001/** 002 * Licensed to the Apache Software Foundation (ASF) under one 003 * or more contributor license agreements. See the NOTICE file 004 * distributed with this work for additional information 005 * regarding copyright ownership. The ASF licenses this file 006 * to you under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the 007 * "License"); you may not use this file except in compliance 008 * with the License. You may obtain a copy of the License at 009 * 010 * http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0 011 * 012 * Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software 013 * distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS, 014 * WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied. 015 * See the License for the specific language governing permissions and 016 * limitations under the License. 017 */ 018 019package org.apache.hadoop.mapreduce; 020 021import java.io.IOException; 022 023import org.apache.hadoop.classification.InterfaceAudience; 024import org.apache.hadoop.classification.InterfaceStability; 025import org.apache.hadoop.conf.Configuration; 026import org.apache.hadoop.io.RawComparator; 027import org.apache.hadoop.io.compress.CompressionCodec; 028import org.apache.hadoop.mapreduce.task.MapContextImpl; 029 030/** 031 * Maps input key/value pairs to a set of intermediate key/value pairs. 032 * 033 *
Maps are the individual tasks which transform input records into a 034 * intermediate records. The transformed intermediate records need not be of 035 * the same type as the input records. A given input pair may map to zero or 036 * many output pairs.
 037 * 038 *
The Hadoop Map-Reduce framework spawns one map task for each 039 * {@link InputSplit} generated by the {@link InputFormat} for the job. 040 * Mapper implementations can access the {@link Configuration} for 041 * the job via the {@link JobContext#getConfiguration()}. 042 * 043 *
The framework first calls 044 * {@link #setup(org.apache.hadoop.mapreduce.Mapper.Context)}, followed by 045 * {@link #map(Object, Object, Context)} 046 * for each key/value pair in the InputSplit. Finally 047 * {@link #cleanup(Context)} is called.
 048 * 049 *
All intermediate values associated with a given output key are 050 * subsequently grouped by the framework, and passed to a {@link Reducer} to 051 * determine the final output. Users can control the sorting and grouping by 052 * specifying two key {@link RawComparator} classes.
 053 * 054 *
The Mapper outputs are partitioned per 055 * Reducer. Users can control which keys (and hence records) go to 056 * which Reducer by implementing a custom {@link Partitioner}. 057 * 058 *
Users can optionally specify a combiner, via 059 * {@link Job#setCombinerClass(Class)}, to perform local aggregation of the 060 * intermediate outputs, which helps to cut down the amount of data transferred 061 * from the Mapper to the Reducer. 062 * 063 *
Applications can specify if and how the intermediate 064 * outputs are to be compressed and which {@link CompressionCodec}s are to be 065 * used via the Configuration.
 066 * 067 *
If the job has zero 068 * reduces then the output of the Mapper is directly written 069 * to the {@link OutputFormat} without sorting by keys.
 070 * 071 *
Example:
 072 *

 073 * public class TokenCounterMapper 074 * extends Mapper<Object, Text, Text, IntWritable>{ 075 * 076 * private final static IntWritable one = new IntWritable(1); 077 * private Text word = new Text(); 078 * 079 * public void map(Object key, Text value, Context context) throws IOException, InterruptedException { 080 * StringTokenizer itr = new StringTokenizer(value.toString()); 081 * while (itr.hasMoreTokens()) { 082 * word.set(itr.nextToken()); 083 * context.write(word, one); 084 * } 085 * } 086 * } 087 *

 088 * 089 *
Applications may override the {@link #run(Context)} method to exert 090 * greater control on map processing e.g. multi-threaded Mappers 091 * etc.
 092 * 093 * @see InputFormat 094 * @see JobContext 095 * @see Partitioner 096 * @see Reducer 097 */<EMAIL_ADDRESS><EMAIL_ADDRESS>100public class Mapper<KEYIN, VALUEIN, KEYOUT, VALUEOUT> { 101 102 /** 103 * The Context passed on to the {@link Mapper} implementations. 104 */ 105 public abstract class Context 106 implements MapContext<KEYIN,VALUEIN,KEYOUT,VALUEOUT> { 107 } 108 109 /** 110 * Called once at the beginning of the task. 111 */ 112 protected void setup(Context context 113 ) throws IOException, InterruptedException { 114 // NOTHING 115 } 116 117 /** 118 * Called once for each key/value pair in the input split. Most applications 119 * should override this, but the default is the identity function. 120 */ 121 @SuppressWarnings("unchecked") 122 protected void map(KEYIN key, VALUEIN value, 123 Context context) throws IOException, InterruptedException { 124 context.write((KEYOUT) key, (VALUEOUT) value); 125 } 126 127 /** 128 * Called once at the end of the task. 129 */ 130 protected void cleanup(Context context 131 ) throws IOException, InterruptedException { 132 // NOTHING 133 } 134 135 /** 136 * Expert users can override this method for more complete control over the 137 * execution of the Mapper. 138 * @param context 139 * @throws IOException 140 */ 141 public void run(Context context) throws IOException, InterruptedException { 142 setup(context); 143 try { 144 while (context.nextKeyValue()) { 145 map(context.getCurrentKey(), context.getCurrentValue(), context); 146 } 147 } finally { 148 cleanup(context); 149 } 150 } 151}


Small form input Successful message A small description of the field
Medium form input Error message
Large form input
Checkboxes This is a checkbox And this is another checkbox
Radio buttons This is a radio button This is another radio button
This is a drop down list Option 1 Option 2 Option 3 Option 4
Textarea with WYSIWYG


Disaggregating Census Data in Somalia Using Random Forests
Zhen Liu
In 2014, the Population Estimation Survey (PESS) became the first extensive household sample survey to be carried out among the Somalia population in decades. In the meantime, millions of people in Somalia are suffering from the resource shortage, natural disasters, and disease.
For those countries like Somalia that do not have the reliable census data collection, the use of remotely sensed data is especially important for mapping population. This project is to generate the gridded population map in 2018 in Somalia by using Random Forest and an improved method. It will be critical in health, economic, and environmental fields across various temporal and spatial scales.
Remotely-Sensed and Ancillary Data
General Structure of the Project
This figure represents the general structure of the data processing and map production procedure. The orange boxes represent data pre-preparation stages. Items in blue represent Random Forest model estimation, per-pixel prediction and redistribution of census counts. In the initial method, the log population density of each level 2 administrative unit is used as a dependent variable. In the improved one, the training unit will be changed.
Data Preparation
- In order to minimize edge effects associated with near-boarder populated areas, the census data are buffered 10 km.
- Also, we need to project all data into a conformal projection most appropriate for each country (e.g. UTM).
- The vector data is first projected and subset to match the buffered national borders, then is rasterized.
- Distance to the point data is generated as our covariates in the model.
- All raster covariates are resampled to match the rasterized census data and its buffer.
- We use a simple nearest neighbor filling approach to extend the edge of data sets and fill any gaps prior to model estimation.
Estimation by Random Forest
- In the initial method, the training units are level 2 administrative units.
- In the improved method, we Integrate IDP sites in pixel and sum up the population. And, we use this pixels as pseudo administrative boundaries, the training unit will subtract the area and population of each pixel in the unit.
- Aggregate covariates by census blocks: we calculate zonal means for each continuous dataset.
- We log-transform the population density in order to create a more normal and even distribution of population density values with respect to other covariates.
- Due to the limited number of data, we use the out-of-bag score to assess the accuracy.
- The result of Random Forest is used to predict a country wide, pixel-level map of log population densities.
Result and Analysis
- Nightlight is the most important variable to explain the population density in the all features in two methods.
