KLINGER, after leaving Kataafa and his chiefs at Kulinuu, took the trail leading behind the town of Ukula. He desired if possible to keep his movements secret, although he felt sure that before long it would be unnecessary. The movement of the Kataafa warriors by both land and sea must be seen by the natives of the other faction.
As he gave his pony his head, he dwelt happily upon the success that had so far attended his efforts.
The manager and his native companions stopped at every village en route. They found the warriors collected ready to hear his words. Then after he had ridden on, the entire village made ready to follow afoot or in canoes within the barrier reef.
It was long past midnight before he reached the village of Saluafata. His native companions left him, and he entered a large native house built off by itself overlooking the bay and but a few hundred yards from the beach.
A native woman, comely and dignified in European costume, met him at the door.
“‘Talofa’s’ not in?” he asked in Kapuan.
On the table a cold supper was waiting him. After eating, he stood for several minutes gazing upon the dark waters of the bay.
“Don’t wake me until the schooner anchors,” he said to the woman who was then clearing away the remnants of his meal. “My bed ready? I’m dead sleepy.”
After Klinger had gone to his room the woman took her master’s clothes and proceeded to the little stream a few hundred yards up the beach. There she began to wash the soiled garments. As the day dawned the settlement commenced to awaken from its slumber. Fishermen launched their canoes, paddling out to the reef to seek for shell-fish. Native woman after woman appeared, squatting down in the shallow brook to cleanse her own and her husband’s slender wardrobe. A babble of musical voices rose above the noise of the brook and the distant thunder of the surf on the reef.
“Missi Klinger come?” asked one woman as she noticed in the early morning light the clothes being washed by Klinger’s wife.
Fanua nodded joyfully. She was very proud of being the wife of the manager of the Kapuan firm. She was a comely woman, much younger than Klinger, but the first bloom of youth had vanished. There yet remained a certain charm of movement. Every gesture was full of grace, the effect of her long training as the Tapau[27] of Saluafata, where, until Klinger married her, she had led the village in all its dances and processions.
The throng of women continued to increase. All plied questions to the smiling Fanua, who answered them all good-naturedly.
When would Kataafa arrive? What was going to happen? Had the chief justice said who was to be king? Could they go ahead and build their new house? Was there to be war? Would the islands be taken by Herzovinia?
The women of Kapua are the source of all gossip. Nothing can be kept secret from their intelligent intellects. Nor can any of them keep a secret an instant. It is their stock in trade. As they washed, as they beat out the tapa cloth, as they wove the sennit string from cocoanut fiber, as they gathered the thatch for the roofs of their houses, or as they swept clean their houses and adjoining space, their voices were always raised to gossip with their nearest neighbors. Nothing missed their watchful eyes. News travels fast. An incident happens in one village and in an incredibly short time the news has been passed from house to house and village to village until the whole island has buzzed with the knowledge.
The sun had been up several hours when the “Talofa” crawled slowly through the narrow entrance to the harbor, between the reefs, and anchored scarcely a stone’s throw from the shore.
The rattle of her chain awoke Klinger. He arose at once. Fanua was at work preparing breakfast. He watched in silence from the window. He saw a boat lowered and shortly shove off for the beach. It grounded in front of his house. He waved a greeting. The count and Captain Scott stepped ashore.
Fanua welcomed them at the door with the musical Kapuan salutation “Talofa, Alii,” and then hastened away to finish preparing the breakfast with her own hands, a duty never entrusted to another.
“Your wife?” the count asked. Klinger nodded, but his hasty flush told plainly that the acknowledgment was a slight mortification before this superior gentleman.
“I’m here for life,” he replied, as if he deemed it necessary to explain. “Kapua is no place for a woman of our race to live, and I needed a companion. I was lonely. Fanua is a queen, in spite of her brown skin.”
The count put out his hand in ready sympathy. Klinger took it gratefully, and no more was said.
“Did you get that hound, Ben Stump?” Captain Scott asked eagerly after a short silence.
