THE midshipmen hastened to tell Commander Tazewell the thrilling news of the attack. They found him, however, on the porch fully dressed together with the consul and his daughters.
“I feel terribly concerned over Judge Lindsay,” Mr. Lee exclaimed while all listened tensely to the fearful sounds of combat coming so distinctly through the otherwise quiet night. The refugees huddling in the bush and among the palm groves were all hushed to silence, harking to the unequal battle raging nearly a mile away. “He refused to leave his house to come to us. He thought his belongings were more precious than his life, and feared if he left his house it would be looted and destroyed.”
There was no sleep for those at the American consulate that night. The heavy firing was not, however, of long duration. Within the hour it died away, except for an occasional shot. Then fires appeared at many points along the entire water-front of Ukula. The rebels were burning the houses of the loyal natives.
The guarding sailors were alert, and although war parties appeared and came so near as to be challenged by the outposts, they stopped only to parley, and explained that the papalangi were safe and would not be attacked. They were seeking only the followers of Panu-Mafili.
The light of day revealed much of Ukula in ruins. Stores and houses owned by Americans and English had all been looted and the houses of the loyal natives were in ashes.
Half-naked warriors, their hands and faces smeared with the life blood of their victims, their eyes rolling wildly in savage ecstasy, paraded the streets carrying on bamboo poles the gory heads of their victims.
The Matautu and the Matafeli districts of the town were undisturbed. In the latter place lived the Herzovinian merchants and their consul. The Herzovinian sailors prevented the war parties from entering the Matafeli district. Over five thousand warriors, unrestrained and unorganized, roamed the town and surrounding country, pillaging and firing their guns in savage license.
Many shots had passed very close to those within the American lines, and as the morning progressed the desultory firing became more frequent and dangerous. Several of the native refugees had been hit by stray bullets.
While at breakfast news came from the British ship by signal that many refugees from the battle-field had swum off to the ships and been received on board; among them the king Panu-Mafili and Chief Tuamana.
An hour later Mary Hamilton burst in upon Mr. Lee excitedly with the startling intelligence that Judge Lindsay in his big house on the Malima road was besieged by a war party under Chief Tuatele, and that the excited natives were swearing vengeance upon the judge. Mary had stolen through the pickets during the night and had listened, hidden close to the camp of the rebels at the cross road leading to the judge’s residence.
“He must come in now, whether he wishes to or not,” Commander Tazewell declared. “I’m going to send a guard after him.”
Lieutenant Morrison and twenty-five men were quickly assembled and departed to rescue the chief justice. Phil and Sydney were permitted to go along.
With their arms at the shoulder and bayonets fixed, the guard marched away, the officers leading. Reaching the Malima road they turned inland.
Hundreds of warriors carrying both guns and head axes made way for them without a thought of raising a hand to stop them.
When they arrived in sight of the judge’s house, nestling among numerous fruit trees, and half hidden from the road, Lieutenant Morrison deployed his men into a single line. Then placing himself and the officers in front they advanced directly toward the low stone wall surrounding the grounds of the house.
Phil noted as they approached that many of the trees had been destroyed, hacked almost in two with sharp axes, or stripped of their fruit to appease the appetite of the hungry warriors.
Suddenly the Americans were confronted by over a hundred natives who had no doubt been apprised of their coming.
Lieutenant Morrison stopped to parley. Chief Tuatele walked forward, holding himself proudly erect. Mary Hamilton had gone along to interpret.
The lieutenant explained his errand and ordered the rebel chief to withdraw from American property at once. The intimidation of the white man’s unspoken threat was sufficient. In spite of protest from his followers Tuatele obeyed, and the band of sailors entered the compound unopposed.
The chief justice met the lieutenant on his door-step. His face was pale, but resolute. He refused to budge, and his plucky wife applauded his brave decision.
“I shall never turn my back upon them,” he exclaimed. “A judge is answerable only to God. I have done my duty by my conscience.”
Argument was of no avail. Lieutenant Morrison was in a quandary.