- Because a population of high density is in one or two pixels, other pixels in the same level 2 administrative unit don't have such high population density as the mean population density in the whole unit. So, Comparing two maps using initial method and the using improved method (with IDP data) in this project, the high density population is shown more obviously in 2018. This can avoid False alarm situations, which means that high population density in map, but not in reality.
- However, when we exclude the IDP data in the unit, the explanatory power of the variable Nightlight decreases, which means the IDP camps is highly related with the night light in Somalia, so that the OOB–score decreases too.
- Estimated census data in 2018 will affect the accuracy of the prediction.
Summary and Recommendation
Summary
- Random Forest performs well in disaggregating census data for population mapping.
- After subtracting the population of each IDP site from the training unit, the accuracy of the population density model will be enhanced.
- The improved method will decrease the explanatory powers of variables.
Recommendation
- If IDP data is accessible with no outline data, integrating IDP sites in the unit pixel is a good solution to improve the accuracy of prediction model.
Last modified September 22, 2020


Authors: George Shaker, Nagula Sangary, and Safieddin Safavi-Naeini
Source: FERMAT, Volume 11, Article, Sep_Oct, 2015
Abstract: Modal analysis among the circuit and filter communities is widely spread. A close look at the design steps of many of the available modern filters reveals the utilization of modal techniques as a key design component [1]. Notably, modal analysis of antennas has long been known in the antenna community. Lo and Richards contributed significantly to the advancement of this theory in the late 1970s and early 1980s [2]. However, their approach was limited in its accuracy due to the utilization of some theoretical assumptions of the complex resonant frequencies of the antennas they studied. These assumptions imposed significant limitations on the antennas’ structures that could be analyzed, along with limitations on the achievable Q values. To date, modal analysis in antenna design has not evolved at the same rate it did in circuit/filter applications.
In this communication, the modal theory of antennas is revisited, believing that it brings invaluable information towards facilitating the design of multi-feed multi-band antennas. First, some subtle changes are proposed to enhance the applicability of this theory. Next, using some efficient computational techniques, the proposed formulations are shown to predict, to a very high accuracy, the input impedance of any antenna under study. This greatly simplifies the antenna problem and focuses design efforts on finding the appropriate complex resonance frequency to cover a required band. Finding the appropriate feed location is then a matter of extracting the corresponding impedance map for this antenna through simple field manipulations.
Index Terms: Antenna Design, Eigen Modes, LTE/MIMO Antenna, 4G smartphone
View PDF
Notes on Eigen Modal Analysis of Antennas


AND THE BAND PLAYED ON A Film Review Copyright Dragan Antulov 1999
Some may argue that movies made for cable television belong to the limbic world between commercial cinema and commercial television, which allows their authors to use all their creative energy without full limitations of those two industries. On one hand, cable movies are less restrained by censorship. On the other hand, they are less restrained by commercial considerations. So, it shouldn't surprise anyone that some of the best or most impressive pieces of American cinema in 1990s came from that domain. One of such cases is AND THE BAND PLAYED ON, 1993 HBO docudrama directed by Roger Spotiswoode.
The movie is based on the book by Randy Shilts, gay activist who chronicled first years of AIDS epidemic. The author of this review had read excerpts from that book many years ago. Shilts, who died from AIDS himself in 1994, made quite compelling read, telling the true yet intriguing story about few unknown heroes - doctors, government officials, gay activists, scientists - who were trying to cope with new, frightening disease. Although non-fiction, book was full of real, vivid characters and dramatic situations, and it looked like a good screen material .
Among many characters in the movie, chief protagonist is Dr. Don Francis (played by Matthew Modine), CDC expert for infectious diseases. At the beginning of the film we see him still troubled by his traumatic experiences during the Ebola epidemic in Central Africa 1976. Few years later, his team is faced with another, less visible, yet equally deadly medical mystery - young, healthy people, mostly homosexuals are having their immune system destroyed. While the number of casualties slowly rises, Francis desperately tries to find the cause and suspects the unknown virus. In the meantime, gay activist Bill Kraus (Ian McKellen) tries to raise awareness about "Gay Related Immune Defficiency", both in the gay community and among U.S. administration. But the odds are against him - in 1980 Ronald Reagan becomes President and new, conservative administration is unlikely to help gay minority by financing desperately needed research. Research is even more hampered by the rivalry between Pasteur Institute in Paris and group of American scientists led by Dr. Robert Gallo (Alan Alda).
Although faithful to the book, and, as a consequence, almost two and half hours long, this film never becomes boring. Spottiswoode keeps the perfect pace, and the editing provides great drama. But the most important asset of this film are the actors - many of major Hollywood stars agreed to appear in cameos. They all work very hard and their roles are something to be remembered, even when they pop up only for a second. Even Matthew Modine, who can be rather irritating in other films, is impressive here as hero. However, the most impressive role is played by Ian McKellen as Bill Kraus, the most tragic figure in this sad epic. Musical score by Carter Burwell helps to set atmosphere and make this film distinctive from any average television product with the similar themes.
The movie, although very impressive, could have been better. The ending, with Elton John's song and long series of shots featuring most important AIDS victims, seemed somewhat out of place. The film had already told everything the viewer had to know, and this remainder at the end looked over-sentimental and too direct. But, despite that flaw, this is still very good piece of cinema. The audience recognised that - in, Croatia, for example, AND THE BAND PLAYED ON was the only film ever to be released in cinema theatres after being in video distribution first. So far, this is the most informative and compelling film ever made about AIDS, and I hope that one day its reputation would surpass unjustifiably praised PHILADELPHIA.
RATING: 7/10 (+++)
Review written on May 16th 1999
-- Dragan Antulov a.k.a. Drax Fido: 2:381/100 E-mail<EMAIL_ADDRESS>E-mail<EMAIL_ADDRESS>E-mail<EMAIL_ADDRESS>The review above was posted to the
rec.arts.movies.reviews newsgroup (de.rec.film.kritiken for German reviews).
The Internet Movie Database accepts no responsibility for the contents of the
review and has no editorial control. Unless stated otherwise, the copyright
belongs to the author.
Please direct comments/criticisms of the review to relevant newsgroups.
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Related links: index of all rec.arts.movies.reviews reviews


|
App Engine Python SDK
v1.6.9 rev.445
The Python runtime is available as an experimental Preview feature.
|
Public Member Functions | |
| def | __init__ |
| def | AddThrottle |
| def | AddThrottles |
| def | Register |
| def | VerifyThrottleName |
| def | AddTransfer |
| def | Sleep |
| def | TotalTransferred |
Public Attributes | |
| get_time | |
| thread_sleep | |
| start_time | |
| transferred | |
| prior_block | |
| totals | |
| throttles | |
| last_rotate | |
| rotate_mutex | |
Static Public Attributes | |
| int | ROTATE_PERIOD = 600 |
A base class for upload rate throttling. Transferring large number of entities, too quickly, could trigger quota limits and cause the transfer process to halt. In order to stay within the application's quota, we throttle the data transfer to a specified limit (across all transfer threads). This class tracks a moving average of some aspect of the transfer rate (bandwidth, records per second, http connections per second). It keeps two windows of counts of bytes transferred, on a per-thread basis. One block is the "current" block, and the other is the "prior" block. It will rotate the counts from current to prior when ROTATE_PERIOD has passed. Thus, the current block will represent from 0 seconds to ROTATE_PERIOD seconds of activity (determined by: time.time() - self.last_rotate). The prior block will always represent a full ROTATE_PERIOD. Sleeping is performed just before a transfer of another block, and is based on the counts transferred *before* the next transfer. It really does not matter how much will be transferred, but only that for all the data transferred SO FAR that we have interspersed enough pauses to ensure the aggregate transfer rate is within the specified limit. These counts are maintained on a per-thread basis, so we do not require any interlocks around incrementing the counts. There IS an interlock on the rotation of the counts because we do not want multiple threads to multiply-rotate the counts. There are various race conditions in the computation and collection of these counts. We do not require precise values, but simply to keep the overall transfer within the bandwidth limits. If a given pause is a little short, or a little long, then the aggregate delays will be correct.