Klinger nodded. “The chief of police was after him. He’ll be found unless he left Ukula.”
“He took with him some papers,” Scott explained. “I didn’t find it out until a few minutes before we sailed, and the count would not wait. Have you any one you can trust to send back to get them? If the American man-of-war captain reads them before I get clear of these islands, it’s all over with me and the ‘Talofa.’”
“We’ll have you clear in short order now,” Klinger encouraged. “Have you breakfasted?”
The count and Scott declined to partake of the tempting food set before them. Klinger ate hurriedly, his wife serving him, while the count and Scott walked to the door, from whence they looked out upon the increasingly busy scene. The village of Saluafata was being invaded from all directions by the followers of Kataafa. They were arriving by road, long lines of almost naked warriors and half clad women, and the beach was already crowded with the canoes of those who had come by water. Each village as it arrived selected its own spot for preparation.
Klinger soon joined his companions. Such gatherings of the natives were old stories to both Klinger and Captain Scott, but to the count the sight was one of absorbing interest.
Kataafa himself and his more important chiefs were in the “Malae,” or public square of the village, when the three papalangi arrived there.
The greeting between the wily old Kapuan rebel and the count was ceremonial to an extreme. Klinger had previously made it plain that this “papalangi” was the special ambassador of his great nation beyond the sea—a nation which was much more powerful than both England and America put together.
The would-be king made the count sit next to him, and then the ceremony of kava drinking was begun. This solemn custom of preparing the root and mixing the kava can never be dispensed with at any ceremony in which the Kapuans take part. To omit it would be a grave ceremonial blunder.
Kataafa and his important chiefs and their women sat under the spreading branches of an umbrella tree, whose horizontal boughs covered with dark green foliage gave shelter from the scorching sun to nearly two hundred men and women. The warriors sat in serried ranks, close to their chosen king, while the women fringed the edge of the densely packed crowd.
The various villages formed their companies where they had camped upon arrival, and very soon they could be heard approaching. Faint singing was heard in the distance, becoming stronger as the groups advanced. At last the war chant burst out in all its barbaric melody. The maidens led, two abreast, their Tapau in front, dressed in her most elaborate creation of fine mats, tapa and girdles of sweet-scented grass. Her skin, shiny with oil, resembling soft satin, and her locks polished to the deep bluish black of the raven’s wing. Upon her head rested grotesquely the Tapau head-dress of human hair and shells of pearl. Around her throat were string after string of shells and beads. Following the maidens came the warriors, each carrying a staff to represent a rifle.
As each village arrived they danced wildly, keeping time to their quick, inspiring chant, the women, led by their graceful Tapau, swaying from side to side in perfect time, while the men brandished their wooden guns, in pantomime of battle.
Then the villagers with a sudden burst of throaty sound, resembling the final roar of a wave dashing upon the reef, deposited their food offerings and withdrew to their appointed places, from where they would take part in the great “fono,”[28] called by their candidate for king.
Count Rosen gazed in undisguised admiration upon this wonderfully drilled assemblage. All were now sitting immovable on the ground, their deep lustrous eyes turned in the direction of the inner circle of chiefs, where sat their calm leader.
After several minutes of impressive silence a chief rose to his feet and struck the attitude traditional to the Kapuan of one who wishes to be heard. He carried a “fui” of white horsehair in his right hand, while his left rested upon the knob of his orator’s staff.
He talked for nearly fifteen minutes, while the multitude listened in breathless attention.
“He is Kataafa’s talking man,” Klinger whispered to the count. “He has told them that you are here to help crown their chosen king.”
Captain Scott was becoming restless. These native “fonos” he knew were often long drawn out affairs. He was anxious to be free, to sail away from the Kapuan Islands. He did not relish being stopped by an American war-ship.
“Can’t you cut this short?” he asked Klinger.
Klinger shook his head.
