some experience you have had that in the end the better part of human nature prevails.

Mr. . Well, one of the classic examples I always give is to imagine that you are going to design a restaurant. And you think to yourself in this restaurant we are going to be serving steak. And since we are serving steak, the customers will have access to knives. And when people have access to knives, they might stab each other. So to design our restaurant, we are going to put everybody inside a cage.

Well, this makes a bad society. That is not the kind of open society we want to live in. But unfortunately, when people are engag-


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 George Bernard Shaw most like Swift in that very quality which Thackeray said was impossible in an Irishman, benevolent bullying, a pity touched with contempt, and a habit of knocking men down for their own good. Characters in novels are often described as so amiable that they hate to be thanked. It is not an amiable quality, and it is an extremely rare one; but Swift possessed it. When Swift was buried the Dublin poor came in crowds and wept by the grave of the broadest and most freehanded of their benefactors. Swift deserved the public tribute; but he might have writhed and kicked in his grave at the thought of receiving it. There is in something of the same inhumane humanity. Irish history has offered a third instance of this particular type of educated and Protestant Irishman, sincere, unsympathetic, aggressive, alone. I mean Parnell; and with him also a bewildered England tried the desperate dodge of saying that he was not Irish at all. As if any thinkable sensible snobbish Englishman would ever have defied all the  by disdaining the House of Commons! Despite the difference between taciturnity and a torrent of fluency there is much in common also be-


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 The Puritan tween Shaw and Parnell; something in common even in the figures of the two men, in the bony bearded faces with their almost Satanic It will not do to pretend that none of these three men belong to their own nation; but it is true that they belonged to one special, though recurring, type of that nation. And they all three have this peculiar mark, that while Nationalists in their various ways they all give to the more genial English one common impression; I mean the impression that they do not so much love Ireland as hate England.

I will not dogmatise upon the difficult question as to whether there is any religious significance in the fact that these three rather ruthless Irishmen were Protestant Irishmen. I incline to think myself that the Catholic Church has added charity and gentleness to the virtues of a people which would otherwise have been too keen and contemptuous, too aristocratic. But however this may be, there can surely be no question that Bernard Shaw's Protestant education in a Catholic country has made a great deal of difference to his mind. It has affected it in two ways, the first negative and the second positive. It has affected him by cutting him off (as we have said) from the


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 George Bernard Shaw fields and fountains of his real home and history; by making him an Orangeman. And it has affected him by the particular colour of the particular religion which he received; by making him a Puritan.

In one of his numerous prefaces he says, "I have always been on the side of the Puritans in the matter of Art"; and a closer study will, I think, reveal that he is on the side of the Puritans in almost everything. Puritanism was not a mere code of cruel regulations, though some of its regulations were more cruel than any that have disgraced Europe. Nor was Puritanism a mere nightmare, an evil shadow of eastern gloom and fatalism, though this element did enter it, and was as it were the symptom and punishment of its essential error. Something much nobler (even if almost equally mistaken) was the original energy in the Puritan creed. And it must be defined with a little more delicacy if we are really to understand the attitude of, who is the greatest of the modern Puritans and perhaps the last.

I should roughly define the first spirit in Puritanism thus. It was a refusal to contemplate God or goodness with anything lighter or milder than the most fierce concentration


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 The Puritan of the intellect. A Puritan meant originally a man whose mind had no holidays. To use his own favourite phrase, he would let no living thing come between him and his God; an attitude which involved eternal torture for him and a cruel contempt for all the living things. It was better to worship in a barn than in a cathedral for the specific and specified reason that the cathedral was beautiful. Physical beauty was a false and sensual symbol coming in between the intellect and the object of its intellectual worship. The human brain ought to be at every instant a consuming fire which burns through all conventional images until they were as transparent as glass.

This is the essential Puritan idea, that God can only be praised by direct contemplation of Him. You must praise God only with your brain; it is wicked to praise Him with your passions or your physical habits or your gesture or instinct of beauty. Therefore it is wicked to worship by singing or dancing or drinking sacramental wines or building beautiful churches or saying prayers when you are half asleep. We must not worship by dancing, drinking, building or singing; we can only worship by thinking. Our heads can praise God, but never our hands and feet. That


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 ing in web design, this is often exactly the kind of thinking that they have. They think of all of the bad things that people might do and design everything around those worst case scenarios rather than saying, oh you know what, let us keep things as open as we can and wait until we see the bad behavior and then think about what to do about it. We call the police. We get an ambulance. Or in a digital context we simply change it back to the old version.

Chairman LIEBERMAN. I am going to stop now and yield to Senator Akaka. Thanks again for being here.

Senator AKAKA. Thank you very much, Mr. Chairman, for holding this important hearing on implementation and reauthorization of the E–Government Act. I have been a strong advocate for transparency in government as well as for privacy for all Americans. We need to continue to keep emphasizing privacy and expanding access to appropriate government information.

That is where I come from. And I want to thank the Chairman for what he is doing along these lines and working hard at it.

I would like to ask the first question to Karen Evans from OMB, and tell you that making government information more available to the public by posting it online is important for government transparency. However, I am concerned that information in Federal forms posted online are often written in, let me put it this way, bureaucratic language that is difficult for many Americans to understand. This can be especially burdensome for those helping people to access the information online, especially librarians.

What steps is OMB taking to ensure that government information posted online is clear, well organized, and readily understandable?

Ms. . Well, sir, it is good to see you again, thank you.

Senator. Thank you for being here.

Ms. . I believe that our current policies that we have issued dealing with the implementation of the E–Government Act speaks to that very issue about talking about having information out there accessible, easily to find, and easily understandable. How the agencies have actually gone about that and executed that is what we are discussing more today.

I believe that the Federal CIO Council, which was also codified through this Act, has a leadership role in this as well as the Web forum that we have established through USA.gov, that they then work on best practices. They continuously put together toolkits for content managers for agencies to put that information out. But based on many of these things that my colleagues have said today, I believe we will have to go back and revisit many of those to see if we really are doing it in the best way that we can, or should they be updated so that things are going out in a way that citizens understand them and can easily find them.

Senator. I would like to follow up by asking Mr. Wales about your thoughts on this kind of an organization. I was interested to hear the Chairman use the word ‘‘wiki.’’ And as you know, in Hawaiian that means to hurry up or do it quickly. And when I saw pedia, I was thinking of walking fast. But it is along the line of encyclopedias and of course, the whole thing comes to me as


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 George Bernard Shaw is the true and original impulse of the Puritans. There is a great deal to be said for it, and a great deal was said for it in Great Britain steadily for two hundred years. It has gradually decayed in England and Scotland, not because of the advance of modern thought (which means nothing), but because of the slow revival of the mediaeval energy and character in the two peoples. The English were always hearty and humane, and they have made up their minds to be hearty and humane in spite of the Puritans. The result is that Dickens and W. W. Jacobs have picked up the tradition of Chaucer and Robin Hood. The Scotch were always romantic, and they have made up their minds to be romantic in spite of the Puritans. The result is that Scott and Stevenson have picked up the tradition of Bruce, Blind Harry and the vagabond Scottish kings. England has become English again; Scotland has become Scottish again, in spite of the splendid incubus, the noble nightmare of Calvin. There is only one place in the British Islands where one may naturally expect to find still surviving in its fulness the fierce detachment of the true Puritan. That place is the Protestant part of Ireland. The Orange Calvinists can be disturbed by no


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   national resurrection, for they have no nation. In them, if in any people, will be found the rectangular consistency of the Calvinist. The Irish Protestant rioters are at least immeasurably finer fellows than any of their brethren in England. They have the two enormous superiorities: first, that the Irish Protestant rioters really believe in Protestant theology; and second, that the Irish Protestant rioters do really riot. Among these people, if anywhere, should be found the cult of theological clarity combined with barbarous external simplicity. Among these people Bernard Shaw was born.

There is at least one outstanding fact about the man we are studying; Bernard Shaw is never frivolous. He never gives his opinions a holiday; he is never irresponsible even for an instant. He has no nonsensical second self which he can get into as one gets into a dressing-gown; that ridiculous disguise which is yet more real than the real person. That collapse and humorous confession of futility was much of the force in Charles Lamb and in Stevenson. There is nothing of this in Shaw; his wit is never a weakness; therefore it is never a sense of humour. For wit is always connected with the idea that truth is close and


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   clear. Humour, on the other hand, is always connected with the idea that truth is tricky and mystical and easily mistaken. What Charles Lamb said of the Scotchman is far truer of this type of Puritan Irishman; he does not see things suddenly in a new light; all his brilliancy is a blindingly rapid calculation and deduction. Bernard Shaw never said an indefensible thing; that is, he never said a thing that he was not prepared brilliantly to defend. He never breaks out into that cry beyond reason and conviction, that cry of Lamb when he cried, "We would indict our dreams!" or of Stevenson, "Shall we never shed blood?" In short he is not a humorist, but a great wit, almost as great as Voltaire. Humour is akin to agnosticism, which is only the negative side of mysticism. But pure wit is akin to Puritanism; to the perfect and painful consciousness of the final fact in the universe. Very briefly, the man who sees the consistency in things is a wit—and a Calvinist. The man who sees the inconsistency in things is a humorist—and a Catholic. However this may be, Bernard Shaw exhibits all that is purest in the Puritan; the desire to see truth face to face even if it slay us, the high impatience with irrelevant sentiment or obstruc-


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   tive symbol; the constant effort to keep the soul at its highest pressure and speed. His instincts upon all social customs and questions are Puritan. His favourite author is Bunyan.

