THE TABLES TURNED
Alice helped Phil and Avao saddle two of her father’s ponies.
Time was too precious for conversation, and Phil spoke only in
monosyllables, much to Alice’s disgust.
“We are going to the plantation house at Vaileli,” he had told her,
“but just what we expect to accomplish I don’t exactly know.”
As he gave a last tug at the girth bands of the two animals, and lifted
Avao on to her side-saddle, he looked about for Alice, but she had
disappeared into the darkness of the stable.
“Come on, Avao,” he exclaimed eagerly; “we’ve got to do the entire
distance on a run if our ponies can stand it.” He shook loose his reins
after leaping into the saddle and dug his heels into the pony’s flanks.
The pony, believing it meant a race, sprang smartly forward with an
eager whinny of delight, and away he raced through the gate of the
consulate. Avao followed only a few lengths behind.
They had gone several miles at a rapid pace, when it became evident
that a third horseman was following.
Phil was greatly disturbed when Alice, mounted on her father’s
Australian horse, a larger and much sturdier breed than the native
pony, drew up beside them.
“I have learned enough not to ask permission when I want to go with
you,” she exclaimed between breaths. “Now, don’t be angry. I’m in no
danger from the natives.”
They found the road deserted. The villages through which they passed at
breakneck speed were dark and empty.
“Look,” Avao exclaimed. “Vaileli!”
A bright light, apparently caused by a huge fire, had sprung into view
not far distant. As they raced forward they now passed on the road
natives, singly and in twos and threes, hurrying toward the scene of
festivity.
At the massive stone gateway leading into the plantation, the three
drew rein and allowed their gasping ponies to walk.
As they drew nearer they saw that many fires had been kindled. The
great space in front of the plantation house was flooded with light,
about which hundreds of men and women had gathered. All were in gala
attire. Each of the warriors carried his precious gun, with his
cartridge belt of webbed material worn jauntily over his naked shoulder.
“Where shall I find the count?” Phil asked.
Avao fearlessly greeted the people, who gazed in amazement at the
intruders. She called many by name and they, like children, soon
forgetting their grievance, smiled back and bade her welcome.
“The count is at the house, they say,” the girl answered Phil’s
question.
“You and Avao remain mounted,” Phil said, as they approached the low
bungalow of the plantation, used as a residence for the manager and his
white overseers. He noted that the wide porch was crowded with people
dressed in white, and as he got closer he recognized the count’s strong
figure with the high chief Kataafa standing beside him.
The great delicacy of his mission suddenly flashed upon him. Here
were gathered nearly five thousand warriors, all armed with modern
rifles. The power represented was in the hands of the two men before
him. They could by one word hurl the entire assemblage upon the sailors
now ashore in Ukula. Then another face appeared in the crowd, the
sphynx-like countenance of “Bully” Scott, the man whose schooner Phil
had taken. Did he know!
Throwing his horse’s reins to Avao, Phil slipped from his saddle and
advanced up the steps of the porch. The count received him with but
scant courtesy. No attempt was made to hide his displeasure. Phil knew
that all eyes were upon him, and felt their hostile stare. It was a
situation calculated to disconcert the boldest. Phil steeled himself to
hide his great nervousness.
“I come from my captain.” He heard his own voice as if from a long way
off. There was an ominous silence all about him. “My message is for
your ear alone, Count Rosen,” he said.
A deep frown of annoyance furrowed the count’s brow.
“Isn’t this time inopportune?” he exclaimed angrily.
Phil appreciated that every moment was valuable. The news of the
landing of the sailors was on the way. The runners that they had passed
on the road were probably bringing the unwelcome tidings.
“It is of the highest importance,” the lad replied tensely. “Otherwise
you must know that my captain would not have sent me at this time.”
Phil noted a suspicion of alarm in the count’s face. Suddenly a buzz
of excitement disturbed the quiet, and Phil, glancing about quickly,
following people’s gaze, saw the flash of search-lights from the
direction of Ukula.
“That is what I have come to explain,” Phil added, gaining confidence.
The “Sacramento” was entering the harbor. In a few minutes, the
admiral had said, three hundred sailors would be on shore to reënforce
Commander Tazewell’s men.
The count without other than a sign to follow him turned and entered
the house.
In a room giving off from the hall, and lighted only by a single oil
lamp, he stopped and motioned Phil to speak.
“An American admiral has arrived, and all the American and English
sailors and marines are now holding Ukula. Commander Tazewell begs
that you will use your good offices to prevent useless bloodshed. Your
warriors must not attempt to return to-night. To-morrow the admiral
will hold council, and invites you to come to arrange a peaceful
settlement. That is all, sir,” Phil added finally.
The count’s face was livid, while the hand that pulled his long
moustache shook like an aspen. Words for once failed him. He knew that
he had played and lost.