“There’s no danger,” he assured Scott. “I have spies out, and when they bring me news of any movement which may threaten us, there will be time enough. The Kapuan cannot be hurried in his deliberations. We must be sure these people are all on our side before we give them the means to accomplish our purpose.”
“How about my pay for carrying your guns?” Scott asked.
Klinger nodded. “I have your check in my pocket,” he replied quietly. Then he rose to speak to the assemblage. His words were eagerly heard by the chiefs, and after he had finished the talking man in a loud liquid voice gave Klinger’s meaning to the crowd. There was a murmur of disapproval from several quarters. Chiefs arose at many points in the crowd, their talking men beside them. It was considered undignified for a chief to speak for himself.
Klinger’s placid face remained calm. The count showed plainly his anxiety, while Captain Scott smiled grimly.
“A little previous, I’m thinking,” Scott said, shaking his head knowingly.
“What did you say to displease them?” the count demanded of Klinger.
“I told them that for the support we should give them they must refuse to trade with any one but us, and that Herzovinia would hoist her flag at Kulinuu to protect them from the anger of the English and Americans.”
“Is that all?” the count exclaimed.
Klinger hesitated. “I also said that land claims of our people must be acknowledged by the king before the arms were given them.”
The count showed great displeasure.
“What land claims?” he asked.
“All claims,” Klinger replied. “The Kapuan firm holds many miles of land claimed by English, American and Kapuans. The firm cannot give this land up.”
The count bit his lips.
“It must be now exacted as a condition, count,” Klinger declared insistently. “To give in upon any point would be considered by the Kapuans a sign of weakness.”
“You have delayed the thing unnecessarily,” Captain Scott growled. “They’ll argue this point for hours.”
Klinger was obdurate.
“The harbor of Tua-Tua is one of our claims,” he said to the count in an undertone. “The American government succeeded in leasing some land there for a coaling station. That is the purpose of this condition. The Americans must leave that harbor.”
The count appeared puzzled.
“After we have taken over the islands,” he said, “then we could ask the American government to give up their lease.”
“I have lived among these people many years, count,” Klinger explained determinedly. “The island of Kulila, in which is Tua-Tua, is for the most part loyal to Panu-Mafili. After Kataafa becomes king, he must bring that island under control. We must help him to take the warriors across the straits and supply him arms and ammunition to fight successfully against Chief Moanga, who is a very formidable warrior. Otherwise we shall not control all of the islands.”
While the “fono” was still in progress a messenger arrived with information of an important character.
Kataafa heard the messenger in silence. He did not show by a single muscle that the news displeased him.
“The chief justice rendered his decision this morning,” Klinger told the count in a whisper. “He has decided that Panu-Mafili is the king of all Kapua, and all who take up arms against him are declared rebels.”
The news had a quieting effect upon the natives after Kataafa’s talking man had given it to them in his loud, eloquent words.
“A lucky strike,” Captain Scott exclaimed. “Now I think they will agree.”
Kataafa, through his talking man, gave his word that all the conditions made by the Herzovinians were accepted.
The white men rose and left the council. The temper of the people, as they passed out among them, was again happy. Smiles and hand-shakes met them on every side. The war shout was begun and thundered out in perfect time.
“Kataafa Tupu-e-Kapua[29]—ah!”
The people had declared their willingness to be declared rebels, and undertook to defy the chief justice.
Klinger’s face shone with delight. The first move was successful. Only one more was necessary. Kataafa holding Ukula, while the few weak bands of loyal natives were driven into the bush by his well-armed cohorts, all the enemies of the Kapuan firm would be confounded. “So long as our consul has the backbone to hold out against the other two consuls,” he said aloud, “under the treaty no action can be taken by the war-ships. Kataafa, with nearly five thousand fighting men, can take Ukula and establish solidly his claim to the kingship.”
Captain Scott shook hands with Klinger and the count. “This check I’m giving you,” Klinger said insinuatingly, “is subject to recall if I find you have not played square. You understand.”