But along with what was inspiring and direct in Puritanism Bernard Shaw has inherited also some of the things that were cumbersome and traditional. If ever Shaw exhibits a prejudice it is always a Puritan prejudice. For Puritanism has not been able to sustain through three centuries that native ecstasy of the direct contemplation of truth; indeed it was the whole mistake of Puritanism to imagine for a moment that it could. One cannot be serious for three hundred years. In institutions built so as to endure for ages you must have relaxation, symbolic relativity and healthy routine. In eternal temples you must have frivolity. You must "be at ease in Zion" unless you are only paying it a flying visit.

By the middle of the nineteenth century this old austerity and actuality in the Puritan vision had fallen away into two principal lower forms. The first is a sort of idealistic garrulity upon which Bernard Shaw has made fierce and on the whole fruitful war. Perpetual talk about righteousness and unselfish-


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   ness, about things that should elevate and things which cannot but degrade, about social purity and true Christian manhood, all poured out with fatal fluency and with very little reference to the real facts of anybody's soul or salary—into this weak and lukewarm torrent has melted down much of that mountainous ice which sparkled in the seventeenth century, bleak indeed, but blazing. The hardest thing of the seventeenth century bids fair to be the softest thing of the twentieth.

Of all this sentimental and deliquescent Puritanism Bernard Shaw has always been the antagonist; and the only respect in which it has soiled him was that he believed for only too long that such sloppy idealism was the whole idealism of Christendom and so used "idealist" itself as a term of reproach. But there were other and negative effects of Puritanism which he did not escape so completely. I cannot think that he has wholly escaped that element in Puritanism which may fairly bear the title of the taboo. For it is a singular fact that although extreme Protestantism is dying in elaborate and over-refined civilisation, yet it is the barbaric patches of it that live longest and die last. Of the creed of John Knox the modern Protestant has abandoned


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   the civilised part and retained only the savage part. He has given up that great and systematic philosophy of Calvinism which had much in common with modern science and strongly resembles ordinary and recurrent determinism. But he has retained the accidental veto upon cards or comic plays, which Knox only valued as mere proof of his people's concentration on their theology. All the awful but sublime affirmations of Puritan theology are gone. Only savage negations remain; such as that by which in Scotland on every seventh day the creed of fear lays his finger on all hearts and makes an evil silence in the streets.

By the middle of the nineteenth century when Shaw was born this dim and barbaric element in Puritanism, being all that remained of it, had added another taboo to its philosophy of taboos; there had grown up a mystical horror of those fermented drinks which are part of the food of civilised mankind. Doubtless many persons take an extreme line on this matter solely because of some calculation of social harm; many, but not all and not even most. Many people think that paper money is a mistake and does much harm. But they do not shudder or snigger when they see a


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   cheque-book. They do not whisper with unsavoury slyness that such and such a man was "seen" going into a bank. I am quite convinced that the English aristocracy is the curse of England, but I have not noticed either in myself or others any disposition to ostracise a man simply for accepting a peerage, as the modern Puritans would certainly ostracise him (from any of their positions of trust) for accepting a drink. The sentiment is certainly very largely a mystical one, like the sentiment about the seventh day. Like the Sabbath, it is defended with sociological reasons; but those reasons can be simply and sharply tested. If a Puritan tells you that all humanity should rest once a week, you have only to propose that they should rest on Wednesday. And if a Puritan tells you that he does not object to beer but to the tragedies of excess in beer, simply propose to him that in prisons and workhouses (where the amount can be absolutely regulated) the inmates should have three glasses of beer a day. The Puritan cannot call that excess; but he will find something to call it. For it is not the excess he objects to, but the beer. It is a transcendental taboo, and it is one of the two or three positive and painful prejudices with which


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   Bernard Shaw began. A similar severity of outlook ran through all his earlier attitude towards the drama; especially towards the lighter or looser drama. His Puritan teachers could not prevent him from taking up theatricals, but they made him take theatricals seriously. All his plays were indeed "plays for Puritans." All his criticisms quiver with a refined and almost tortured contempt for the indulgencies of ballet and burlesque, for the tights and the double entente. He can endure lawlessness but not levity. He is not repelled by the divorces and the adulteries as he is by the "splits." And he has always been foremost among the fierce modern critics who ask indignantly, "Why do you object to a thing full of sincere philosophy like The Wild Duck while you tolerate a mere dirty joke like The Spring Chicken?" I do not think he has ever understood what seems to me the very sensible answer of the man in the street, "I laugh at the dirty joke of The Spring Chicken because it is a joke. I criticise the philosophy of The Wild Duck because it is a philosophy."

Shaw does not do justice to the democratic ease and sanity on this subject; but indeed, whatever else he is, he is not democratic. As an Irishman he is an aristocrat, as a Calvinist


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   he is a soul apart; he drew the breath of his nostrils from a land of fallen principalities and proud gentility, and the breath of his spirit from a creed which made a wall of crystal around the elect. The two forces between them produced this potent and slender figure, swift, scornful, dainty and full of dry magnanimity; and it only needed the last touch of oligarchic mastery to be given by the overwhelming oligarchic atmosphere of our present age. Such was the Puritan Irishman who stepped out into the world. Into what kind of world did he step?


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! English. ! Chinese. ! Characters. ! Remarks.
 * Tanjong Malim
 * Phu-lo on-nam
 * 浮勞安南
 * Phonetic, probably from some Malay name. (? Pulau Anam.)
 * Tanjong Rambutan
 * Hung-mo tan
 * 紅毛丹
 * This is usual Chinese for the Rambutan fruit. Hung-mo or ang-mo red-haired, so the Chinaman has been happy in his choice of of a name for this fruit.
 * Tapah
 * Ta-pa
 * 打巴
 * Tekka Menglembu
 * Man-li-mong
 * 萬里望
 * Teluk Anson
 * Sz-ma-tang
 * 司馬登
 * This is the Chinese version of Sa'batang. The old port was Durian Sa'batang 3 miles from the present town, the Chinese however still use the old name. I have heard An-sun used on a few occasions.
 * Temoh
 * Luk-chi-pei
 * 六枝碑
 * i.e. Six mile-stones, because Temoh is six miles from Kampar on the road to Tapah.
 * Tronoh
 * Tun-lok
 * 端洛
 * }
 * Temoh
 * Luk-chi-pei
 * 六枝碑
 * i.e. Six mile-stones, because Temoh is six miles from Kampar on the road to Tapah.
 * Tronoh
 * Tun-lok
 * 端洛
 * }
 * }
 * }


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MP/pt 24-25 The President: I thank the representative of China for the kind words he addressed to me.

I shall now make a statement in my capacity as the representative of Romania.

I pledge the full support of my country for the draft resolution before us.

Our position is based on the firm belief that neither the use nor the threat of force should be resorted to for the settlement of international disputes. All disputes between States, irrespective of their nature, should be solved only by peaceful means. We are confident that implementation of the draft resolution we are called upon to adopt will restore peace in the region. We express the hope that the two States involved in the conflict will do their utmost to respect in good faith the principles of the United Nations Charter.

I now resume my functions as President of the Council.


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! English. ! Chinese. ! Characters. ! Remarks.
 * Selibin
 * Süt-li-ping
 * 雪厚冰
 * Siputeh
 * Pu-tei
 * 步地
 * Slim
 * Su-lam
 * 上林
 * Sungei Raia
 * Sung-kai la-ye
 * 雙溝罅爺
 * Sungei Siput (near Kuala Kangsar)
 * Wo Fung kai-cheung
 * 和豐街場
 * 'Wo Fung' was a big mining kongsi here: Kai-cheung means 'town' or more literally 'street-area.'
 * Sungei Siput (near Kampar)
 * Shek-san-keuk
 * 石山脚
 * 'The foot of the (lime)stone hill.' The mines are at the foot of a limestone cliff.
 * Sungkai
 * Süng-khai
 * 宋溪
 * Taipeng
 * Thai-peng
 * 太平
 * Also Phek-lik-tsai.
 * Tembun
 * Tam-mun
 * 淡問
 * }
 * Sungkai
 * Süng-khai
 * 宋溪
 * Taipeng
 * Thai-peng
 * 太平
 * Also Phek-lik-tsai.
 * Tembun
 * Tam-mun
 * 淡問
 * }
 * Tam-mun
 * 淡問
 * }
 * }


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! English. ! Chinese. ! Characters. ! Remarks.
 * Matang
 * Ma-tang
 * 馬豋
 * Padang Rengas
 * Siu-san
 * 燒山
 * Burning hill, because lime stone used to be burnt here for lime.
 * Papan
 * Kap-pan
 * 甲板
 * Parit Buntar
 * Ko-yin
 * 高煙
 * Ko-yin is simply Krian; another name is sin-ba-lai meaning the new 'balai' or Police Station, in distinction to that at Nibong Tebal over the border.
 * Polai
 * Po-lai
 * 賴 [sic]
 * Pusing
 * Pu-sing
 * 布星
 * Salak
 * Sha-lak
 * 沙叻
 * Selama
 * Sü-lam-ma
 * 絲南孖
 * }
 * Pu-sing
 * 布星
 * Salak
 * Sha-lak
 * 沙叻
 * Selama
 * Sü-lam-ma
 * 絲南孖
 * }
 * Selama
 * Sü-lam-ma
 * 絲南孖
 * }
 * }