| def google.appengine.ext.remote_api.throttle.Throttle.AddTransfer | ( | self, | |
| throttle_name, | |||
| token_count | |||
| ) |
Add a count to the amount this thread has transferred. Each time a thread transfers some data, it should call this method to note the amount sent. The counts may be rotated if sufficient time has passed since the last rotation. Args: throttle_name: The name of the throttle to add to. token_count: The number to add to the throttle counter.
| def google.appengine.ext.remote_api.throttle.Throttle.Register | ( | self, | |
| thread | |||
| ) |
Register this thread with the throttler.
| def google.appengine.ext.remote_api.throttle.Throttle.Sleep | ( | self, | |
throttle_name = None |
|||
| ) |
Possibly sleep in order to limit the transfer rate. Note that we sleep based on *prior* transfers rather than what we may be about to transfer. The next transfer could put us under/over and that will be rectified *after* that transfer. Net result is that the average transfer rate will remain within bounds. Spiky behavior or uneven rates among the threads could possibly bring the transfer rate above the requested limit for short durations. Args: throttle_name: The name of the throttle to sleep on. If None or omitted, then sleep on all throttles.
| def google.appengine.ext.remote_api.throttle.Throttle.TotalTransferred | ( | self, | |
| throttle_name | |||
| ) |
Return the total transferred, and over what period. Args: throttle_name: The name of the throttle to total. Returns: A tuple of the total count and running time for the given throttle name.


Jenna Dewan and Channing Tatum finalise divorce – but there’s a twist
by Robyn LucasCape Town - Jenna Dewan and Channing Tatum are officially single.
A judge has reportedly ruled that the couple, who were married for almost nine years, are now legally single, according to court documents obtained by US Weekly.
But there’s a catch.
Although deemed single, Channing and Jenna still have to reach an agreement on their property as well as custody of their six-year-old daughter, Everly.
The pair announced in April 2018 that they were separating, with the American actress filing for divorce six months later, citing irreconcilable differences, People reports.
"We have lovingly chosen to separate as a couple," the Step Up co-stars said at the time in a joint statement distributed on social media.
"We fell deeply in love so many years ago and have had a magical journey together. Absolutely nothing has changed about how much we love one another, but love is a beautiful adventure that is taking us on different paths for now.
"There are no secrets nor salacious events at the root of our decision – just two best friends realising it’s time to take some space and help each other live the most joyous, fulfilled lives as possible.
"We are still a family and will always be loving dedicated parents to Everly."
Jenna is expecting her second child with her boyfriend, actor and singer Steve Kazee.
"Jenna plans to marry Steve and is so in love with him," a source told E! News.
"They have had many long and open talks about that and it's definitely the plan.
"What matters most though is that she and Steve are fully committed and so excited to have a baby and grow their family.
"She knows they will be engaged and married soon enough."


Compatibility with recent jQuery versions (up to 3.6): Usage of deprecated jQuery APIs have been removed. jQuery UI 1.13 triggers no jQuery Migrate warnings when running its test suite against jQuery 3.6.0 with jQuery Migrate 3.3.2, i.e. the latest versions at the moment of its release.
Interested in the full details of what changed? Check out the 1.13 upgrade guide, and 1.13.0 changelog.
jQuery UI is built for designers and developers alike. We've designed all of our plugins to get you up and running quickly while being flexible enough to evolve with your needs and solve a plethora of use cases. If you're new to jQuery UI, check out our getting started guide and other tutorials. Play around with the demos and read through the API documentation to get an idea of what's possible.
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It is a C++ library to handle BulletML easily. BulletML is developed by ABA.
libbulletml-0.0.6
Project files for Xcode 3.0 and MSVC++ Express 2005 by Justin. Thanks!
D language version is in barrage 360 deg.
Usage: README
home / index


A module is a class with a @Module()
decorator. The @Module()
decorator provides metadata, which Nest uses to organize the application structure.
Every Nest application has at least one module, the root module. The root module is the place where Nest is starting to arrange the application tree. In fact, the root module could be the only module in your application, especially when the app is small. For large applications however, it doesn't make sense. In most cases, you'll have several modules, each with a closely related set of capabilities.
The @Module()
decorator takes a single object whose properties describe the module:
components |
the components that will be instantiated by the Nest injector and may be shared at least across this module. |
controllers |
the set of controllers which have to be created |
imports |
the list of imported modules that export the components which are required in this module |
exports |
the subset of components that are provided by this module and should be available in the other modules |
The module encapsulates components by default. It means that it isn't possible to inject components which aren't directly part of the current module, or they're not exported from the imported modules.
The CatsController
and CatsService
belong to the same application domain.
They should be moved to a feature module, being the CatsModule
.
{{ catsModule }}
I have created the cats.module.ts
file and moved everything related to this module into the
cats
directory. The last thing we need to do is import this module into our root module (ApplicationModule
).
{{ appModule }}
That's it! Now Nest knows that besides ApplicationModule
, it's essential to register the CatsModule
too.
That's how our directory structure looks right now:
In Nest, modules are singletons by default, thus you can share the same instance of the component between 2..* modules without any effort.
Notice In the previous versions of the Nest (< 4), modules weren't singletons, we had to use @Shared()
decorator which is now deprecated.
Every module is a Shared Module in fact. Once created it can be reused by each module.
Let's imagine that we want to share the CatsService
instance between a few modules.
We need to put the CatsService
into exports
array as shown below:
{{ catsModuleShared }}
Now each module which would import the CatsModule
(we need to put CatsModule
into the imports
array) has access to the CatsService
and will share the same instance with all of the modules which are importing this module too.
Notice You should never export the controllers!
The modules can export their components. Moreover, they can re-export modules imported by themselves.
{{ reExportExamle }}
It's natural that a module can inject components, which belong to it (e.g. for configuration purposes):
{{ 'cats.module' | extension: catsModuleDiT.isJsActive }}{{ catsModuleDi }}
{{ catsModuleDiJs }}
However, module classes can't be injected by the components, because it creates a circular dependency.
If you have to import the same set of modules everywhere, it can be annoying.
In Angular, the providers
are registered in the global scope.
Once defined, they're available everywhere. On the other hand, Nest encapsulates components inside the module scope.
You can't use the module components elsewhere without importing it.
But sometimes, you may just want to provide a set of things which should be available always - out-of-the-box, for example: helpers, database connection, whatever.
That's why you're able to make the module a global one.
{{ globalScope }}
The @Global()
decorator makes the module global-scoped.
Global modules should be registered only once, in best case by the root or core module.
Afterwards, the CatsService
component will be ubiquitous, although CatsModule
won't be imported.
Hint Making everything global is not a good solution. Global modules are here to reduce the amount of necessary boilerplate. The imports
array is still the best way to make the module API transparent.
The Nest module system comes with a feature called dynamic modules.
It enables you to create customizable modules without any effort.
Let's have a look at the DatabaseModule
:
{{ dynamicModules }}
It defines the Connection
component by default, but additionally - depending on the passed options
and entities
- it creates a collection of the providers, for example repository components.
In fact, the dynamic module extends the module metadata.