Footsteps from the hall heralded the approach of others. Phil’s heart
sank. Had the news of the landing of the sailors already come? Klinger
and Scott had entered the room. Phil gazed at them, but saw only
displeasure in their faces. The greeting he had been about to give was
withheld.
Finally the count spoke. His voice was husky. The blow had been severe.
“I’ll do what I can. Now go!” He half shoved Phil out of the room. “No
earthly power can save you if you are not away before that savage horde
out there has learned this insult to their king.”
Phil half stumbled down the steps and flung himself into the saddle.
“Ride fast, Avao,” he ordered sharply, “straight for the gate, and,
Alice, you follow her. Go on, faster, faster.” He herded them before
him.
The natives in their path quickly got out of their way and called after
them “Faimalosi,”[40] thinking that they were only enjoying a pony race.
Before they had reached the gate of the plantation the news of the
landing of the sailors had arrived.
“They have heard from Ukula,” Alice called from over her shoulder,
indicating a group of armed natives squatting by the side of the road
feasting upon fruit stripped from trees in their near vicinity, “and
are wondering what it means.” Even as she spoke to Phil, one of the
group called out questioningly to Avao. The native girl tossed back an
answer and her words apparently were satisfactory and caused a laugh.
Phil heaved a sigh of relief as they swung through the gate. By mutual
consent their horses were slowed to a trot, and the three drew close
together to converse.
“What did the count say?” Alice questioned eagerly.
“He promised he’d do what he could,” Phil replied, his voice unsteady
from the recent excitement. “I’m afraid the ‘Frankenstein’ he has
created has grown beyond his control. We’re bound to have war.”
When Phil and his companions arrived in Ukula the town resembled
an armed camp. The roads leading to the village were all strongly
held. Machine guns and field pieces had been mounted behind hastily
constructed barricades. The main strength of the forces was encamped
in the town proper between the two streams. The British sailors were
in garrison at Kulinuu. The cruiser “Sacramento” had anchored in a
commanding position with her heavy broadside bearing upon the town.
Phil found Commander Tazewell and the admiral at the Tivoli Hotel,
where the latter had taken up his headquarters, and gave them an
account of his mission.
“We must not relax vigilance,” Admiral Spotts said, while Phil saluted,
ready to withdraw. “I believe that no hostilities will be thought of
until to-morrow. Then we shall see what can be done through diplomacy
to avoid bloodshed.”
Phil and Sydney occupied that night their old room in the consulate.
“When I got on board and gave the executive officer the captain’s
message about the search-lights,” Sydney said, after Phil had
graphically told of the trip to Vaileli and of the great gathering of
armed warriors, “he looked queerly at me and exclaimed, ‘Why, he told
me that himself the last minute before leaving the ship.’ So, you see,
the captain must have thought there was danger, and didn’t want to risk
us both.”
“It would be a terrible loss,” Phil exclaimed laughingly.
The next morning Count Rosen and Klinger rode through town back to
their homes in the Matafeli district.
At ten o’clock the American admiral and his officers, in full dress
uniform and accompanied by the American and English consuls and Judge
Lindsay, proceeded to Kulinuu. About a thousand loyal natives had
collected; all were unarmed. A large bright Kapuan flag had been
brought ashore from the “Sitka” and O’Neil had bent it on to the
halliards of the tall flagstaff.
When all was ready, the band struck up a stirring march and the lawful
king, Panu-Mafili, declared eligible by the chief justice, put in an
appearance. He was strongly escorted by sailors from both the English
and American war-ships.
To Phil the ceremony was very impressive. The day was beautiful and
clear; a gentle breeze ruffled the deep green waters of the bay, and
stirred lazily the tall cocoanut palms overhead. The loyal natives,
supporters of Panu, in all their gorgeous coloring, and led by Tuamana,
rose to their feet and sang their savage song of welcome to their king
Malea-Toa Panu-Mafili.
The chief justice conducted the ceremony. He first read his decision.
Then he gave the oath to Panu. As the judge finished he raised his
hand and the song to their king floated out upon the balmy air: “Panu
o Tupu-e-Kapua.” O’Neil and Marley hauled away on the halliards, and
as the great white, red and blue flag appeared above the tops of the
cocoanut trees, the three war-ships boomed forth a national salute in
its honor. The Herzovinian war-ship alone remained sullenly silent.
Panu-Mafili was now the rightful king. Five miles away at Vaileli,
Kataafa and his five thousand warriors were camped. Panu could muster
barely a thousand men, and hardly a hundred guns.
“We have him on the throne,” Phil heard the admiral exclaim as each
officer beginning with the American naval commander-in-chief pressed
forward to congratulate the young king. “But we’ve got to hold him on
with our bayonets.”
At noon the British war-ship was under way, and standing out of the
harbor. Commander Tazewell, the midshipmen and Alice watched her go
from the consulate porch.