A sudden shout of savage triumph broke from the rebels outside the compound. “Tonga-fiti, tonga-fiti,” brought the argument to an abrupt end. The judge’s house was on fire. While the Americans had been attempting to persuade the judge to leave, a small party of rebels had stolen into the house from the rear. That end of the house was now ablaze.
The judge and his wife were dumbfounded.
“All that we own in the world is in that house,” the judge exclaimed, a dry sob in his voice. Phil and Sydney turned to the lieutenant inquiringly. Much could yet be saved. That officer understood the unspoken question. He flung a glance at the jeering savages.
“Yes,” he said, “half of us go in and save all we can.”
Within a half hour the beautiful home was a heap of ruins, but on the lawn was piled nearly all the judge’s possessions. His entire library, his most cherished possession, was saved.
“Lieutenant,” the judge said as he and his wife gazed mournfully at the ruin of their home, “I’m afraid I must now change my decision and go with you. It should be rare for a judge to have to reverse his decision except on the occasion of new evidence, and in this case the evidence is only too evident.”
The midshipmen, O’Neil and some of the sailors had dragged from the stable the judge’s carriage; the horses were gone, stolen by the rebels during the night.
“We’ll load it up and come back for a second load,” Lieutenant Morrison decided as he saw the carriage was too small to carry everything. “I’ll remain behind with half the men.”
The sailors willingly manned the shafts and dragged the loaded carriage out of the compound. The natives gazed lustfully at its contents. Their blood was boiling for rich loot, and the silverware of the judge’s table whetted their appetites.
Phil observed the sudden movement even before he heard Mary Hamilton’s cry of warning, and a sharp command brought a dozen bayonets level with the advancing breasts.
“Tell them, Mary, if they come nearer I shall fire,” he cried out earnestly. In his heart he was terrified, for he knew that unless the threat were heeded the Americans must be massacred. Once the Kapuan warriors are aroused, they will kill until no enemy is left to resist them. The fate of the Herzovinian sailors told him by O’Neil flashed into his mind, and the thought was far from comforting.
Lieutenant Morrison, scarcely a hundred yards away, realized Phil’s danger, and quickly deployed his men to attack the enemy on the flank. No other solution but fight occurred to any one. A single gun shot must have been the signal for the battle to begin.
Tuatele had seen the pantomime from a distance, and heard the excited harangue of the native woman Mary. She had been soundly berating her countrymen.
“I’d think they were gods,” he exclaimed in savage admiration as he watched the sailors, their guns at their shoulder and apparently calm, “but I know they die and gods don’t die. But Kataafa order no kill papalangi sailors.” Then he raised his voice and gave an order to retreat, and the entire war party, uttering in unison a savage cry of defiance, suddenly turned away and quickly disappeared into the bush.
The judge and his wife were hospitably received by Mr. Lee and his daughters, and their belongings when they all arrived were carefully stored away in the Lee home.
At lunch time a flag of truce appeared, carried by a small party of natives approaching from the direction of the town. The guards went out to meet them and escorted them within the lines.
A large white envelope was then handed to Mr. Lee.
The consul eagerly broke the seal and read the contents; his hands, holding the paper, shook with suppressed indignation. All waited anxiously to hear what it was that was so disturbing.
“It’s outrageous,” he declared as he handed the letter to Commander Tazewell. “Kataafa has made Count Rosen his prime minister, and asks the consuls to recognize the new government. The letter’s in English, but signed by the rebel chief.”
Commander Tazewell studied the letter thoughtfully. “Well, sir,” he said grimly, “it looks as if it was Hobson’s choice with us.”
A footfall on the porch heralded a visitor, and the British consul was soon seated at the lunch table.
“Commander Sturdy has gone off to his ship to interview the natives who took refuge with him last night,” he began hurriedly, his face unnaturally flushed with excitement. “Did you also get one of these impertinencies?” he exclaimed showing a crumpled letter in his hand, a duplicate of the one Commander Tazewell was still holding.
