Terry: A Tale of the Hill PeopleThomson, Charles Goff
General
Terry: A Tale of the Hill People
Thomson, Charles Goff
Love stories; Philippines -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
Terry, refreshed by a shower and change to formal white uniform, was
listening to the Major's grave summing up of the Moro problem when the
arrival of the governor's car took them both down to join him. As
Governor Mason alighted to meet him Terry felt the magnetism of the
man who had been selected to attempt the difficult Moro venture.
Governor Mason had grown up in the island service, had been identified
with the inner government circle since the days of the First
Commission, and had been retained and promoted by each succeeding
administration. Far-sighted, patient, wary, suave, he was the most
consummate master of Island policy developed under the American
regime. A press bitterly hostile to the idea of giving the Moros civil
government had attested to his proven capacity by moderating its
criticism following the announcement that he would head the new
government.
Terry was welcomed with a graceful simplicity that made him feel at
home. Immediately he fell under the spell of this man whose spirit
enthused the small band of whites who were redeeming a people from
their prehistoric lethargy. He was fit to lead; the sweep of line from
temple through jaw bespoke an uncompromising force of character, but
was gentled by the deep cleft of chin: something in the poise of head
gave him the manner best described as aristocratic but it was toned
down by the mischievous gleam which flickered, often without obvious
reason, in the thoughtful eyes.
The big car bore them swiftly through the cooling evening over smooth
coral roads which were laid down like ribbons on the green tableland
over which they sped: they shot under groves of tall cocoanut trees,
past clumps of feathery bamboo which flanked the highway. Dusk was
near when they entered the reservation and drew up in front of a
red-roofed bungalow set on a great lawn facing the prison inclosure.
Superintendent Wade rose from the wide veranda and came down to meet
them, a tall, smooth-faced man of young middle-age, evidently on most
intimate terms with the Governor and the Major. While expressing his
pleasure in being privileged to entertain Terry, he bent upon him the
searching look of appraisal which is instinctive in the Orient, where
the masses are controlled by the white man's prestige, a prestige
which may suffer through attitude or actions of each newcomer.
Terry halted a moment at the curb, rapt in appreciation of the spot.
Acres of lawn, splashed with flaming red and yellow canna beds, swept
from roadway to edge of sea: wide shell roads, smooth as planks, wound
in great curves into the dark groves of cocoanut palms which
surrounded the inclosure on three sides and extended back a thousand
acres in symmetrical rows of towering trunks which created endless
shaded glades: turning slowly, he saw the immaculately policed prison
inclosure showing through the steel grillwork which an intelligent
mind had substituted for grim and stuffy prison walls. It seemed less
prison than sanctuary.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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