“Where’s she going?” Alice asked in great surprise, for not an hour
ago the war-ship’s captain, Commander Sturdy, had been present at the
coronation of the new king.
“She’s going to the island of Kulila,” Commander Tazewell told his
hearers guardedly, for there were many natives on the lawn in front
of the house and within ear-shot. “The island, you know, is about
sixty miles to windward[41] and the inhabitants are almost entirely
loyal to the Malea-Toa family, of which Panu is the acknowledged head.
Commander Sturdy has agreed to bring a shipload of natives and arm them
from his own stock of guns. That will give us at least five hundred
reënforcements.”
The allies at once began to prepare their forces for serious work.
Companies of the loyal natives were being mustered in with English and
American sailormen to lead them, while white officers were designated
to command the combinations made by joining several companies. In all,
a force of eight native companies of a hundred men each, armed with
American and English rifles, was encamped in the Malae under the
command of Lieutenant Tupper of the British cruiser; while encamped
along the main street of Ukula five hundred English and American
sailors were ready in addition to aid in repelling an attack by the
old fox Kataafa, who had been himself now declared a rebel by Admiral
Spotts.
The count and Klinger did not long remain in Ukula. That afternoon they
departed quietly to Vaileli plantation.
During the afternoon Phil and Sydney rode with Commander Tazewell along
the Siumu road. All three were armed with revolvers, but no sailors or
natives were taken along.
“Kataafa has written the admiral the most remarkable letter,”
the captain said after they had left behind the last vestige of
civilization. “He says that he does not question the right of
Panu-Mafili to be king, but that by the Kapuan custom he also is king,
and that according to their traditional custom, as old as their race,
he will fight Panu for the office. He says that he has no war with the
white men, and that no harm will come to them if they do not attack
him.”
“What answer did the admiral send back?” Phil and Sydney asked in a
breath.
“That Panu-Mafili was now under the protection of the two allied
powers, and that if Kataafa attacked him the admiral would consider it
an attack upon his own men, and that by so doing Kataafa would have
brought on a war with the white men.”
“Hello,” Sydney exclaimed suddenly reining in his horse. A party
of natives, their faces blackened, had silently come from the bush
and barred their way. A chief stepped forward and courteously told
Commander Tazewell that no one should pass.
While they consulted with the native, many warriors appeared from each
side of the road and gazed in friendly curiosity at their visitors.
“He says,” Commander Tazewell told the midshipmen, “that Kataafa’s
troops have surrounded the village of Ukula, and will starve out the
inhabitants instead of attacking. That Kataafa has given orders that
white men shall not be molested, but must remain within the besieging
lines.”
“Starve them out!” Phil exclaimed. “Why, that’s impossible. They can
catch fish and eat fruit.” The Americans had withdrawn some yards from
the natives, but remained to observe further.
“How long do you suppose the supply of fruit would last?” Commander
Tazewell asked. “Besides, many of the fruit trees in Ukula have been
destroyed, and it will take a year for them to again bear fruit. And as
for fish, the reefs off Ukula are not good fishing ground, and would
not feed one-tenth of the population now gathered in the vicinity of
the town.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Phil asked earnestly.
“The war-ships will have to give the natives food from their own
supplies,” the commander replied. “Kataafa is a wily old fox, or else
that Herzovinian count is ably advising him. But come,” he added,
swinging his pony about; “we have received interesting news, and if we
are to succeed in this affair, we’ve got to take the offensive. The
food supplies on our ships would be devoured by the horde of natives in
the town inside of a week. We shall have to attack Kataafa in order to
feed our native allies.”
Sydney had been examining the locality where the greater number of
natives had shown themselves in their curiosity to see the white men. A
gleam of white caught his eye, and before the warriors that had barred
the passage of the horsemen could interfere, he had urged his horse
ahead a few score of yards. An agile native grasped firmly the horse’s
bridle and turned Sydney back toward his companions, but not until he
had solved the mystery of that gleam of white.
“Captain ‘Bully’ Scott was with that outfit,” Sydney exclaimed as they
trotted swiftly toward home. “I distinctly saw him, hidden behind a
barricade of earth and banana trees; he was in white clothes, and I saw
him distinctly, gray whiskers and all.”
“It isn’t likely he will remain idle,” Commander Tazewell replied, not
at all surprised at Sydney’s news. “He cannot have any great friendship
for us after we have confiscated his schooner, and he knows if he is
caught by either an American or an English war-ship he will have to
serve a term in jail for his many crimes.”
“It’s a pity he wasn’t on board the ‘Talofa’ when we captured her,”
Phil said. “Now if his character is as black as Stump paints it, he
will give us lots of trouble.”
Commander Tazewell nodded his head gravely.
“If the count, Klinger and Scott could be disposed of we would find
these fine fellows of Kapuans only too willing to bury the hatchet,”
he exclaimed, “but those three men are like vinegar in the molasses
barrel. If blood is shed it will be upon their heads.”