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! English. ! Chinese. ! Characters. ! Remarks.
 * Kinta
 * Tai-phek-lik
 * 大吡叻
 * i.e. Big Perak, as distinct from Larut which is Siu-phek-lik or little Perak. The Tiechius call it Toa-pe-lak.
 * Kota
 * Ku-ta
 * 古打
 * Kota Bahru
 * Ku-ta ma-lu
 * 古打馬路
 * Krian
 * Ko-yin
 * 高煙
 * This name is also applied to Nibong Tebal in Province Wellesley.
 * Kuala Kangsa
 * Phu-lo kong-sau
 * 浮勞江秀
 * Kuala Dipang
 * Mi-phang
 * 美棚
 * Kurau
 * Ku-lau
 * 古樓
 * Lahat
 * Na-hat
 * 拿乞
 * Larut
 * Siu-phek-lik
 * 小吡叻
 * The Tiechius call it 'Sio-pe-lak', and this is more nearly the sound of the characters.
 * }
 * Kurau
 * Ku-lau
 * 古樓
 * Lahat
 * Na-hat
 * 拿乞
 * Larut
 * Siu-phek-lik
 * 小吡叻
 * The Tiechius call it 'Sio-pe-lak', and this is more nearly the sound of the characters.
 * }
 * Siu-phek-lik
 * 小吡叻
 * The Tiechius call it 'Sio-pe-lak', and this is more nearly the sound of the characters.
 * }


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! English. ! Chinese. ! Characters. ! Remarks.
 * that formerly there were two Kampongs, one called Ipoh and the other Paloh. In Wilkinson's Dictionary Paloh is given as meaning "a hollow filled with stagnant water" while 'Ipoh' means 'upas-tree'. The Europeans and Hokkien Chinese called the town which was subsequently built, Ipoh, while to the Cantonese and Khehs the place became known as Pa-lo.
 * Kampar
 * Kam-po
 * 金寶
 * Kampong Kepayang
 * Kam-pong Pan-yang
 * 金榜班映
 * Kamunting
 * San-kong-mun
 * 新港門
 * i.e. New district. This name was given by the Chinese to Kamunting because mines were opened there later than near Taipeng. Kamunting is about 3 miles from Taipeng.
 * }
 * Kam-pong Pan-yang
 * 金榜班映
 * Kamunting
 * San-kong-mun
 * 新港門
 * i.e. New district. This name was given by the Chinese to Kamunting because mines were opened there later than near Taipeng. Kamunting is about 3 miles from Taipeng.
 * }
 * i.e. New district. This name was given by the Chinese to Kamunting because mines were opened there later than near Taipeng. Kamunting is about 3 miles from Taipeng.
 * }


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Page:An Icelandic-English Dictionary - Cleasby & Vigfusson - 1874.djvu/11

HIS work is a Dictionary of the Old Icelandic Language, or (as it may be called) the Classical Language of the Scandinavian race.

The history of the preservation of this language in its ancient form is remarkable.

The Icelandic language, in old writers also called the Norse or the Danish (Noræna or Dönsk tunga), was spoken by the four great branches of the Scandinavian race who peopled the countries abutting on the Baltic, the Norsemen or Northmen, Swedes, Danes,  and Goths (Norðmenn, Svíar, Danir, and Gautar), as well as by the inhabitants of those parts of Northern Russia which were then known by the name of Gardar.

At the beginning of the 9th century the growing population of these countries, together with political changes and the naturally enterprising character of the people, caused a great outward movement of the race. Under the leading of their chieftains they set forth to seek for homes in other lands; and thus the 9th century came to be known by the name of the Age of the Vikings (Víkinga-Öld). The stream of emigration increased in volume, as tidings of the successes of the first adventurers reached the northern shores. The Swedes continued to press eastward into the countries beyond the Baltic, while the Danes and Norsemen steered boldly to the south and west, and chiefly to the shores of the British Isles.

Two main currents of this emigration by sea may be traced. First, the Danish, which directed its course to the north-east of England, and at length occupied that district so completely that it received the name of the Dena-lagu. The Saxon Chronicle is the chief authority for this part of the subject ; the only old Icelandic works which touch on it being the Egils Saga, which says that in the reign of Athelstan almost every family of note in Northern England was Danish by the father’s or the mother’s side; and the Ragnars Saga, which professes to give an historical account of the great Danish invasion, but is almost as mythical as the Iliad.

The second migration was Norse. These settlers gradually peopled the coasts of Ireland, the Isle of Man, the Orkneys and Shetland, and the northern counties of Scotland, Ross, Moray, and especially Caithness. In the year 852 the Norse sea-king Olave the White reached Ireland with a large fleet, and founded a Norse principality at Dublin: the foremost man among the Norsemen in Scotland was Earl Sigurd, uncle of Göngu-Hrolf. It is probable that to this same emigration must be referred the conquest and occupation of Normandy.

a 2


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 luscious scene, a singing-bird, were enough to allure his mind away from the most earnest and awful thoughts. He tried to think, but the river would not let him. It thundered and spouted out behind him from the hatches, and leapt madly past him, and caught his eyes in spite of him, and swept them away down its dancing waves, and then let them go again only to sweep them down again and again, till his brain felt a delicious dizziness from the everlasting rush and the everlasting roar. And then below, how it spread, and writhed, and whirled, into transparent fans, hissing and twining snakes, polished glass-wreaths, huge crystal bells, which boiled up from the bottom, and dived again beneath long threads of creamy foam, and swung round posts and roots, and rushed blackening under dark weed-fringed boughs, and gnawed at the marly banks, and shook the ever restless bulrushes, till it was swept away and down over the white pebbles and olive weeds, in one broad rippling sheet of molten silver, towards the distant sea. Downwards it fleeted ever, and bore his thoughts floating on its oily stream; and the great trout, with their yellow sides and peacock backs, lunged among the eddies, and the silver grayling dimpled and wandered-upon the shallows, and the may-flies flickered and rustled round him like water fairies, with their green gauzy wings; the coot clanked musically among the reeds; the frogs hummed their ceaseless vesper-monotone the kingfisher darted from his hole in the bank like a blue spark of electric light; the swallows' bills


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S. Hrg. 110–894


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 below Pongara, we pass Point Gombi, which is fitted with a lighthouse, a lively and conspicuous structure by day as well as night. It is perched on a knoll, close to the extremity of the long arm of low, sandy ground, and is painted black and white, in horizontal bands, which, in conjunction with its general figure, give it a pagoda-like appearance.

Alongside it are a white-painted, red-roofed house for the light-house keeper, and a store for its oil. The light is either a flashing or a revolving or a stationary one, when it is alight. One must be accurate about these things, and my knowledge regarding it is from information received, and amounts to the above. I cannot throw in any personal experience, because I have never passed it at night-time, and seen from Glass it seems just steady. Most lighthouses on this Coast give up fancy tricks, like flashing or revolving, pretty soon after they are established. Seventy-five per cent. of them are not alight half the time at all. "It's the climate." Gombi, however, you may depend on for being alight at night, and I have no hesitation in saying you can see it, when it is visible, seventeen miles out to sea, and that the knoll on which the lighthouse stands is a grass-covered sand cliff, about forty or fifty feet above sea-level. As we pass round Gombi point, the weather becomes distinctly rough, particularly at lunch-time. The Mové minds it less than her passengers, and stamps steadily along past the wooded shore, behind which shows a distant range of blue hills. Silence falls upon the black passengers, who assumne recumbent positions on the deck, and suffer. All the things from under the saloon seats come out and dance together, and play puss-in-the-corner, after the fashion of loose gear when there is any sea on.

As the night comes down, the scene becomes more and more picturesque. The moonlit sea, shimmering and breaking on the darkened shore, the black forest and the hills silhouetted against the star-powdered purple sky, and, at my feet, the engine-room stoke-hole, lit with the rose-coloured glow from its furnace, showing by the great wood fire the two nearly naked Krumen stokers, shining like polished bronze in their perspiration, as they throw in on to the fire the billets of red wood that look like freshly-cut chunks of flesh. The white engineer hovers round the mouth of the


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 pit, shouting down directions and ever and anon plunging down the little iron ladder to carry them out himself. At intervals he stands on the rail with his head craned round the edge of the sun deck to listen to the captain, who is up on the little deck above, for there is no telegraph to the engines, and our gallant commander's voice is not strong. While the white engineer is roosting on the rail, the black engineer comes partially up the ladder and gazes hard at me; so I give him a wad of tobacco, and he plainly regards me as inspired, for of course that was what he wanted. Remember that whenever you see a man, black or white, filled with a nameless longing, it is tobacco he requires. Grim despair accompanied by a gusty temper indicates something wrong with his pipe, in which case offer him a straightened-out hairpin. The black engineer having got his tobacco, goes below to the stoke-hole again and smokes a short clay as black and as strong as himself. The captain affects an immense churchwarden. How he gets through life, waving it about as he does, without smashing it every two minutes, I cannot make out.

At last we anchor for the night just inside Nazareth Bay, for Nazareth Bay wants daylight to deal with, being rich in low islands and sand shoals. We crossed the Equator this afternoon.

June 6th.—Off at daybreak into Nazareth Bay. Anxiety displayed by navigators, sounding taken on both sides of the bows with long bamboo poles painted in stripes, and we go "slow ahead" and "hard astern" successfully, until we get round a good-sized island, and there we stick until four o'clock, high water, when we come off all right, and steam triumphantly but cautiously into the Ogowé. The shores of Nazareth Bay are fringed with mangroves, but once in the river the scenery soon changes, and the waters are walled on either side with a forest rich in bamboo, oil and wine palms. These forest cliffs seem to rise right up out of the mirror-like brown water. Many of the highest trees are covered with clusters of brown-pink young shoots that look like flowers, and others are decorated by my old enemy the climbing palm, now bearing clusters of bright crimson berries. Climbing plants of other kinds are wreathing everything, some blossoming with mauve,


text: E-Government 2.0 - Improving Innovation, Collaboration, and Access


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MP/pt 23 (Mr. Lozinsky, USSR) The Soviet delegation believes that the Security Council must act immediately to eliminate this violation of international peace and security in a region where so many urgent conflicts still await solution.