This substantial feature is useful when you need to register components dynamically.
Then you may import the DatabaseModule
in the following manner:
{{ importDynamicModules }}


{% extends 'secondaryTemplate.html' %} {% load static %} {% load filters %} {% block header %}
This event is currently hidden and is only visibile by ARTCC staff members. To make this event visible, edit the event.
This event has passed and is now in a read-only archived state.
{{ event.description|linebreaks }}
({{ available.center|default:0 }} Available)
({{ available.tracon|default:0 }} Available)
({{ available.cab|default:0 }} Available)


"So much the better," he said. "Yes, seven years is a long time, and I'm not keen about feeding gossip; but when I first came down here there was a clacking of tongues from one end of the group to the other. I believe I have since earned the reputation of being rather queer. I thought you must know. The fact is I'm looking for treasure. Would you care to hear the story?"
"Very much," I said, "if it won't bore you to tell it."
"On the contrary, it will be something of a relief. Seven years of digging, with nothing to show for it, must strike an outsider as a mad business.  But you can't possibly know the fascination of it. It seems only yesterday that I came here. As you see for yourself, it's not much of an island. And to know that there is a treasure of more than three million pounds buried somewhere in this tiny circle of scrub and palm—"
"But do you know it?" I asked.
"I'm as sure of it as that I am smoking your tobacco. That is, I am sure it was buried here. Whether it has 330 been removed since, I can't say, of course. The natives at Nukatavake remember a white man whom they called Luta, who came here about twenty years ago and remained for something over a month. One of the four men who stole the gold and brought it to Pinaki was a man named Luke Barrett, and it may have been he who came back, although he was supposed to have been killed in Australia forty years ago. It is the uncertainty which makes this such killing work at times. But when I think of giving it up—you would have to live with the thought of treasure for seven years, and to dream at night of finding it, before you could understand." He rose suddenly. "If you don't mind a short walk, I will show you something rather interesting."
We went along the lagoon beach for several hundred yards, then crossed toward the ocean side. Near the center of the island we came upon an immense block of coral broken from the reef and carried there by some great storm of the past. Cut deeply into the face of the rock I saw a curious design:
I asked what it meant.
"Man, if I knew that! I believe it's the key, and I can't master it! But we may as well sit down and be comfortable. If you would really care to hear the story from the beginning it will take the better part of an hour. I'll not give you all the details; but when I have finished you will be in a position to judge for yourself whether or not I was mad in coming here.
"Have you ever read Walker's book, Undiscovered Treasure? It doesn't matter, except that you have missed a very entertaining volume. It is a pity that 331 old work is out of print. Nothing in it but bare facts about all sorts of treasure supposed to have been buried here and there about the world. You might think it would be dry, but I found it better company than any romance I've ever read. However, that has nothing to do with this story, except in an indirect way. I first read the book as a boy and it started me on my travels.
"To me the facts about this Pinaki treasure are as interesting as any of Walker's. He, of course, knew nothing about it, for it had not been stolen when his book was published. Four men had a hand in the business: a Spaniard named Alvarez; an Irishman named Killorain; and two others of uncertain nationality, Luke Barrett, whom I spoke of a moment ago, and Archer Brown. They were a thieving, murdering lot by all accounts—adventurers of the worst sort; and in hope of plunder, I suppose, had joined the Peruvian army during the war with Chile in eighteen fifty-nine to sixty. Their hopes were realized beyond all expectations. They got wind of some gold buried under the floor of a church, and the strange thing was that the gold was there and they found it. It was in thirty-kilo ingots, contained in seven chests, the whole lot worth in the neighborhood of three and a half million pounds. How they managed to get away with it I don't know; but I have investigated the business pretty thoroughly and I have every reason to believe that they did. They buried it again in the vicinity of Pisco, and then set out in search of a vessel. Alvarez was the only one of the four who had any education. They had all followed the sea at one time or another, but he alone knew how to navigate. The 332 others could hardly write their own names. At Panama they signed on as members of the crew of a small schooner, and as soon as they had put to sea knocked the captain and the two other sailors in the head and chucked them overboard. They returned to Pisco, loaded the gold, and started for Paumotus.
"This was in the autumn of eighteen fifty-nine. In the December following they landed at Pinaki, where they buried the treasure. The island was uninhabited then as now, and they crossed to Nukatavake to learn the name of it. The natives were shy, but they persuaded one man to approach, and when they had the information they wanted, shot him and rowed out to their boat. If you should go to Nukatavake you will find two old men there who still remember the incident.
"Then they went to Australia, scuttled their vessel not far from Cooktown, and went ashore with a story of shipwreck. They had some of the gold with them—not much in proportion to the amount of the treasure, but enough to keep four ordinary men in comfort for the rest of their lives. It soon went, and the four were next heard of at the Palmer gold fields. Alvarez and Barrett were both supposed to have been killed there in a fight with some blacks. Brown and Killorain had not mended their ways to any extent, and both were finally jerked up for manslaughter and sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude. Brown died in prison, but Killorain served out his term, and finally died in Sydney hospital in nineteen twelve.
"Most of these facts—if they are facts—I had from Killorain himself the night before he died. I met him in a curious way; or, better, the meeting came as the 333 result of a curious combination of circumstances. You may have noticed the scar on my side?"
I had noticed it, a broad gash puckered at the edges where the flesh had healed, tapering to a point in the middle of his back.
"It was not much of a wound," he went on, "but it gave me a deal of trouble at the time. I got it in New Guinea in nineteen eleven, when I was prospecting for gold in the back country. I was a long way from a settlement, and one day a nigger took it into his head to stick me with a spear. I suppose he wanted my gun and ammunition, for I had little else excepting my placer outfit. I let him have one bullet from my Colt just as he was about to dive into the bush, and for all I know he may be lying there to this day. I have that little frizzly headed native to thank for my knowledge of the Pinaki treasure. Sometimes I am sorry that I killed him; but at other times I feel that shooting was altogether too easy a death for the man really responsible for bringing me here. I was in a bad way from the wound. Infection set in, and I had to nurse myself somehow and get down to a place where I could have medical attention. I managed it, but the ten days' journey was a nightmare. I was nothing but skin and bone when I left the hospital, and New Guinea not being a likely place for a convalescent, the doctor recommended me to go to Australia.
"I had a small bag of dust, the result of a year and a half of heart-breaking work in the mountains. Most of it went for the hospital bill, and when I reached Sydney I had very little left. I was compelled to put up at the cheapest kind of a boarding house, although the woman who kept it was quite a decent sort. Her 334 house was in a poor quarter of the town and her patrons mostly longshoremen and teamsters. It was a wretched life for her, but she had two children to support and was making the best of a bad job. I admired her pluck and did what I could in a small way to help her out.
"One evening I was waiting for supper in the kitchen when some one rapped. Before I could go to the door, it opened, and an old man came stumbling in, asking for something to eat. I thought he was drunk and was about to hustle him back the way he came when I noticed that he was wet through—it was a cold, rainy night—and really suffering from exposure and lack of food. I made him remove his coat—he had nothing on under it—but not without a great deal of trouble, and he insisted on drying it across his knees. He was a little wizened ape of an Irishman, about five feet three or four in height, with deep-set blue eyes, bushy eyebrows, a heavy, discolored mustache, and a thick shock of white hair—altogether the most frightful-looking little dwarf that ever escaped out of a picture book. He was tatooed all over the arms and chest—Hands Across the Sea, the Union Jack, a naked woman—several other designs common in waterfront tatooing parlors.