Mr. Lee nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “and Commander Tazewell has cleverly showed me that we are confronted by a fact, not a fancy. Kataafa holds the power. He is the ‘de facto’ government of Kapua, and if we don’t recognize it, anarchy and license will continue until we do.”
“I hear Judge Lindsay has been burnt out and a fight between the rebels and your sailors was narrowly averted,” the British consul exclaimed. “What are we coming to in Kapua? And it has all been brought about by these scheming mercenary merchants.”
Mr. Carlson’s portly figure approaching by the path from the road dissolved the party at the lunch table. Miss Lee retired to look after Judge Lindsay and his wife. The latter’s nerves had been greatly shaken during the trying ordeal through which they had both passed. Fanatical natives had surrounded their house during the night, threatening the judge hourly with death and torture. Only the iron will of the man in face of imminent danger, and a resolution that awed the savages, prevented them from beginning an attack which once started must have ended in the death of the chief justice.
The midshipmen and Alice adjourned to the garden out of ear-shot from the council of the representatives of the great Powers.
“There won’t be any doubt of getting Mr. Carlson to agree upon recognizing the new government,” Alice exclaimed heatedly. “I suppose that’s what he came for.”
“He must approve his own work,” Sydney replied. “There’ll be no chance for an American or an Englishman, though, under this government.”
“It’s a nice travesty upon the sacredness of treaties,” Phil exclaimed in righteous indignation. “The great civilized nations sign a solemn treaty to direct the government of Kapua. A chief justice is appointed, confirmed by all three nations, to decide finally all questions arising among the natives. The consuls, representing the three Powers, are by the treaty bound to uphold the judge’s decisions, and to use their war-ships to enforce those decisions. A decision is rendered. One consul not only refuses to join in upholding it, but repudiates it openly.”
“Is it really as black as that?” Sydney asked thoughtfully, appealing to Alice. “You know the natives. Whom do they want for king?”
“Almost all want Kataafa,” Alice acknowledged. “He is, as I told you, a god in the natives’ eyes. I can’t see why he cannot be king if his people wish it, but Judge Lindsay has studied the case for a month, and so decides.”
“Of course,” Phil exclaimed, “the war is all a put up job. I would, if I were able, indict for manslaughter every one of those responsible for this rebellion or who selfishly refused to avert it lawfully. It made me absolutely sick to see those ghastly heads on poles and know that for every one a life had been sacrificed to satisfy the selfishness of white men.”
“Some one,” Alice said reverently, “will have to account for those deaths before the great tribunal some day.”
They saw Mr. Carlson bow formally and leave the consulate.
“It didn’t take long,” Sydney said as they watched him go, mopping his perspiring face as he passed through the gate and turned toward the town.
“Do you know,” Alice said thoughtfully, “he is a very kind-hearted soul. I feel very sorry for him, because he is now shouldering the bad deeds of others.”
This short meeting of the consuls brought a temporary stability to affairs in Kapua. The three consuls now formally recognized the “de facto” government nominally under Kataafa. The count was to be the prime minister; adviser to the king. Judge Lindsay was to again occupy, if he would, the office of chief justice. The deposed King Panu-Mafili and his chiefs, if they would go to Kulinuu, and humble themselves before Kataafa, were to be permitted ashore, otherwise they must remain in the war-ships.
This all the loyal chiefs refused to do, and for their safety the war-ships were forced to keep them on board.
The next day Kataafa was formally crowned at Kulinuu, but no salute was fired in his honor. The morning after the coronation the midshipmen and Alice watched their sailors gather up their belongings and return on board their ship.
“They’ll be ashore again before very long,” Phil prophesied. “The ‘Sacramento,’ one of our big cruisers, will be on the way here with an American admiral on board. I have an idea that he will not be content to see the islands get away from us without an argument.”