We support the draft resolution submitted for the Security Council's consideration. We expect an immediate cessation of the armed invasion, the withdrawal of Iraqi troops and a renewal of negotiations between the countries, with the assistance of regional organizations.

The President: I thank the representative of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics for the words he addressed to me.

Mr. Li Daoyu (interpretation from Chinese): First of all, Sir, allow me to congratulate you upon your assumption of the presidency of the Security Council for this month. We believe that under your talented guidance the Security Council will register new achievements.

At the same time, I should like to express our thanks to the Permanent Representative of Malaysia for his successful guidance of the Council's work last month.

China has consistently held that disputes between States should be settled peacefully, not by force. My country enjoys friendly relations with both Iraq and Kuwait; we hope that they will live together in peace.

We regret the incident that took place in the early morning hours of 2 August, when Iraqi troops crossed the border and attacked Kuwait. Hostilities must cease immediately. Iraqi troops should be withdrawn to where they were before the event took place. We appeal to both countries to solve their differences peacefully: through negotiation.

China endorses the draft resolution before us.


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! style="text-align:center;" | English. ! style="text-align:center;" | Hokkien. ! style="text-align:center;" | Cantonese. ! style="text-align:center;" | Chinese Characters. ! style="text-align:center;" | Remarks as to Meaning.
 * 34 Sungei Lembing
 * Lim-beng
 * Lam-meng
 * 林明
 * 35 Tanjong Besar
 * Tan-yong
 * Tan-yung mut-sat
 * 丹容抹殺
 * 36 Tanom
 * Tan-lim
 * Tan-lam
 * 丹林
 * 37 Tebing Tinggi
 * Ti-peng
 * Tei-peng
 * 地冰
 * 38 Telang
 * Tok-leng
 * Tuk-lung
 * 獨龍
 * 39 Tembeling
 * Tan-bi-ling
 * Tün-puk-lin
 * 叚卜連
 * The characters do not represent the Hokkien sounds.
 * 40 Tranum
 * Bun-tong-khau
 * Man-tung hau
 * 文冬口
 * 'Bentong mouth.'
 * 41 Tras
 * To-lai
 * To-lai
 * 都孻
 * 42 Tui
 * Tui
 * Tui
 * 堆
 * The character in Cantonese is pronounced 'thui'.
 * 43 Ulu Dong
 * Long
 * Lung
 * 隆
 * 44 Ulu Jelai
 * O-lo jit-lai
 * Wu-lo yat-lai
 * 湖盧日黎
 * 45 Ulu Tembeling
 * O-lo tan-bi-ling
 * Wu-lo tün-puk-lin
 * 湖盧叚卜連
 * See under Tembeling above,
 * }
 * The character in Cantonese is pronounced 'thui'.
 * 43 Ulu Dong
 * Long
 * Lung
 * 隆
 * 44 Ulu Jelai
 * O-lo jit-lai
 * Wu-lo yat-lai
 * 湖盧日黎
 * 45 Ulu Tembeling
 * O-lo tan-bi-ling
 * Wu-lo tün-puk-lin
 * 湖盧叚卜連
 * See under Tembeling above,
 * }
 * O-lo tan-bi-ling
 * Wu-lo tün-puk-lin
 * 湖盧叚卜連
 * See under Tembeling above,
 * }


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! style="text-align:center;" | English. ! style="text-align:center;" | Hokkien. ! style="text-align:center;" | Cantonese. ! style="text-align:center;" | Chinese Characters. ! style="text-align:center;" | Remarks as to Meaning.
 * 24 Pedah
 * Mun-ta
 * Man-ta
 * 問打
 * 25 Pekan
 * Peh-kan
 * Pak-kan
 * 北根
 * 26 Perting
 * Po-li-teng
 * Po-lei-teng
 * 波匣頂
 * The name refers to the district where the Perting River joins the Bentong River and especially to the mine owned by the Tong Shun Kongsi.
 * 27 Pulau Tawar
 * Phu-lo ta-koa
 * Fu-lo ta-wa
 * 湖盧打哇
 * 28 Raub
 * Lah-ut
 * Lah-wut
 * 朥活
 * 29 Sega
 * Su-ga
 * Sz-nga
 * 士牙
 * 30 Selensing
 * Su-leng-seng
 * Sz-ling-seng
 * 士零星
 * 31 Semantan
 * Su-mian-tan
 * Sz-man-tan
 * 士免丹
 * Semantan Ulu though a different place is similarly named.
 * 32 Sempam
 * Sim-pan
 * Shim-pan
 * 蟾賓
 * The Chinese name is used for all that part of the district on the Sempam river between the lower part of Mr. Fraser's concession and the point where it flows into the River Semantan Ulu.
 * 33 Sepan
 * Chioh-pan
 * Shak-pan
 * 石班
 * }
 * Su-mian-tan
 * Sz-man-tan
 * 士免丹
 * Semantan Ulu though a different place is similarly named.
 * 32 Sempam
 * Sim-pan
 * Shim-pan
 * 蟾賓
 * The Chinese name is used for all that part of the district on the Sempam river between the lower part of Mr. Fraser's concession and the point where it flows into the River Semantan Ulu.
 * 33 Sepan
 * Chioh-pan
 * Shak-pan
 * 石班
 * }
 * 石班
 * }
 * }


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! style="text-align:center;" | English. ! style="text-align:center;" | Hokkien. ! style="text-align:center;" | Cantonese. ! style="text-align:center;" | Chinese Characters. ! style="text-align:center;" | Remarks as to Meaning.
 * 10. Burau
 * Mo-lai or Po-lai
 * Po-lai
 * 布瓈
 * 11 Chamang
 * Sam-meng
 * Sham-mang
 * 岑孟
 * 12 Cheka
 * Chek-kau
 * Chek-ko
 * 卽高
 * 13 Durian Sa batang
 * Liu-lian si-ba-tang
 * Lau-lin sz-ma-tang
 * 流連四答登
 * 14 Gali
 * Ga-li
 * Nga-lei
 * 牙利
 * 15 The Gap
 * Jih-it tiau
 * 廿一條
 * 'Twenty one mile stones' i.e., from Kwala Kubu.
 * Fan shui au
 * 分水凹
 * The Cantonese name means. [sic]
 * 16 Goa
 * Go
 * Ngo
 * 鵝
 * 17 Kechau
 * Kit-chhiu
 * Kat-chhau
 * 吉洲
 * 18 Kelola
 * Kia-lo-la.
 * Kei-lo-la
 * 寄羅鐳
 * The character for the third syllable is 'lui' not 'la'.
 * 19 Kuala Lipis
 * Lip-pi
 * Lip-pei
 * 立卑
 * 20 Kuala Medang
 * Kua-la mian-teng
 * Kua-la min-teng
 * 哇拉免丁
 * 21 Kuala Tembeling
 * Kua-la tan-bi-ling
 * Kua-la tün-pok-lin
 * 哇拉叚卜連
 * The characters do not represent the Hokkien sounds.
 * 22 Kuantan
 * Kuan-tan
 * Kwan-tan
 * 關丹
 * 23 Panggong
 * Mang-kang
 * Phang-kong
 * 崩江
 * }
 * Lip-pi
 * Lip-pei
 * 立卑
 * 20 Kuala Medang
 * Kua-la mian-teng
 * Kua-la min-teng
 * 哇拉免丁
 * 21 Kuala Tembeling
 * Kua-la tan-bi-ling
 * Kua-la tün-pok-lin
 * 哇拉叚卜連
 * The characters do not represent the Hokkien sounds.
 * 22 Kuantan
 * Kuan-tan
 * Kwan-tan
 * 關丹
 * 23 Panggong
 * Mang-kang
 * Phang-kong
 * 崩江
 * }
 * 23 Panggong
 * Mang-kang
 * Phang-kong
 * 崩江
 * }
 * 崩江
 * }
 * }


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{| style="margin:auto;" ! style="text-align:center;" | English. ! style="text-align:center;" | Chinese. ! style="text-align:center;" | Characters. ! style="text-align:center;" | Remarks.
 * 18. Telok Kemong
 * To-lo kam-pong
 * 哆羅金邦
 * colspan=2 style="text-align:center;" | District of Jelebu.
 * 1. Gunong Hantu
 * Khu-tung an-tu
 * 古洞晏都
 * 2. Jelebu
 * Ngi-lok-wu
 * 宜𠯿胡
 * 3. Jerang
 * Yi-lang
 * 魚冷
 * 4. Kenaboi
 * Kha-la-moi
 * 咖嗱美
 * 5. Kongoi
 * Kong-ngo
 * 江莪
 * 6. Kwala Klawang
 * Hung-mo-lau
 * 紅毛樓
 * 7. Peradong
 * Pa-tung
 * 吧洞
 * 8. Pertang
 * Bu-lo-tang
 * 武羅燈
 * 9. Semada
 * Seng kah lo-nga
 * 星架麗雅
 * 10. Sungei Kepong
 * Chim-ma-la
 * 占馬嗱
 * 11. Titi
 * Ti-chi kong
 * 地支港
 * 12. Titi Petalling
 * Ti-chi ku-ta-lin
 * 地支古打鄰
 * }
 * Pa-tung
 * 吧洞
 * 8. Pertang
 * Bu-lo-tang
 * 武羅燈
 * 9. Semada
 * Seng kah lo-nga
 * 星架麗雅
 * 10. Sungei Kepong
 * Chim-ma-la
 * 占馬嗱
 * 11. Titi
 * Ti-chi kong
 * 地支港
 * 12. Titi Petalling
 * Ti-chi ku-ta-lin
 * 地支古打鄰
 * }
 * 11. Titi
 * Ti-chi kong
 * 地支港
 * 12. Titi Petalling
 * Ti-chi ku-ta-lin
 * 地支古打鄰
 * }
 * Ti-chi ku-ta-lin
 * 地支古打鄰
 * }
 * }


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of soft grey leather, gave the first hint of the true nature of the affair. Pete Logan picked up the glove in this peculiar situation.