"His body was as shriveled as a withered apple, but his little bloodshot eyes blazed like bits of live coal. Except for the fire in them, he might have been a hundred years old and, as a matter of fact, he wasn't a great way from it. Eighty-seven, he told me, and that is about all he did tell me. He gorged some food and was all for getting away at once. But it had set in to rain very hard and I persuaded him to wait until 335 the worst of it was over. He was very suspicious at first. I believe he expected me to call a policeman. Later he thawed a little, and became even talkative in a surly way when I told him, with the landlady's consent, that he might stay the night if he had no place else to go. Wouldn't hear of it, though. He said he had a job as night watchman at Rush-cutters' Bay. That might or might not have been true. At any rate, I went with him to the car line—the boarding house was a good mile from Rush-cutters' Bay—and gave him a couple of shillings, as a loan, I said. He could return it sometime. Just before I left him he asked for my name and address, mumbling something about doing me a bit of good one of these days. He was insistent, so I gave it to him, but not at all willingly. He had frightened Mrs. Sharpe, the landlady, just by the way he looked at her, and I didn't want him coming back.
"He didn't come back. That was in May, nineteen twelve, and I heard nothing more of him until September. I was still at the boarding house, getting slowly better, but not yet good for anything. I kept out of doors as much as possible, took long walks in the country and along the waterfront looking at ships. When I came in one evening Mrs. Sharpe told me that an attendant from the Sydney hospital had called twice during the day. An old man named Killorain, a patient at the hospital, wanted to see me. The name meant nothing to me and I couldn't imagine who the man could be. The attendant called again later in the evening. Killorain was about to die, he said, and wouldn't give them any peace until I was brought to see him.
336 "It was getting on toward midnight when we reached the hospital. The old man was in one of the public wards. I recognized him at once, although he had shriveled away to nothing at all. It was impossible to forget his eyes, once you had seen them. He was dying—no doubt of it, but I could see that he wasn't going to die until he was ready.
"'Sit down close here,' he said. 'I'm glad you came. You did me a good turn once and I haven't forgot it. Few good turns I've had in my life. Not so many but what I can remember the lot.' The night nurse had approached quietly and was standing on the other side of the bed. All at once he saw her. 'Hey, you!' he said. 'Grease off out of this! Stand over there on the other side of the room where I can watch you!' When she had gone he rose from his pillow and looked cautiously around the room. The beds on either side of him were empty. There was a patient in the one across the aisle, but he was sleeping. Killorain watched him for a moment to make sure of this.  'Listen!' he said. 'I've cut more throats in my time than you might think.' Sounds a bit stagey, doesn't it? But these were his exact words. Nothing remarkable about them, of course. Throat-cutting is still a fairly thriving business. I waited for him to go on. He again looked up and down the room, and then asked me to hand him the coat which was lying across the foot of the bed. It was the same coat he had been wearing in May, when he came to the boarding house.
"'When they brought me here,' he said, 'they took my clothes, and I've had some trouble getting this back.' The attendant had told me as much. The old man 337 had raised the very devil of a row until it was found. He asked me to rip open the lining of the right sleeve and to give him the paper I would find there. It was a soiled, greasy sheet of foolscap, pasted on a piece of cloth. 'Once,' he went on, 'you gave me two shillings for car fare to Rush-cutters' Bay. It probably wasn't any hardship on you, but never mind about that. You said I could pay it back if I'd a mind to. Well, I'm going to pay it back with a bit of interest. I'm going to give you this paper, and it's as good as three million pound notes of the Bank of England.'
"I thought, of course, that he was completely off his chump, and the fear that I would think so was uppermost in his mind. He kept repeating that he was old and worn out, but that his mind was clear. 'Don't you think I'm balmy,' he said.  He gave me a circumstantial account of the whole affair. I have outlined it briefly. There were many other interesting facts, but it is not worth while to speak of them here. As he talked, the conviction grew upon me that he was perfectly sane and was telling the truth. He went over the chart with me. It had been made by Alvarez, the scholar of the party, he said. There had been a good deal of quarreling and fighting later for the possession of it.
"Before I left him he made me promise that I would go to Pinaki. He wouldn't rest easy in his grave, he said, unless he knew that I was looking for the treasure.  It ain't likely I'd lie to you on my deathbed.' Rest easy in his grave! There was an odd glimpse into his mind. He wasn't 338 worrying about his crimes, and there were enough of them, according to his own confession. It was the thought of the gold lying forever forgotten which worried him. He could rest quietly if he knew before he died that some one else was fighting and throat-cutting over it. I asked him why he hadn't gone back for it himself. He told me that of the fifty-three years since it had been buried he had spent forty in prison and the rest of the time he was trying to earn or steal the money to buy a schooner. I told him that I would come back to see him the following day. 'You needn't bother,' he said. 'I'm finished.' And it was true. He died three hours later.
"I tried to forget the incident, but it was one of those things which refuse to be forgotten. It was always in the back of my head. I decided to check up Killorain's story where I could. I made inquiries in Peru, and found that the gold had actually been stolen. The dates and circumstances coincided with his account. A friend in the customs at Cooktown confirmed for me the story of four shipwrecked sailors who landed in February, eighteen sixty, from a ship called the Bosun Bird. I had a small piece of property on the outskirts of Cooktown which I had bought years ago. With the money realized from the sale of it I took passage for Tahiti on my way to Pinaki.
"That voyage was the longest one I have ever made. By that time the thought of those seven chests of gold, all in thirty-kilo ingots, was with me twenty-four hours out of the twenty-four. Yes, even at night. I slept very little, and when I did it was to dream of hunting for the treasure; of finding it. I became suspicious of a villainous-looking old man who was traveling third 339 class. I thought he might be Brown or Luke Barrett. Perhaps they were not dead, after all. At Papeete I told no one of my purpose there, with the exception of one governmental official. If the treasure should be found the French government would have a claim to certain percentage on uncoined gold, and I meant to be aboveboard in my dealings with it. This official was sworn to secrecy, but the business leaked out eventually and created a great deal of excitement. I was immensely annoyed, of course, for I had guarded the secret as well as old Killorain ever had. However, I had in my pocket all the necessary papers, drawn up accurately, witnessed, signed, and sealed. I went on with my preparations, and finally, in February, nineteen thirteen, I was put ashore from a small cutter, not four hundred yards from where we are sitting.
"I started the search before the cutter was two miles on the return voyage. For two months I slept in the open—had no time to build a house—and ate tinned food which I had brought with me. Killorain's chart was of but little use. It made reference to trees which had long since rotted away or had been cut down by the natives of Nukatavake. The marks which I found corresponded precisely with those on the chart, but several of the most important ones were missing."
The treasure hunter rose. "Well," he said, "there's the end of the story. You know the rest of it."
"But I don't know the rest at all!" I said. "You have left out the most interesting part. Tell me something of your life here."
"You have seen three days of it. It has gone on for seven years in the same way."
"You were diving just now in the lagoon. Do you 340 think the gold may have been buried there or that the land has fallen away?"
"My dear fellow, I'll not weary you with an account of what I think. It's rather warm here. Shall we go back to the house?"
I was hoping for a week of calm, and when we went to bed that evening there was reason to believe we might have it. A few hours later, however, I was awakened by the Englishman. "There's going to be a bit of a blow presently," he said. "Your skipper has just sent for you. He wants to get away at once."
The stars had been blotted out. The wind was soughing in the palms, and the waves slapping briskly on the lagoon beach. Our farewell was a brief one.
"When shall you come to Tahiti?" I asked.
"Not until I have found what I'm looking for."
"Well," I said, "I hope that will be soon."
But if he holds fast to his resolve my belief is that it will be never.