The town of Ukula was a sorry sight. Many valuable native houses were in utter ruin. Many stores owned by the white men had been looted. Empty cans were scattered about everywhere. Those canned delicacies of meats, soups and vegetables, much prized by the natives, had been consumed or carried away. Tin goods in Kapua went by the name of “peasoupee,” because the first cargo of tinned goods ever received in the islands was of the pea-soup variety.
Armed natives were encountered on every hand, but their faces were no longer blackened, and the savage ecstasy of war had partially subsided.
Phil stopped a smiling native and asked him by signs to allow him to inspect his gun. Alice spoke his own language to him, and the warrior proudly gave his cherished belonging into Phil’s hands.
“It’s a brand new ‘Snyder,’” Sydney said as they both handled it; “but look, he has taken off the sight. Thinks it’s a useless ornament.”
“Probably is,” Phil replied. “In bush fighting a sight is probably of little use unless the native is trained to use it intelligently.”
The three walked slowly along the main street. At the gate of the Herzovinian consulate in Matafeli, they saw Count Rosen. All were surprised to receive a cordial smile, as he raised his hat to Alice.
“Look,” Phil exclaimed, “the boxes are still on the porch of the Kapuan firm’s store.”
All had stopped to gaze upon the mysterious boxes yet unopened. A crowd of natives, laughing and jostling each other, covered the wide porches encircling the store, and spilled over into the courtyard.
“What is the cause of their merriment?” Sydney asked. Alice had drawn near a group of native women who had stopped in front of the store to gossip together. They turned and answered her question by pointing to a large print pasted on the side of the house.
The midshipmen could not curb their curiosity and drew nearer to get a closer look.
“I call that a low-down, contemptible advantage to take of friendly nations,” Phil exclaimed, beside himself with indignation. What he had seen was a colored cartoon from an English paper representing Herzovinia kicking both Johnny Bull and Uncle Sam from off a tropical island into the sea.
The conservative Sydney would have stayed his impetuous chum, but Phil, before his friend could realize his intention, had strode excitedly forward, pushing the yielding natives from his path. Sydney saw him take his penknife and deftly cut the picture from the house wall where it had been roughly pasted. Then calmly rolling it up, Phil returned and joined his astonished companions.
“What have you done?” Sydney exclaimed in alarm. “They’ll consider it an insult.” But Alice answered the question, admiration shining in her excited face.
“He has only prevented an insult going any further,” she said.
They were about to retrace their steps to Matautu when Klinger suddenly appeared from the interior of the store. He glanced first in amusement at the Americans, and then up on the side of the house. The smile faded. He asked a question of a native and received an answer. His face became suddenly pale with rage. His gaze fell upon the cartoon rolled up in Phil’s hand. Scowling darkly he advanced, one hand outstretched.
“You will please hand over that picture,” he ordered sharply.
Phil squared toward the manager, holding the picture behind him.
“I decline to give it to you,” Phil replied in a voice he managed to hold steady. “That is no place to display such a picture at this time.”
Klinger was a man who had all his life governed with the overseer’s whip. During his fifteen years in the South Seas his strong will had never been seriously thwarted. What he wanted he took, using force if necessary. He was a big man, somewhat inclined to stoutness, but the outdoor life he had lived, in the saddle for days at a time, riding over the plantations, had given a hardness to his added flesh. The person confronting him, who declined to give back his own property, was a mere youth. In his white flannels he sized up of much slighter build if a trifle taller than the angry manager. Personal violence was far removed from Phil’s thoughts.
Klinger, with a snarl of rage, was upon the midshipman before he could evade the rush. One of the manager’s great hands reached for the lad’s throat, while his other arm endeavored to draw in and crush the slight boy against his massive chest. Sydney and Alice could only cry out in their surprise and alarm.
The next moment Klinger appeared to plunge head first into the roadway beyond, as if sprung from a catapult. The manager lay unconscious, a huddled heap of brawn and muscle, while Phil, very pale and trembling violently in apprehension, gazed upon his stricken foe.
“Jujitsu,” Sydney exclaimed admiringly, yet in alarm, as he surveyed the inert form of Klinger in the roadway.