We had lost two pilots in two days; and they had been our best flyers. At ten o'clock, on Monday, Fred Selby had flown out to sea; and twenty minutes later, we found him under the wreck of his plane afloat on the ocean. At ten o'clock on Tuesday, Billy Kent had flown to the same place in the sky, when something Selby, and was killed.

We came upon Kent under the wreck of his plane in almost the identical position in which we had found Selby on the day before. It was off Cape May, about fifty miles at sea.

Pete and I, on this morning, had been flying separately when we sighted the wreckage and we both brought our machines down to the sea beside it.

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 Naturally, it gave us something of a start to see Billy Kent lying exactly where we had discovered Selby twenty-four hours earlier. Pete climbed aboard the wreck; and after making examination, he looked a bit white.

"What's doing this?" he asked me. "Selby yesterday; Billy today, at the same time, in the same place."

"Selby's wing crumpled from a structural weakness," I repeated, loyally, the report which had been officially rendered in regard to yesterday's accident. "Billy's must have been weak too."

"Are your wings weak? Or mine?" said Pete. We both had been flying seaplanes identical with Kent's. "You don't believe it; and neither do I. Structural weaknesses don't break wings in exactly the same place and at the same time in the morning on two days running. Something special happened to Selby out here yesterday and the same thing struck Billy half an hour ago."

He was repeating, with more positiveness, an opinion which he had voiced yesterday; this was, that Selby must have collided in the sky

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 with another airplane or with an airship. The report, yesterday, disagreed with this opinion because no other aircraft had been damaged yesterday; none was missing. None had been seen in the vicinity. Moreover, Selby had been altogether too good a pilot to smash, midair, with another machine on a calm, clear morning. The same was true, today, of Billy Kent.

"You figure he ran into a rock up there?" I asked Pete.

"D'you remember," he put to me, "What Selby's altimeter showed yesterday?"

The altimeter was the recording device registering altitudes and it had given us Selby's height above the sea before he fell.

"Twelve thousand feet plus," I said.

"His gives twelve thousand slightly short," Pete told me. "That's where they both struck something hard enough to break off that wing." He pointed to the right wing of Kent's plane which floated a couple of hundred yards away.

"Let's look at it," I suggested; and Pete stood on my float while I started my engine

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 and "taxi-ed" my plane on the sea toward the wing.

Half way there, Pete sighted the glove; he stooped from the pontoon and picked it up.

It was a girl's gauntlet, you could see at a glance. The shape of her hand was in it; for the grey leather, though soft, was heavy enough to hold the form of slender, pretty fingers.

I stopped and we searched for other flotsam; but there was nothing else on the sea.

"Well," said Pete, looking up from the glove in his hand and staring again into the sky. "How did this get here?"

"Somebody dropped it, of course."

"And just now. It's not soaked; it was floating with air in it. She couldn't have been by in a boat."

I nodded. Of course, in the half hour since Billy Kent had fallen, a boat could not have vanished. The glove had not been there before the crash; it was connected with the fall. Of that, Pete and I both felt sure.

"She was 'up'," said Pete.

Again I agreed. In half an hour, a person

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 who had been 'up'—flying—might be a hundred and fifty miles away.

Pete folded the glove carefully and put it in his pocket.

Later, when we were on shore making report of the finding of Kent, Pete produced the gauntlet; but no one ashore made anything of it. They let Pete keep it; and the official report on Kent, as on Selby, discussed structural defects.

But on the next morning, at a few minutes before ten, Pete Logan put out to the east in his single-seater seaplane. I saw him, suspected that he was having a look at that patch of the sky fifty miles out and twelve thousand feet up; and I followed him, a minute and a quarter later.

At the speed he was flying, a minute and a quarter meant full six miles; for Pete took no stock in that report on structural defects. He pushed his plane to the limit. We were ten or twelve minutes from shore—fifty miles, roughly—when I lost sight of Pete, temporarily.

At best, he'd been merely a speck to me;

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 for a monoplane racer, seen from the tail at six miles, makes no great mark on the sky. It's visible but you have to know exactly where to look for it and once you lose it, you can't pick it up again, except by chance. You have to search the sky not only from right to left but you have to look at so many levels for the speck.

Moreover, since it was morning, we were flying at the sun which swallows with invisibility everything caught in its glare. Pete, to me, had disappeared into the sun.

I rediscovered him, but not his plane, most suddenly and startlingly. There I was, rushing on at five miles a minute and imagining Pete was far ahead under the glare when, all at once, here he was in midair in front of me, suspended from a parachute. His seaplane had vanished; nothing else and nobody about; just Pete hanging there ten thousand feet above the sea and fifty miles out, with his white parachute ballooned over him.

He was turning slowly as he floated; and when he twisted toward me, he squirmed and pointed upward and eastward, straight into

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 the sun. Of course I saw nothing but glare; but I knew that Pete Logan, our best pilot of all, had got "it" too. But Pete had managed to jump clear before the spinning fall of his biplane involved him. Pete, apparently, would survive and have something to tell.

I ran to the right of him, circled and gazed down. On the placid, sparkling blue of the sea was a white splash with a white circle swelling away from it. There, I knew, Pete's plane had plunged, as Kent's had crashed yesterday and Selby's before him.

Again I scanned the sky which was empty, except for Pete gently swinging on his cords as the morning breeze blew along his parachute. High up, much higher, at fifteen thousand feet drifted a few feathers of clouds; eastward, blindingly, glared the sun at which Pete gestured now and then.

While he blew along, he descended, of course; and I dropped, pointing my nose beyond the splash of Pete's plane in the direction he was being blown. My landing was easy upon the smooth sea of that mild June morning; and, looking up and taxi-ing slowly

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 on the surface to keep below Pete, who was blowing steadily along, I managed to be close when he came down to his ducking. I had my float almost in his grasp as he came up, choking, with his huge white umbrella collapsed beside him.

"Dave!" he hailed me. "Did you see her?"

"Her? Who?"

My engine was shut off; Pete had a hand on the float and was pulling himself up, hindered by the harness on his back.

"That girl."

"What girl?"

"Who did it. She did it!"

"Did what?"

"Smashed me. What d'you suppose? D'you think I jumped for the fun of it?"

"You struck somebody."

"She struck me."

"How?"

"Rode for me; rode into me."

"Where?"

"Didn't you see anything?"

"Not till I found you coming down. I lost you a while. You got into the sun."

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 "She came at me out of the sun," he told me, swearing, and stood up on the float, shaking himself and catching breath. "And she got me; got me; and—near got me cold, too." Of course he was recollecting Selby and Kent. He couldn't see me, yet; he had to keep staring into the sky.

"It was a girl?" I repeated.

He gazed at me, four feet away from him, with eyes focused fifteen thousand. His goggles were off; I remembered that he had had them off when I met him,, pointing at the sun.

"She meant to get me cold, Dave, as she got—them."

"You think she got them?"

"Think?" He pulled at his pocket and produced the glove he had picked up near here yesterday, which he had showed at the inquiry, and which they had let him keep. "Remember this?"

"Of course."

"It's hers."

"Whose?"

"The girl piloting that plane."

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 "She was the pilot, was she?"

"She was the whole thing; nobody else aboard; she was alone."

He drew between his fingers the soft leather of the small, feminine gauntlet; he put a hand to his dripping hair and parted it with the habit of his of putting himself to rights.

"I had a glimpse of her first, Dave," he told me. "She's little, Dave; not too little; slim and young. it, Dave; I had a look at her and she's lovely. But she never looked at me till she rode me down."

"She couldn't have meant to ride you down," I objected.

"Oh, couldn't she? That's what I thought—till she hit me. That's why I couldn't dodge her."

"Where did she crash?"

"She didn't; she held the air. Flew off, cool as you like, after she knocked me spinning."

"She couldn't have counted on that," I insisted. Manifestly, any pilot intentionally riding down another must expect to fall, too.

"She counted on it," said Pete. "She'd done

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 it with Selby and Kent. She had wings built to stand it."

"Stand what?"

"Smashing another and holding the air herself. She did it, anyway."

There was no arguing with him; what was done had been deliberate, he knew; and by the girl who had worn the gauntlet in his hand. He thrust it under his jacket and set to unbuckling his harness and collecting his parachute. He succeeded, I noticed, in holding his hands almost, but not quite, steady.

Overhead and behind us beat an airscrew and out from under the sun appeared a monoplane with pontoons for water landing. Pete ceased to haul at his parachute.

The monoplane was light blue, matching the morning sky. The leading edge of the wings was peculiar, making me imagine the possibility of individual design to survive a smash in midair. Otherwise the plane was trim and neat and narrow, modelled for quick as and speed.

Pete swore softly. "There she is."

The monoplane dropped out of the sky,

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 levelled off at five hundred feet above us and circled, while the pilot looked down. It took the water a couple of hundred yards behind us and came skimming on the sea.