I was awaiting Hall's arrival in Tahiti, confident that sooner or later he would keep a vague rendezvous set months before. I knew that by this time he must have penetrated far into the sea of atolls, traveling in the leisurely manner of these latitudes, transferring from one schooner to the next and stopping over—for weeks at a time, perhaps—in the tranquil and lonely communities he had grown to love. Once or twice—when a dingy Paumotu schooner, deep laden with copra and crowded with pearl divers eager for a whirl of gayety in the island capital, crept into the pass—I had word of him, but there was no hint of return.
It was a month of calms: long days when the lagoon, unruffled by the faintest cat's-paw, shimmered in the blinding sunlight, while the sea outside seemed to slumber, stirring gently and drowsily along the reef. Once, at midday, a three-masted schooner with all sails furled and Diesel engines going, came in to waken the town with the hoarse clamor of her exhaust. An hour later I met her skipper on the street.
"Your friend Hall is homeward bound," he told me. "I spoke the Potii Ravarava, a bit of a thirty-ton 344 native schooner, off Nukatavake, and he was aboard of her—she ought to be in some time this week."
The days passed in the rapid and dreamy fashion peculiar to the South Seas. From time to time I thought of Hall and his diminutive schooner drifting about becalmed among the coral islands, or perhaps only a score of miles off Tahiti, helpless to reach the sighted land. The Potii Ravarava was a full week overdue when the calm weather came to an end. The heat was intense that afternoon, and toward sunset towering masses of cloud began to pile up along the horizon to the north. The sky grew black; there was a tense hush in the air, vibrant with the far-off rumble of thunder. When I strolled out along the waterfront the people were gathering in anxious groups before their houses; I heard snatches of talk: "Have you noticed the glass?  Hope it doesn't mean another cyclone.... The town will catch it if the sea begins to rise."
I had heard of the hurricane of 1906, when the sea rose and reached clean into the harbor, driving the population of Papeete to the hills. On Motu Uta, an islet in the bay, a white man was living with his Paumotuan wife. When the angry seas began to race in over the reef without a pause, sweeping the islet from end to end, the watchers ashore gave the pair up for lost. But the woman was a Low-Islander, and just before dawn, when the coconut palm in which she had taken refuge was swept away, she swam six hundred yards to shore and landed through a surf a sea otter would have hesitated to attempt. Next day they found the drowned and battered body of her husband drifting 345 with dead pigs and horses and a litter of wreckage from the lower portions of the town.
Possibly Tahiti was in for another hurricane. When I glanced at my barometer after dinner, it was falling with ominous rapidity, and at bedtime the glass stood lower than I had seen it in the South Seas. In the small hours of the morning a servant came to waken me. There was a new sound in the air—the uproar of surf breaking on the inner shore of the lagoon.
"The sea is rising," said Tara; "the waves are breaking under the purau trees, and if you do not come quickly to help me our canoe will be washed away."
The stars were hidden by black clouds, and though scarcely a breath of air stirred, the level of the lagoon was four feet above its normal limit, and the sheltered water, usually so calm, was agitated by a heavy swell. Then the rain came—drumming a thunderous monotone on my tin roof—and after the rain the wind. At dawn, though a seventy-mile gale was blowing out of the northeast, it was obvious that all danger of a hurricane was past. At midday the glass began to rise and before dark the wind was falling away perceptibly.
More than once during the night I had thought of Hall out somewhere on the wild and lonely sea to the east. The Potii Ravarava was reputed an able little boat—with proper offing she would probably come through worse than this. But she had no engine, and if she had been caught in the Paumotu—the Dangerous Archipelago, where unknown currents and a maze of reefs make navigation ticklish in the best of weather—there was cause for anxiety.
The storm blew itself out in two days' time, and on the evening of the third day I was standing on the 346 water front with a group of traders and schooner captains. They were speaking of the Potii Ravarava, by this time the object of mild misgivings, when one of the skippers gave a sudden shout.
"There she is now!" he announced and, looking up, I saw a deeply laden little schooner, with patched grayish sails, rounding the point of Fareute. Presently she turned into the wind, dropped anchor, and sent a boat ashore—a few moments later I was welcoming Hall—very thin, raggedly dressed, and brown as a Paumotuan. His eyes were smiling, but they had in them a look unmistakable when once seen—the expression of a hunger greater than most of us have known.
"Hello!" he said. "Come along to the hotel—it must be dinner time. By Jove! I feel as though I could eat a raw shark!"
When he had eaten two dinners complete—from soup to black coffee, and beginning with soup again—he lit a cigarette and told me the story of his return from the Low Islands.
"It was all right," he began, "until we left Hao. The palm tops were still in sight on the horizon when the breeze died away, and we drifted for seven whole days in a broiling, glassy calm. It was a curious experience, but one I would not care to repeat.
"You've seen the schooner—she's not much bigger than a sea-going canoe. There were four of us aboard—Miti the skipper, a Paumotuan and a seaman by instinct, though he knows nothing of latitude or longitude; two sailors, one of whom has a horrible case of elephantiasis; and myself. We had a tremendous load of copra for so small a boat; the hold was crammed with it and the cabin stuffed to the ceiling. Opposite 347 the companionway they had left out a few bags at the top, giving a space two feet high and just wide enough for two men to sleep side by side in case of rain or bad weather. Our stove was merely a box of sand in which a fire could be lighted, set in a little box of a galley tacked to the forward deck. If we had had anything to cook, the galley might have been useful; but Miti had given away nearly all of the ship's provisions to his relatives on Hao. They gave him a feast while some copra was being loaded, and when the job was finished he gave a feast in return. The two sailors looked sour while they watched the people opening their biscuit and salmon and bully-beef, but, after all, the prevailing winds are fair, and normally the passage to Tahiti wouldn't take more than ten days. Miti overdid the giving-away business, however. When we took stock of our kaikai on the first day of the calm I found he had saved only half a tin of biscuit and a few cans of salmon. In addition to this, we had a parting gift of a sack of drinking nuts and a couple of dozen ripe nuts some one was sending to Tahiti for seed. I had grown fed up on the sort of water these schooners carry—stale, and full of wriggling young mosquitoes—and by great good fortune I had a three-gallon demijohn, sent by Tino, of the Winship, which I filled with fresh rain water at Hao.
"My demijohn lasted precisely a day and a half. All hands drank out of it, but I did not complain of their lavishness—there was supposed to be a barrel of water somewhere below. Those were thirsty days. We rigged up an awning with part of an old mainsail; I spent most of my time lying in the hot shade, reading the one book I had with me—Froissart's Chronicles of England, France, and Spain. 348 The days seemed interminable.... The starlight paled; the sun rose to glare down hour after hour on the face of a motionless and empty sea, and set at last on a horizon void of clouds. Sometimes I dozed; sometimes I watched the reflections of the bowsprit. It was painted gray, with a bright-red tip—and, seen in the faintly heaving water, it looked like a long, gray snake spitting fire as it writhed in graceful undulations. The sufferer from elephantiasis turned out to be an extraordinary man; it was not worth while to keep watches during the calm, and, as there was no work of any importance, he retired to the stifling cubby-hole among the copra sacks and slept—slept from dawn to darkness and from dark to dawn again. Now and then, at long intervals, he appeared on deck; once I went aft for a look at him, lying naked except for a pareu—mouth open and swollen limbs sprawled on the uneven surface of the copra. Miti and Teriaa showed a different side of native character. The schooner belonged to the captain, and keeping her trim gave him the same delight a man feels in buying pretty clothes for his mistress. The young sailor was Miti's nephew, and the pair of them worked tirelessly in the sun, scraping her rail and topsides in preparation for a fresh coat of paint. It was strange, when I was deep in Froissart's sieges and battles and stories of court life, to glance up from my book and see the vacant rim of the horizon, the silhouette of the foremast against a hot blue sky, and the two Kanakas endlessly at work—scrape, scrape, scrape; an exchange of low-toned remarks; a chuckle as they heard the gentle snores of the sleeping man below.
