American cinematographer (Nov 1921-Jan 1922)

Page Fourteen The American Cinematographer oA Camera in the Congo (Continued from Page 5) amazement a few hours later when, on looking over the dry negative, I saw that it was full of cracks, lines caused by the air changes on the emulsion while drying. Of course that meant drying the negative in the dark room ar.d having to depend a lot on a native, who looked upon my whole proceedings as the work of a lunatic. I almost agreed with him. The next thing that happened to me was reversal of image, due to over-exposure as well as the strong actinic light and, there, Mr. Latent Image stepped in and finished the job nicely. A negative in the tropics must be developed within three days of exposure, I have found that negatives exposed and left undeveloped over three days will not show a sign of an image on development except the image that you focused on in the aperture. That will be the only visible image, and hardly show over exposure. Furthermore, it is possible to photograph a second time on negative stock on which the latent image has taken place merely by increasing the exposure and, on development, the second image will appear without any trace of the first image. I actually performed this test and got a good-looking negative the second time, with the exception that an image showed here and there of my first exposure. In the dark continent the principal consideration is your health. Booze is taboo for it weakens the system and the sojourner there must lead a clean life. In my travels up and down the river I employed at times fifteen natives, including Mamba and the bath tub. The highways of the Congo are the rivers and my dug-out was a huge tree, hewed out by a native boat builder and operated in this fashion: One native took soundings at the bow, another steered the dug-out astern, and still another darkey tapped on a drum he held between his knees to give the natives rowing a cue for dipping their oars. There were six natives on either side, and when I looked at the dug-out from a distance, coming towards me, it resembled a huge dragon. My objective one day was a big village on the river and, as we neared it, I was sure that the village was well populated, for the odor of hot native coming from that direction was almost strong enough for a gas mask. When we pulled up the bank was lined with natives; the chief was there to greet me and offered me the hospitality of his village and the pick of the young ladies, of course, knowing all the while, that he would get a present of salt, fish hooks, coth, etc., etc. Mamba was in his glory, surrounded by the fair sex, admiring a pair of trousers I had cast of months before, Mamba explained to the chief that I wanted "Ji Ji Jinges" (reproductions of shadows), that I was not a Boola Matadi and was very wealthy. The bargain agred upon was a bag of salt for the chief and presents to the natives I employed. I obtained some very interesting shots there, notably the death of a native woman, a most unusual subject. The mediciine man of the tribe hearing of the presence of a wealthy white man, sent word that he would dance for me for a few bags of salt and, although, as I was afterwards told, he had been warned not to appear as he was sure to be killed by white man, his curiosity overcame him. He wanted to see the white man, who was a greater medicine man than himself — a white man who made a box sing and laugh, who could make wooden elephants walk nad who could make light at night. He appeared, followed by numerous slaves, carrying his wardrobe. The natives seemed to me to be deathly afraid of him, but he put on a dance for me that was a wonder; as a shimmier he was a world-beater. I returned to Bolenge in time to start on an elephant hunt with Mr. Moon, who had had natives out looking for elephant tracks since I left. Our guide was a missionary native, who knew his business. The Congo river had risen about six meters or more and we sailed our boat out over submerged land with giant trees sticking out of the water and monkeys bv the hundreds screeching overhead and jumping from tree to tree. Our canoe crew had their tongues hanging out of their mouths and begging Mr. Moon and me to shoot monkeys, for they surely love monkey meat, but every one was told to keep quiet. After about an hour of this we pulled up to the shore and landed. My camera was being carried by Mamba and Mr. Moon had my express rifle as well as a Mauser. I filmed the procession going by and then joined the file. Suddenly we heard a noise, and every one stopped. Mr. Moon came back and explained that the elephants were near and that the sound I heard was the elephants fanning away flies with their ears. At the moment I was looking for a hole in the ground to hide in, for there is nothing that will stop a bunch of elephants except a bullet in the right spot, and there was not enough light in that swamp to shoot by. Suddenly the elephants seemed to have gotten wind of us and started to stampede and, at the same moment, the Mauser spoke. The natives were yelling at the top of their voices, my hair was standing erect on my head and the next I knew there was a grand rush towards where the elephants had been. Mr. Moon had scored a perfect hit and a big bull elephant was breathing his last. Already the natives were cutting small trees, with which to turn him over, so that he would be more readily cut up. Each one of the natives got all the meat he could carry, Mr. Moon took the tusks and a glorious time was had by all. The native ice box is a hole in the ground, which also serves as a hiding place, so that his neighbor may not find it. When he gets hungry, he digs the meat up; nothing simpler. And such is life in the Congo. After six months I prepared to return home and planned to go by way of Lake Tanganyika, and out via the Cape to Cairo railroad to Alexandria, but the Germans had planned to grab that country along with the rest of the world, and there was fighting in many places, so I went out the way I went in, and had an uneventful trip back to Falmouth, notwithstanding the submarine terror. And now I find my thoughts often straying to the African Congo and longing to be there again. A sad feature of the agitation for motion picture censorship is that the people who cry loudest for it are those who do not patronize the pictures. William Horsley Film Laboratories William Horsley, Prop. Expert Laboratory Work Developing, Printing, Special Tinting and Toning Individual Attention Given Dramatic Features Newly Equipped Title Department for Double, Triple, and Trick Exposures 6060 Sunset Boulevard Holly 3693 Hollywood , California