t city in the Philippines.
That night a shore party of bluejackets, wandering about the town in
quest of amusement, dropped in at a cockpit where a main was in
progress. Noting the large wagers laid by the excited natives on their
favorite birds, the sailors offered to back a "chicken" which they had
aboard the destroyer against all the cocks in Cebu. The natives,
smiling in their sleeves at the prospect of taking money so easily from
the Americanos, promptly accepted the challenge and some hundreds of
pesos were laid against the unknown bird. At the hour set for the fight
the grinning sailors appeared at the cockpit with their "chicken," the
mascot of the destroyer--a large American eagle! Ensued, of course, a
torrent of protest and remonstrance, but the money was already up and
the bluejackets demanded action. So the eagle was anchored by a chain
in the center of the pit, where it sat motionless and apathetic, head
on one side, eyelids drooping, apparently half asleep--until a cock was
tossed into the pit. Then there was a lightning-like flash of the
mighty talons and all that was left of the Cebuan champion was a heap
of bloodied feathers. The "match" was quickly over and the triumphant
sailors, collecting their bets, departed for their ship. Ever since
then there has been a proverb in Cebu--"Never match your cock against
an American chicken."

Governor Rogers informed me that, in compliance with a cablegram from
the Governor-General, he had arranged a "show" for us at a village
called Parang, on the other side of the island. The "show," I gathered,
was to consist of a stag-hunt, shark-fishing, war-dances, and pony
races, and was to conclude with a native bull-fight. One of the
favorite sports of the Moros is hunting the small native stag on
horseback, tiring it out, and killing it with spears. As it developed,
however, that there was no certainty of being able so to stage-manage
the affair that either the hunters or the hunted would come within the
range of the camera, we regretfully decided to dispense with that
number of the programme.

When we arrived at Parang it looked as though the entire population of
the island had assembled for the occasion. The native police were
keeping clear a circle in which the dances were to take place, while
the slanting trunks of the cocoanut-palms provided reserved seats for
scores of tan and chocolate and coffee-colored youngsters. We were
greeted by the Panglima of Parang, the