"Nearly every day our hopes were raised by deceitful 349 cat's-paws, heralded by far-off streaks of blue. Some died before they reached us; others, after a preliminary rustle and flutter, filled our sails and set the schooner to moving gently on her course ... only to die away and leave the sea glassy as before.
"On the second day the sharks began to gather in their uncanny fashion, as they always do about a vessel becalmed or in distress. I spent hours watching them—ugly blots in the clear blue water, waiting with a grim and hopeful patience for some happening which would provide them with a meal. They circled about the schooner in deliberate zigzags, or lay motionless in the shadow of her side, attended always by their odd little striped pilot fish. I learned to recognize one ponderous old gray shark; he had a brace of pilot fish, one swimming on each side of his head—and he wasn't afraid of us in the least. Sometimes he lay for an hour within a yard of the vessel's side; I could see the texture of his rough skin and the almost imperceptible motion of fins and tail. I can understand now the hatred sharks inspire in men who follow the sea—it wasn't long before I decided to try to kill the big, insolent brute. We hadn't as much as a hook and line on board, but finally, with a file and the point of a rusty boat hook, I improvised a makeshift sort of spear. Armed with this, I waited by the rail until my victim came in range, and then lunged down with all my strength. The spear glanced off his tough hide; he swam away in a leisurely manner, turned, and a moment later was again beneath me. This time I struck him fair on the back, but it was like trying to kill an elephant with a penknife. I think the point of my boat hook punctured him, but he only circled off again and returned 350 to give me another chance. In the end I gave up and left him in possession of the field.
"The nights, when the air had cooled and the stars were blazing overhead, were so beautiful that one hated to fall asleep. Reflection made sky and sea alike—dark backgrounds for the myriad lights of the constellations. Lying on deck while the others slept, I used to regret that I had not learned something of astronomy—the average native sailor knows more about the stars than I. Orion I knew; the Pleiades, which the natives, with a rather pretty fancy, call Matariki, the Little Eyes; and the Scorpion, believed in heathen times to be the great fish hook of Maui, flung into the sky by the god, when he had finished pulling up islands from the bottom of the Pacific. Each night I watched the rising of the Southern Cross, and low down in the south I saw the Magellanic clouds, streamers of star dust, like vapor impalpable and remote. In spite of my companions, sleeping quietly on deck, those nights gave me a sense of overwhelming loneliness: the languid air; the solitary ship, immobile on the face of a lifeless sea; the immense expanse of the universe, ablaze with the light of distant suns....
"When our water gave out I began to prefer the nights to the days. My demijohn, as I told you, lasted only a day and a half. After that we used the drinking nuts, and not until the last of them was gone did anyone think of investigating the water cask. There was consternation when we discovered that it contained only three or four inches of rusty water—either it leaked or the skipper was remarkably careless. Hoping all the time for a breeze or a squall of rain, we began on the half sack of ripe nuts—thin, sharp 351 stuff for drinking, but the lot of them went in a day. Then we went on rations, dealt out from the barrel with a soup spoon. Finally the barrel was dry, and we went two days with nothing of any kind to drink.  The natives stood it wonderfully well; Miti did not once complain, though he remarked to me that when he got ashore he was planning to "drink too much coconut"! The victim of feefee continued his slumberous routine—I wondered if he were dreaming of rustling palms and shaded, gurgling rivulets. It was my first experience of thirst; odd what an utter animal one becomes at such a time. Waking and sleeping, my head was filled with dreams of water, brooks, rivers, lakes of cool, fresh water, in which to bury one's face and drink. I dreamed of lochs and highland burns in Scotland; of the gorge of Fautaua on Tahiti, where only a few months before I had stood in the mist, listening to the roar of the cataract.
"Well, it wasn't much fun—another day or two might have been unendurable. We had one comfort, at any rate—if you're thirsty enough, you don't worry about eating. By the time we had finished the salmon and biscuit we had ceased to bother about food. On the last night of the calm none of us slept, unless it was the sailor in his den among the copra sacks. At dawn Miti touched my shoulder and pointed to the south, where the paling stars were obscured by banks of cloud. An hour later the rain water was streaming out of the scuppers and spouting off one end of our awning into the barrel, hastily recoopered in case of leaks. When the squall passed and the sun shone down on a dark-blue 352 leaping sea we were running before a fine breeze from the southeast.
"Now that our thirst was satisfied and we had plenty of water in reserve we discovered suddenly that we were starving. Miti prowled about below and came on deck with a package of rice, stowed away during some previous voyage. It was a valuable find, for we had nothing else to eat. There was copra, of course, which the natives will eat in a pinch, but the rancid smell of the stuff was too much for me. The wind held, and finally a day came when the skipper announced that we ought to raise Tahiti soon. About midday his nephew, who was perched in the shrouds, sang out that he had sighted land. I had a look and saw on the horizon a flat blur, like the palm tops of a distant atoll. As we drew near the land rose higher and higher out of the sea—it was Makatea, and we were more than a hundred miles north of our course. No meal I have ever eaten tasted so good as the dinner Miti's relatives gave us that night!
"We got away next morning, with a liberal stock of provisions and an additional passenger for Tahiti—a philosophic pig, who traveled lashed under one of the seats of the ship's boat. For three hours we ran before a fresh northwesterly breeze, but about nine o'clock the wind dropped and soon the sails were hanging limp in a dead calm. I began to suspect that the man with the swollen legs was a Jonah of the first order. This time, however, the calm was soon over; heavy greenish-black clouds were drifting down on us from the north; the sunlight gave place to an evil violet gloom. Miti and his two men sprang into a sudden activity; they battened down the forward hatch, put 353 extra lashings on the boat, double-reefed the foresail, and got in everything else. Then, in the breathless calm, a downpour of rain began to lash the sea with a strange, murmuring sound. I thought of an ominous old verse:
"If the wind before the rain,
Sheet your topsails home again;
If the rain before the wind,
Then your topsail halyards mind.
"It was a disagreeable moment. Even the pig felt it, for when the sailors moved him to a place in the bow of the dory he refrained from the usual shrill protest. One detail sticks in my memory—when the skipper had taken his place at the wheel he gave a sudden order; the man with the swollen legs shuffled hastily to where the boat was lashed down and pulled out the plug from its bottom. Then came the wind.
"It swept down on us from the north-northeast, from the quarter in which hurricanes begin—and the first furious gust was a mild sample of what was to come. When Miti got her laid to, heading at a slight angle into the seas, I realized the splendid qualities of the little Potii Ravarava. No small vessel could have kept her decks dry in the sea that made up within an hour. The captain never left the wheel, and I doubt if there's a finer helmsman in the South Seas, but before noon the galley—with our entire supply of food—was swept clean overboard, and time after time the lashed-down boat was filled. The pig had worked himself free except for one hind leg, tied to a bottom board with a rough strip of hibiscus bark, and as the water drained out slowly through the unplugged hole astern the agitated surface would be broken by his 354 snout, emitting sputtering screams. He lived through it, by the way.
"All of us, I believe, thought that we were in for a hurricane. Every hour the violence of the wind increased; it was a gale from the north-northeast—the wind called by the ancient Polynesians the Terrible Maoake. It seemed to rush at us in paroxysms of fury, tearing off the entire crests of waves and hurling solid water about as though it were spray. The forward hatch leaked badly; when I think of that storm my memory is filled with a nightmare of endless pumping.