The pilot removed her goggles; her; for the pilot, as Pete had said, was a girl. She was alone. Gauntlets similar to the glove in Pete's possession garbed her slender hands. Pete stared at her and swore in whispers, repeating: "There she is."

At the same time, he brushed at his hair with his fingers, pressing the water out.

I doubt if he thought about what he was doing; it was wholly instinctive with Pete to appear his best before a girl. She might have knocked him from the sky, she might have sent to death Selby and Kent but she was feminine and young and unusually good looking; so Pete Logan would be personally presentable while he accused her.

Pete, tall and dark and debonair for all his dousing, stood on my pontoon brushing his hair back from his forehead as he watched her approach. There was always a good bit of the Celtic in Pete; it gave him dash and gal-

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 lantry. The blue of his eyes always was dark under his black brows; but his eyes flashed when he was intent. He was very intent now. Pete, on that day, was not yet twenty-three.

The girl, I thought, was twenty. She brought up her plane with the water lapping at the pontoons; she pushed off her helmet, baring brown, glorious hair. Probably there in the sun and on the sea surface, she felt the hood unbearably hot; not impossibly, as she came close, she had an impulse to be at her best before Pete; and I realized that this might be irrespective of a fact as to whether or not, ten minutes ago, she deliberately had knocked him out of the sky.

"Is anyone hurt?" she inquired, addressing Pete and glancing away, for a second, at the wreck of his plane which flecked the smooth swells in the distance.

I left reply to Pete and he needed a moment to compose it. At last he said, curtly, "Nobody is hurt here this morning. Nobody was hurt here yesterday or Monday. They were killed."

He cast this at her with a fling which flicked

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 deeper color in her cheek and, at the same time, appeared to puzzle her.

"Who was killed?" she asked.

"You mean you want their names?" returned Pete. "Well, the man on Monday was Frederic Selby; yesterday, it was Billy Kent."

"Oh!" she said and looked from Pete to me for more explanation, I thought. When I failed to extend it, she gazed at Pete again. He all the time was filling his eyes with her.

I wondered how he could hold to his accusation of her. I could not hold to it at all. She was scarcely a wing's length away from us, leaning forward a bit in the cockpit of her blue monoplane wondering about us, puzzled by us and concerned, if I could judge her fairly.

I realized that, probably, I could not; she was so lovely looking. She had clear, beautiful features, definite but gentle, too. Her cheeks just now were flushed from flying and also from the fling of Pete's imputation; but naturally she must have clear, lovely color. She had a flawless skin and large grey eyes

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 of that grey which is warmer, in eyes, than any other hue.

The boyish jacket buttoned across her breast made her only more feminine; her slight shift of herself in her seat, the little motions of her hands, the hundred imperceptible trifles which tell personality all combined to make me like her. Like her? What is the word for it when, at sight of her, your heart hurries, you forget and want to forget everyone and everything else and wish nothing but increase and extension of the moment?

Pete, I was sure, had made some extraordinary mistake. I had never seen anyone less likely to have done, deliberately, what he accused her of. If there was any shadow of sense in what he said, it must be that accidentally, through lack of skill at flight, she had blundered into him. Indeed, Pete himself seemed almost able to contradict his recollection.

"You knew about them?" he asked, more mildly.

"I heard that they had fallen because there was some structural defect in their planes."

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 "They had no more structural defects," denied Pete, his tone hardening again, "than I had ten minutes ago."

"When you fell?" she asked in her clear, concerned voice. "You fell, didn't you?"

"Yes," admitted Pete, not knowing how to take that. "I fell. But I had the luck to be able to jump out."

"Why did you fall?"

I think that Pete was about to tell her when she brought her hands into plainer view and Pete and I saw again the grey gauntlets identical with the one under his jacket. He plucked it out.

"This your property?" he challenged her.

She looked at both her hands, which were gloved. "Why no," she said; but instantly corrected herself. "Yesterday I did lose a pair of gauntlets."

"Did you?" rejoined Pete, his recollections clear in his head again. "Sorry I can't return the pair to you; but we found only one." And he flung it to her.

She caught it and examined it, while we watched her. She recognized it immediately,

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 I thought, and kept staring at it, not thinking about it but about something else.

"That yours?" demanded Pete.

She looked at Pete, at me, and at Pete again with her lovely, puzzled eyes. "It's my size and I lost a pair," she said. Suddenly she claimed it. "Yes; it's mine. How did you get it?"

"I found it here yesterday, about this time."

"Here?"

"The neighborhood was furnished a little differently yesterday," said Pete. "Kent's plane—the wreck of it—was floating over there just about as mine lies this morning; but yesterday there was a pilot under it. Over there was a wing of Kent's plane—which hadn't broken off from structural defects. The third item of interest was the glove which we found floating half way between. It's yours, you say?"

Her grey eyes, gazing at Pete, were less puzzled; they were more something else. More frightened, it seemed. She seemed, at that second, to have caught some idea which frightened her. Her jacket collapsed with the

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 emptying of her breast and then filled with her breathing.

"Yes; it's mine," she gasped.

"Did you drop the other here on Monday?" Pete was at her again. "If you did, we missed it."

"Monday!"

"I mean when Selby crashed—not from structural defects."

"What made them fall?" she put to Pete, directly.

"The same thing, I have no doubt," he returned as squarely, "that sent me down."

"And that was?"

He laughed at her. Of course it was not really a laugh; but there is no other word for it.

She looked at him, at me, at him; then suddenly she sat straight; suddenly she acted. She flung at Pete the glove. He stooped to catch it and she started her engine and moved away.

"Wait!" commanded Pete.

She paid no attention to him. He yelled to me to stay with her and he stepped out of the way of my propellor. But with him on

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 the pontoon, I had to give her a long start. He had cast off his parachute harness but it entangled the float and had to be cleared. So she was rising into the air before we moved.

Pete yelled at me that there was no doubt she did it and to keep her in sight. He climbed on my right lower wing, lying as close to the center as possible to avoid throwing me off balance as I climbed.

The blue monoplane swept above us and I slanted up steeply as I could. I did not feel the certainty which filled Pete, but my muscles drew with doubt of her. Something was strange about her. What suddenly had frightened her when she had identified the glove; what so quickly had transformed her when he laughed?

She was steering for the sun with the idea, I thought, of vanishing in its glare. Perhaps she supposed that she had succeeded at this when she swung to the right, still climbing, and circled landward.

I swung about, copying her curve, two miles behind her and five thousand feet lower. Higher than she, perhaps a mile above her,

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 spread a thin, tenuous ceiling; the feather clouds of a few minutes ago had widened to white patches half covering the western sky.

On the sea, far below, slipped purple shadows split by gleaming streaks of the sun which struck through the rifts in the cloud ceiling; on the sea stretched a long, black tendril of smoke trailing a boat bound for Bermuda, probably; on the sea, shoreward, showed a sharp, narrow seed—a steamer, properly stoked, bearing along the coast. In the shimmering sea behind us, the speck of Pete's plane was swallowed.

I thought of it falling twelve thousand feet and Pete in the air under his parachute; I thought of Kent sent down, yesterday, with one wing cracked off; of Selby spinning into the sea on the morning before; I thought of the girl who just now had been in the sun beside us on the sea; and I could not picture her deliberately flying at Selby and Kent to send them down. But I could not picture her sending down Pete, either; and he had said she had done it.

Of Pete now I could see only his heels.

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{| style="margin:auto;" ! style="text-align:center;" | English. ! style="text-align:center;" | Chinese. ! style="text-align:center;" | Characters. ! style="text-align:center;" | Remarks.
 * 3. Chuah
 * Chho-nga
 * 初雅
 * 4. Jimah
 * Ye-mok
 * 夜莫
 * 5, Kwala Lukut
 * Chi-wo kong-hau
 * 致和港口
 * 6. Labuan Belik
 * La-pan mi-leh
 * 嗱班咪叻
 * 7. Lukut
 * Lu-kwat
 * 路骨
 * 8. Pasir Panjang
 * Pu-sia pan-yeng
 * 把賒板影
 * 9. Port Dickson
 * Po-tak-sun
 * 波德伸
 * Pu-lo a-lang
 * 布羅亞冷
 * 10. Pulau Babi
 * Pu-lo ma-mi
 * 布羅馬味
 * 11. Pulau Bajudi
 * Bu-lo bu-chi-ti
 * 無羅武致支
 * 12. Semdayan..
 * Chin-ta-yin
 * 賤打煙
 * 13. Sempang
 * Si-pong
 * 四邦
 * 14. Siginting
 * Si-ngan-teng
 * 四銀丁
 * 15. Si Rusa
 * Si lo-sa
 * 四路沙
 * 16. Tanah Merah
 * Chi-wo kong
 * 致和港
 * 17. Tanjong Cemok
 * Tan-yong ye-mok
 * 丹蓉夜莫
 * }
 * 無羅武致支
 * 12. Semdayan..
 * Chin-ta-yin
 * 賤打煙
 * 13. Sempang
 * Si-pong
 * 四邦
 * 14. Siginting
 * Si-ngan-teng
 * 四銀丁
 * 15. Si Rusa
 * Si lo-sa
 * 四路沙
 * 16. Tanah Merah
 * Chi-wo kong
 * 致和港
 * 17. Tanjong Cemok
 * Tan-yong ye-mok
 * 丹蓉夜莫
 * }
 * 四路沙
 * 16. Tanah Merah
 * Chi-wo kong
 * 致和港
 * 17. Tanjong Cemok
 * Tan-yong ye-mok
 * 丹蓉夜莫
 * }
 * 17. Tanjong Cemok
 * Tan-yong ye-mok
 * 丹蓉夜莫
 * }
 * }


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 My seat was aft the wings; and Pete lay on his face upon the lower wing, clinging to the leading edge, with his heels out behind. The upper wing screened him from me but for his feet. He lifted them quickly in a kick, as though he knew I was looking and he meant to tell me he was all right and I was to go on. But I thought again, as I glanced at his heels, that he must have made some monstrous mistake. Why would that girl have tried to kill him? Yet, if she had not, why would he have said so? How had her glove happened to be, yesterday, beside Kent?

