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adventures of Errol Flynn newest idol
by
Wm. A. Ulman
"Him fellow in rafter. Me savvy shoot "em."
Just that. A calm, casual statement, but young Flynn was beginning to look upon such happenings with the same nonchalance, himself. Snakes in the rafters? Naturally!
"Call 'em boys ! Go Moriai ! Savvy ?"
The boy savvied. He was a good boy, best gun-boy on the island, but the very mention of Moriai country was enough to make his eyes bug out in terror. His vast mop of wool, a full six inches straight out from the scalp, seemed to quiver.
While his boys were stocking the launch with supplies and ample ammunition down at the river bank, Erroll proceeded to learn everything he could of the situation "deep in." A tribe, fairly large, that had never really been brought under control had recently been making vicious raids on smaller villages — out after heads for souvenirs and human flesh for food.
Errol Flynn, recruited for the screen from a life of romantic adventure, married Lily Damita after a brief but exciting courtship. He skyrocketed to stardom with his first American-made picture, Captain Blood, and is now playing the stellar role in Charge of the Light Brigade which will be one of Warner Brothers' most lavish films this year
Illustration by Jay Sweet
Frankly, it wras nothing to get excited about. Such things happen still in the deadly green depths of Papua. The savages there are really savage, but, strangely, there is nothing consciously vicious about them — no more than a tiger or a baboon is conscious of his deadliness. But, "the Govamin" has found that by patience and firm handling even the worst can be tamed and held down to the simplest of murders — without the following taint of cannibalism. Headhunting? Of course it's sternly dealt with wherever possible, but the natives naively reply that if it 'becomes necessary' to remove an enemy why not keep his head ? It's no use to the deceased and certainly makes an attractive souvenir !
It is no wonder that his eyes were chill as young Mr. Flynn set out for the interior with six native police, themselves sons of the same savages he was in search of, and three months' supply of food and ammunition. The launch, a stout thirty-two footer, seemed suddenly small as he boarded her. If anything happened to the boat — a submerged log, a sharp rock, the rending crash of rapids — well, that would be just too bad. If the graygreen maw of a crocodile didn't drag a man down to drown and rot under a submerged log till ready for mastication, the headhunters or the deadly insects of the [Continued on page 66]
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