"A day and a night passed, and dawn found us riding a mountainous sea, but the wind was abating and our decks were dry. The victim of elephantiasis had been taking spells with me at the pump. He is a man, that fellow, in spite of his loathsome infirmity.  Miti's eyes are sharp.
"'Enough pumping,' he shouted. 'Go and sleep, you two!'
"We obeyed the order with alacrity. Sleeping on deck was out of the question; without an instant of hesitation I crawled in among the copra sacks beside my repulsive companion. When I awoke it was evening and we were running, with a heavy following wind. Miti was still at the helm; red eyed from want of sleep, but whirling the spokes dexterously as each big sea passed beneath us and gazing ahead for the first glimpse of Tahiti. The clouds broke just before dark, and we had a glimpse of the high ridges of Taiarapu, dead ahead. We got sail on her at that, and stood off to the northwest, past the Bay of Taravao and the sunken reefs of Hitiaa. Toward morning we raised Point Venus Light, but the wind failed in the lee of the island, and it took us all day to reach Papeete harbor."
Hall finished his story in the dark. The last of the diners had gone long since, and, save for ourselves, the broad veranda was empty.
"What are your plans?" I asked. "Our year in the South Seas is up. Where are you going now?"
"I have no plans," he said, "except that I doubt if I shall ever go north again. I may be wrong, but I believe I've had enough of civilization to last me the rest of my life. We are happy here. Why should we leave the islands?"
I fancy the South Seas have claimed the pair of us.
THE END
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[gecode-users] Compiling Gecode in gcc 3.3 success
Mikael 'Zayenz' Lagerkvist
zayenz at kth.se
Tue Nov 8 10:26:18 CET 2005
Hi,
On 11/7/05, Javier Mena <javimena at gmail.com> wrote:
> The problem is that the file int/gcc/graphsup.icc has calls in the style:
>
> vrn->matched<UBC>()
>
> I have changed of all the calls to (that comforms c++ standard):
>
> vrn->template matched<UBC>()
>
> And it works. I have read the book of Stroustrup (The C++ Programming
> Language), but I cannot understand if one should always have to use
> the "template" keyword before that kind of calls. So, I can't
> understand exactly why does the compiler doesn't recognize the call
> sometimes.
Changing the code in this way makes it compile under the gcc
3.3-series, but it is not correct C++ I believe. Furthermore, the
code does not compile under gcc 3.4 and later with this change.
It took me some time to find the cases where one needs to add
template, and when it is forbidden. The issue is the following.
Consider the code A->M<B>() . The addition of the word template after
the arrow (making it A->template M<B>()) is done to indicate that M is
a template member of A, and that the '<' token following M is the
start of a template-list and not a less-than token.
This needs to be done if A is dependant on a template parameter of the
enclosing scope of the invocation. However, if the enclosing scope is
not a template, the compiler has static knowledge of the type of A,
which includes the fact that the member M of A is a template. Adding
the disambiguator outside a template is disallowed by the C++ standard
(I'm not sure why, but it is).
This is one of the incompatibilities between gcc up to and including
version 3.3, and later versions.
Regards,
Miakel Lagerkvist
--
Mikael 'Zayenz' Lagerkvist, http://www.imit.kth.se/~zayenz/
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MAXIMUM RISK A film review by T. White Copyright 1997 Flying Inkpot
Directed by: Ringo Lam Written by: Larry Ferguson Cast: Jean-Claude Van Damme (Alain Moreau), Natasha Henstridge (Alex Minetti) Produced by: Columbia Pictures Running Time: About 102 minutes. Rating : *** 1/2 out of ***** Theatres : Cathay, Golden Village, Eng Wah, Riverside, UA Bugis Junction and Shaw Cinemas
OK, let's get one thing straight right away: MAXIMUM RISK is no BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN (although it does have some Russians in it!), but it's not too bad, really. It's the new film from Ringo Lam, the latest Hong Kong filmmaker to defect to Hollywood, and stars that minor league Schwartzeneggar from Belgium, Jean-Claude Van Damme (who, you will recall, also starred in John Woo's maiden Hollywood effort, HARD TARGET).
In Lam's film, Van Damme plays Alain Moreau, a French cop (at least his accent makes more sense here than it did in Hard Target) who discovers that he was separated shortly after birth from a twin brother who was adopted by Russians. These Russians defected to the United States and moved into a black neighbourhood in New York (where, I suppose, they thought they wouldn't be noticed). This brother, Mikhail Suverov (played in his few scenes by...well, you know), becomes deeply involved in the Russian Mafia and the FBI (almost the same thing, I guess), and is killed in France (in the movie, things happen so fast that you don't have too much time to think about how weird this all is).
Moreau does what any good surviving twin brother would do and goes to New York to find out why Mikhail was killed, and why everyone in France who knows anything about him is also being killed (we wonder the same thing; I still do).
In Little Odessa, he meets Mikhail's girlfriend, Alex (Natasha Henstridge, last seen in SPECIES), who helps him solve the mystery and adds immeasurably to the mise-en-scene (she has very nice breasts, and we get to seen them briefly in this movie; it was rated R in the US but is PG here, so they must have seen more of her breasts than we do).
This film lacks the gloss and high production values of such other action movies as BROKEN ARROW, THE FUGITIVE, HARD TARGET, or anything starring Arnold, but that works to its benefit, I think. After all, one thing that's been missing from Woo's Hollywood films is that certain Hong Kong funkiness that we all know and love (well, some of us do). Movies like this shouldn't be too pretentious, and that is part of the problem with some of these other films: they try to be too "big" in terms of special effects and sheer spectacle.
MAXIMUM RISK has its share of car chases and explosions, but they don't overwhelm the movie or detract our attention from the narrative (not too much, anyway). The emphasis throughout is on the characters and their interactions (even if, at times, they don't make a hell of a lot of sense). In fact, one of the more interesting aspects of the film is a minor character, a rather overeager New York cabbie (Frank Van Keeken from TV's "Kids in the Hall"), who begins as something of a joke but becomes an important part of the story. Unfortunately, by the time we have come to really get interested in him, he...well, you'll see.
The movie also features some set pieces of the type that we have come to expect from Lam and his Hong Kong compatriots. One is a fight in a Russian sauna, with lots of sweaty, muscular male flesh (this one will appeal to certain parts of the audience more than others), bullets in heads, and vodka.  And even the predictable car chases are more Hong Kong than Hollywood, as they trash those quaint French cafes, vegetable carts, and, well, French people that, we all know in our hearts, deserve trashing just for being so damn quaint.
Of course, the movie does have its share of silliness.  In an unnecessarily dramatic moment, he apparently is shocked at what he sees, at what he has become. But what has he become?  Doesn't sound too unreasonable to me, considering the genre. But let's face it, any time Van Damme tries to be dramatic, he looks silly.
So MAXIMUM RISK is a little different from most other action films. While watching it, I was surprised, and a little disappointed, in the relative lack of pyrotechnics. But watching some of these other action films is sort of like experiencing a sugar rush; after the initial excitement, there's not much left. Although it's short on spectacle, Lam's film leaves a better and more lasting impression, I think. I'm more impressed by it now than I was while watching it, and to me, that's a good sign.
The Flying Inkpot Rating System: * Wait for the TV2 broadcast. ** A little creaky, but still better than staying at home with Gotcha! *** Pretty good, bring a friend. **** Amazing, potent stuff. ***** Perfection. See it twice.
Dr T. White teaches Film at the English Language and Literature Department of the National University of Singapore, but we don't hold this against him.
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