My idea that she might, from lack of skill, have blundered into Pete's plane no longer was tenable. She evidenced no lack of skill at flying. Higher than we and far ahead of us, she continued to climb until at last she touched the ceiling and went through.

She vanished. No; here she was again, diving, pointed not away from us but toward us. I heard a yell and Pete's heels kicked violently. He had seen her, returning. I put to the right and she put to the left and was at us.

No doubt at all, whatever had been my

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 previous idea, that she flew at me. She flew differently from before; she dashed at me in short, sudden stabs of flight, sharply shifting direction as I avoided her.

There is character in flight, as there is in every human action; every pilot has a style of his own, corresponding to his character; and her style and character, in those few seconds she had been above the clouds, completely had changed. She had been flying swiftly but smoothly with long, graceful sweeps through the sky. Now she darted in short, ugly, sudden strikes at me to send me down as she had sent down Pete half an hour ago; and as she had dropped Selby and Kent. No longer did I question that. Hot blood beat in the back of my head. I knew, as I met her, I must manoeuvermanœuver [sic] for my life and for Pete's. For she, if she could, would send us down.

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my parachute folded in its neat, dry pack at my back; but Pete's was in the sea. If she struck us and smashed us, I might leap free; but Pete would drop like a plummet.

I dodged her, steering wider to the right; and with another swift, stabbing spurt's he flew for us. I put nose down and dodged; and nose down, and diving, she stabbed at me; but she nose-dived a hundredth of a second too late to strike. I was under her feet. No possible relic of doubt of her intent; none. She had tried to smash me. There was no use and I had no second of respite to wonder why. The fact completely engaged me.

For the moment, I had forgotten Pete in saving myself. Now I did not consciously in recollect him. I looked over the side and caught sight of his feet. There he was, still safe; but his feet were twisted. He had half turned, as he clung to the wing, and was looking back.

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 Behind us and below was the blue monoplane turning upside down as it went into a "loop." I could not now see the pilot; but an image of her, photographed in the split of a second when she had dived at me, developed in my mind. I saw her small, helmeted head, a hue of her hair on the pink of her cheek; goggles over her eyes; her grey gloved hands were on the controls.

She had arrested her descent, after having dived past me, by going into the "loop." Though it turned her upside down it was the quickest way to bring her plane about under me to follow me. Of course only a good pilot, with excellent nerves, could do it.

She flew below me, upside down, showing the blue undersurfaces of her wings as she followed me. I watched her; and had a moment for amazement. Against myself I argued that the pilot could not be the lovely girl who had spoken to us on the sea.

That blue monoplane, flying upside down, righted itself; it turned over, on the wing, and gave me good view of the pilot. I saw her slim shoulders, her slim arms, her grey gloved

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 hands, her small, helmeted head. She never moved her head; she never looked up at me; but she began climbing, aimed at me. Climbing, she gained on me; she had the wings of us; she had the better plane.

I went to the left and for a few seconds my shift of direction seemed to escape her. Then, without looking up at all, she veered to the left in one of her queer, sudden stabs and climbed closer to me.

She seemed bent on striking at me from below.

The madness of such a purpose no longer denied it in my mind. I had to think of her as mad, that girl who had flown down to us on the sea and now, having drawn us fourteen thousand feet into the sky, attacked us. The sea, nearly three miles below and with the vessels veriest specks upon it, spread beneath me as a floor upon which I must fall. Sickeningly, it spread beneath me. It was a moment when the sensation of height, which a pilot learns to ignore, re-imposed itself upon me. My palms sweated cold; I could feel the sweat on the soles of my feet. Struck, as Selby

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 and Kent had been struck, I would fall spinning, faster and faster each second; faster a thousand feet down; two thousand; a mile; yet another mile to fall, spinning; still another mile of nothing below.

I twisted my shoulders to feel the pack of the parachute. I might leap clear, as Pete had done. But he could not do it again; and neither Selby nor Kent had been able to, from a plane sent spinning.

I looked down at the girl. She was mad—and something more. It was at this moment, when she made a stabbing swerve to follow me, without looking up, that I began to feel the cold tingle of the sensation that mere madness was insufficient to explain her. I had encountered something more remarkable than mere madness in the sky.

I was flying, with full throttle, for the cloud ceiling. I was giving my engine all I had. For the clouds, with their layers of concealment, displayed the best chance of escape. I might dive and dodge; but Pete was on my wing, there was three miles of the clear below us to the floor. I preferred to race her for

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 the ceiling; I went through and came out on the other side.

For a second I had the sky to myself; the ceiling was become a floor of soft, gleaming float through which suddenly shot the blue monoplane with the helmeted girl in the cockpit.

Then occurred the amazing, revealing thing. She was beside me but she paid no attention whatever to me. It was as if she did not see me, as if the thrust through the cloud had blinded her—or again completely changed her.

She flew past, making no strike at me; and, as I watched her, an idea like this ran in my head. She had been normal when she had been with us on the sea; it was after her dive through the clouds that she had altered and flown amuck. Had her return through the cloud restored her?

The change in her was as utter as that.

There she was flying off straight and evenly, as sanely as anyone. But now—now, in one of her short, ugly stabs, she banked and was about at me.

I dodged to the left; and at first she made

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 some with yellow, some with white flowers, and every now and then a soft sweet heavy breath of fragrance comes out to us as we pass by. There is a native village on the north bank, embowered along its plantations with some very tall cocoa-palms rising high above them.

The river winds so that it seems to close in behind us, opening out in front fresh vistas of superb forest beauty, with the great brown river stretching away unbroken ahead like a broad road of burnished bronze. Astern, it has a streak of frosted silver let into it by the Mové's screw. Just about six o'clock, we run up to the Fallabar, the Mové's predecessor in working the Ogowé, now a hulk, used as a depot by Hatton and Cookson. She is anchored at the entrance of a creek that runs through to the Fernan Vaz; some say it is six hours' run, others that it is eight hours for a canoe; all agree that there are plenty of mosquitoes.

The Fallabar looks grimly picturesque, and about the last spot in which a person of a nervous disposition would care to spend the night. One half of her deck is dedicated to "fuel logs, on the other half are plank stores for the goods, and a room for the black sub-trader in charge of them. I know that there must be scorpions which come out of those logs and stroll into the living room, and goodness only knows what one might not fancy would come up the creek or rise out of the floating grass, or the limitless-looking forest. I am told she was a fine steamer in her day, but those who had charge of her did not make allowances for the very rapid rotting action of the Ogowé water, so her hull rusted through before her engines were a quarter worn out; and there was nothing to be done with her then, but put a lot of concrete in, and make her a depot, in which state of life she is very useful, for during the height of the dry season, the Mové cannot get through the creek to supply the firm's Fernan Vaz factories.

Subsequently I heard much of the Fallabar, which seems to have been a celebrated, or rather notorious, vessel. Every one declared her engines to have been of immense power, but this I believe to have been a mere local superstition; because in the same breath, the man who referred to them, as if it would have been quite unnecessary for new engines to have


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 no change in her course; then she stabbed to her right. I put about, watching her; and again, after a half second, she shifted so tardily that I avoided her easily and she passed us, looking neither to right nor to left. She never moved her head; she stared straight ahead.

I caught a glimpse of Pete's legs tense, twisted, more excited, even, than before. My eyes went to her and I saw her banking but never moving her head. How queer that motionless helmet! Then, less from what I actually witnessed in that flash than from a sudden culmination of memories of all the last minutes, I began to know what we were against.

It was no girl who had flown at me to knock me from the sky; it was no girl who had sent down Pete and had killed Selby and Kent yesterday and on the day before.

Nor was it a man, flying amuck, who piloted that plane. It was nothing human at all. It was an automaton. The pilot, goggled and helmeted and gauntleted, was in the image of a girl—indeed, in the image of the girl who

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 had talked with us on the water—but the image was lifeless. It was of steel and wood and wax.

The pilot of that mad, blue monoplane was an effigy. It was nothing with heart or with mind; it was nothing of flesh and blood; it was nothing mortal. It was a mechanism.

Of course, I knew that a mind must direct it; but the mind was removed at a distance, controlling the monoplane by radio, endowing it with an immunity to consequences and with a mercilessness far beyond mere madness.

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meaning of the circumstance that it was made in the likeness of the girl—that it was her effigy—could not then come to me. I could not think of that at all. The fact that it was not the girl, but her effigy, was more than enough.

The principle of the mechanism, now that I realized it was a machine, of course was familiar to me, I, myself, had taken part in tests of contrivances aimed at the perfection of mechanical control which now I witnessed.

I had seen mechanical controls installed in the cockpit of a navy airplane; but a living pilot had sat beside the mechanism. I had seen the pilot take his hands from his levers, after the plane was in flight, and give over the controls to the mechanism; and I had watched the airplane fly and turn to right and left and climb or dive at the direction of a radio operator on the ground or in an accompanying airplane. But the movements of the

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 plane, when piloted by the mechanism, always had been constricted; and the mechanism never had been independent. It could not fly solo; always a pilot had been beside it to lend a hand.