Scott smiled sadly. “You see, count, what it is to have enemies who constantly defame one’s character. Have I ever acted in any other way but square with you?” he asked. The count shook his head.
“I haven’t examined the guns nor checked them over,” Klinger said by way of explanation. “I hope they are as you represent.”
Scott bowed and walked quickly to the beach, where his boat and crew were waiting.
The “fono” was breaking up. The natives, by villages, were marching down to the beach; their weird chants could be heard on all sides. Great war canoes, paddled by as many as forty warriors, were swiftly launched, and sent across the water to the “Talofa,” where they ranged alongside, tier upon tier. Kataafa, with half a dozen veteran chiefs, dressed in white shirts and “lava-lavas,” their fly-flaps or fuis held over their right shoulders, marched slowly down the street. The high chief stopped at the steps of Klinger’s house. He now talked without his talking man, but in Kapuan, and to Klinger.
“Kataafa has taken the advice of his white friends. They tell him now there can be no war. Kataafa loves his people; he loves his enemies.” As he spoke his left hand played nervously with a little golden cross on a fine gold chain slung about his neck. “If he believed there would be war he would go away. But the ‘Alii papalangi’[30] know best, from their greater wisdom. Kataafa does not understand papalangi thoughts. He understands only Kapuan. You tell him to go to Ukula and make himself king in house of Laupepe, who is dead. Very well; Kataafa will go, trusting that all you have said will be true.”
Klinger listened, greatly touched. All that he had told this honorable old warrior Klinger believed would come true. No other contingency, he thought, could possibly arise. Kataafa could march unopposed into Ukula and make himself king. The English and Americans could not land their men to oppose unless the Herzovinian consul also agreed to this action, and Carlson had given his word to the count. There might possibly be a few shots exchanged, and the foreign war-ships might feel called upon to land guards to protect foreigners and their property, otherwise the war would be only a skirmish. Then Kataafa, as king, could go to the count or the consul and ask for the protection of the Herzovinian flag. That would mean the annexation desired for so many years and always prevented by the jealous English.
“If it comes out differently than I have told you,” he replied gravely, “I shall be greatly surprised. I have told you exactly what I believe, and have kept nothing back.”
Kataafa seemed satisfied. He smiled and bowed ceremoniously.
Several natives came suddenly down the road, holding up their hands and shouting loudly:
“Papalangi!”
Klinger ran out into the roadway to get a clearer view. Several hundred yards up the crowded thoroughfare, moving slowly through the native groups, were three American naval men on horseback. They came straight toward him; passed him without sign of recognition, but doffed their caps in answer to Kataafa’s greeting and rode out upon the beach of Saluafata.
Almost at the same instant Captain Scott, on board the “Talofa,” was much perturbed at the sight of an English war-ship’s launch that had suddenly appeared at the entrance to the harbor.
One of the riders on the beach produced a big red flag which he had been carrying and began calmly waving it, regularly. Then another flag of similar color was shown in the launch. The sailor, sitting quietly on his horse, speedily sent a flag signal. Having finished, he waited until the flag on the launch was waved in return. Then the three horsemen rode leisurely along the beach, apparently but little interested in the marked activity before their eyes.
Klinger and the count were dumbfounded. The high chief’s countenance was greatly perplexed.
Klinger knew only too well the significance of that signal, and the old warrior had made a shrewd guess at the message conveyed.
A single word from Klinger, and those three men might never return to Ukula.
Klinger saw at once the great danger in which the Americans had put themselves. He called loudly, “Fanua, Fanua.”
His native wife appeared, smiling and bowing gracefully. He spoke to her in English, a language which Kataafa did not understand. “Go to those papalangi,” he ordered huskily. “Tell them if they don’t ride back, away from Saluafata, at once, I cannot be responsible for their lives.” Fanua obeyed without question. Klinger watched her reach their side and saw them stop and turn their horses’ heads—then, apparently, calmly consider the message brought them. Many warriors had gathered; their attitude seemed to Klinger to be growing every minute more hostile toward the intruders.