This mechanism, masked by the effigy of the girl, surely employed the same principle but had brought it to such perfection that only now had I realized it. Pete, I guessed, had realized it only a few moments earlier.

Now, of course, I comprehended the fate of Selby and of Kent and I knew what Pete had encountered. Each of them, flying, had come across a girl pilot—or what had appeared to be a girl in the cockpit—and she had dashed into each of them, in turn, before he could see she was a mechanism.

An automaton, controlled and commanded by whom? By the girl, whose effigy masked it? By the lovely, gentle girl herself who had talked to us on the sea?

The strange meaning of the circumstance that it was made in her likeness could not, I say, yet occur to me. I could not yet consider that this had meaning. I was applied to

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 desperately practical things. Who manœuvered the effigy?

Not the girl herself, I realized on second thought. For this mechanical airplane must have been kept in the air, above the clouds, while she was speaking with us on the sea. However perfect the mechanism under the dummy, it could have sustained the plane in the air only under the constant direction of the operator of the radio control. The girl could not have been the operator. She could not have manipulated radio controls while she was talking to us. There must have been another person operating the radio controls; and those controls and this other person must be in a third airplane.

He must have been hiding above the clouds with his mechanical slave circling him like a satellite until he sent the effigy down to attack us after I had followed the girl into the sky. So her rôle, then, was that of a decoy? Had she decoyed first, in her own person, Selby and Kent and drawn them into a situation to be destroyed, in one sudden dash, by her effigy?

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 The idea did not satisfy me. Vaguely I was feeling, with nothing yet approaching mental realization, that there was something far more strange than that.

The effigy flew on lines parallel to my course, offering no attack and coming no closer. Again it ignored me. Now, of course, I comprehended this phenomenon. The effigy could not see me; the eyes, which piloted it, peered from the cockpit of a control airplane.

At the origin of the attack upon me, the control airplane must have circled above the ceiling with its slave; after the control had dispatched the slave and after it had engaged me, the control must have descended below the clouds to have both me and its slave in view. When I had climbed through the ceiling, the control airplane had sent the effigy up after me but the operating pilot was behind and below. He lost sight of me and of his automaton. Therefore, the effigy had flown beside me and past me, paying no attention to me until the control machine cut through the clouds and caught sight of us again.

Evidently, at the present moment, I was

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 screened by some scraps of clouds so that the pilot of the control plane could not keep me in sight. I did not immediately discover him; I saw nothing but clouds, chasms through them here and there, and the blind, deaf, insensate, utterly merciless mechanism.

When it jerked toward me, in one of its stabbing spurts, I understood that the control pilot must have caught sight of me; and sweeping the floor of clouds I sighted him far off to the left and on the opposite side of me from the effigy.

His craft was a monoplane with blue wings like the wings of the effigy and of the girl who had stopped on the sea.

I dipped into a valley of mist; and the effigy charged through the cloud, failing by a hundred yards to find me.

I knew I had dropped from view of the control pilot who had pulled the effigy toward me almost at random. Little or no danger to Pete and me from that manner of manœuvering.

The clouds blew their billows above and below me, offering endless chasms of conceal-

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 ment. Occasionally, for a few seconds at a time, the control pilot might have me in sight; but he seemed to require a clear view for several seconds before he could effectively direct the mechanism at me.

He, I was saying in my mind when reckoning with that pilot. I did not pass close enough to see him; but it was a man, I felt certain—a man who had sent down Selby and Kent and Pete.

A man piloted that control plane and aimed the mechanism; a man had made and to his purposes employed the effigy of that girl.

Why?

The idea of mere escape no longer appealed tome. I looked over the edge at Pete's legs and knew that he expected of me more than escape.

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the floor of clouds, which had been our ceiling, another ceiling spread and I flew up to it, pursued by the effigy. I went through this ceiling and the effigy burst through after me, blind as before.

This time it remained blind; the control did not follow it up. He remained below and soon recalled the effigy. At least, the plane dived through the clouds, leaving me alone.

I skimmed over a crack in the ceiling, peering down. There was a blue monoplane with a living pilot; there was the monoplane of the mechanism. The pilot shepherded it upon his own level, five hundred feet below the ceiling. He sent the effigy a thousand feet ahead of him where he let it lead him as though on an invisible leash. They went away to the west.

I gazed about for bearings. Land was in sight. What land? I studied shore contours while I followed the monoplanes. There was the turnip-shaped bulge of Great Bay; there

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text:
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 lay the straight key of Long Beach; there was Atlantic City. We had whirled to the north, as well as landward, in our manœuvering.

The pilot, with the effigy on its long, invisible leash, led to the right—to the north—of Atlantic City. No other airplane was in sight at this moment. The blue monoplane of the girl who was the original of the effigy, had vanished.

I realized that I had had no glimpse of her since she had flown into the ceiling at the moment before the effigy was discharged at me through the same clouds. Having played her part in the plan of this morning, she had gone home, I supposed. The control pilot, with his mechanical slave, must be headed for home. Whether or not he would have chosen to remain, stabbing at me with his mechanical slave, he could not. He had to have fuel.

My fuel gage was bobbing altogether too near "empty". And I had rested on the sea with engine stopped, for several minutes since I had left shore. The blue monoplanes must have left their station before Pete and I flew

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 from ours; constantly they must have been in the air, burning fuel. Yes; beyond doubt they were forced to go home.

They led me over breakers and the beach. Forty seconds or three miles ahead of me they flew, cutting across the narrow neck of New Jersey toward the Delaware and Trenton. Inland they led me; so their landing place was on some lake or river or pond.

Slowly they stretched the space between us; they had the speed of me. Still I held them in sight, two specks over the horizon, throughout the ten minutes we took to cross New Jersey. On over Pennsylvania they flew.

Now I could scarcely see them. Probably they could not see me at all; for, since they flew northwest and I followed, the sun was behind me.

Suddenly they appeared more plainly to me; suddenly I succeeded in gaining upon them. The explanation was simple; they had reached their goal and were circling, preparatory to descent. So I rushed up on them, a mile nearer every twelve seconds.

I saw, then, a third speck rise above the

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Page:Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (IA journalof404219041905roya).pdf/412

{| style="margin:auto;" ! style="text-align:center;" | English. ! style="text-align:center;" | Chinese. ! style="text-align:center;" | Characters. ! style="text-align:center;" | Remarks.
 * 19. Prigi Terentang
 * Pi-la ti-lan-tang
 * 吡嗱地蘭登
 * 20. Rembau
 * Lam-mau
 * 林茂
 * 21. Repah
 * Lam-pa
 * 林把
 * 22. Salak Aamah
 * Sa-lat lo-pak
 * 沙叻羅白
 * 23. Sompang Linggi
 * Seng-pang lin-ngi
 * 性邦鄰宜
 * 24. Tampin
 * Tam-pin
 * 淡邊
 * 25. Tebong
 * To-bong
 * 多黃
 * 26. Tanjong Kling
 * Tan-yong kat-leng
 * 丹蓉吉寧
 * colspan=2 style="text-align:center;" | District of Port Dickson.
 * 1. Arang Arang
 * Ah-lang ah-lang
 * 亞冷亞冷
 * 2. Bagan Pinang
 * Ma-ngan mi-neng
 * 嗎銀味寧
 * }
 * To-bong
 * 多黃
 * 26. Tanjong Kling
 * Tan-yong kat-leng
 * 丹蓉吉寧
 * colspan=2 style="text-align:center;" | District of Port Dickson.
 * 1. Arang Arang
 * Ah-lang ah-lang
 * 亞冷亞冷
 * 2. Bagan Pinang
 * Ma-ngan mi-neng
 * 嗎銀味寧
 * }
 * 1. Arang Arang
 * Ah-lang ah-lang
 * 亞冷亞冷
 * 2. Bagan Pinang
 * Ma-ngan mi-neng
 * 嗎銀味寧
 * }
 * 嗎銀味寧
 * }
 * }


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 ragged contour of hills and join them; a third plane was in the air, associating with them. The girl again?

I became able to see them not as specks but as monoplanes with wings and tail and pontoons—and pilots. The plane, which had arisen from some hole in the hills, closely accompanied one of the others.

Whether this one was the pilot plane or the slave machine, I could not see; for I could not distinguish them. I could keep the third airplane, newly arisen, separate from the other two; that was all.

The third plane put itself directly above the one which it had chosen for its attention; and, as I rushed up, I saw a speck, which was a man, descend from the upper airplane to the lower.

This told me which was the slave machine. It told me, too, that though the automaton, by radio direction, could fly and manœuver the monoplane, it could not make the delicate manipulations necessary for the landing; a living pilot must be put aboard. So the third

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 airplane had risen with an extra pilot and transferred him in the air.

The monoplanes separated; all three descended and disappeared. I flew over the hole in the hills and discovered a little sparkling ellipse of a lake with a wide spread of green sward, with the parallelograms of gardens and roofs beside it. Scurrying upon the lake, like three pale blue water-bugs, were the seaplanes just descended.

I circled, looking over the edge and noticed Pete's legs again.

"Go down," they signalled to me. "Go down."

Go down was what I wanted to do; but before going down, I must reckon a bit. Once down upon that pond, beside the three blue water-bugs, it was exceedingly doubtful that ever I would rise again, except with the water-bugswater-bugs' [sic] consent.

In the sky over the sea, the business of two of those blue water-bugs—perhaps the busi—ness of all three, for the third might be the girl's—had been, this morning, an endeavor to destroy Pete and me. Follow them down?

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