which so many men were giving up their lives. Sometimes he could make
out the dim hulls of ships when they loomed against the sky-line or as
the heavens brightened for an instant. Bodies kept constantly washing
in, nearly all of them Germans, as Amatua could tell by their uniforms,
or, if these were torn from them in the merciless waters, by the
prevalence of yellow hair and fair skins. Amatua shrank from the sight
of these limp figures, and it was only his love for Bill that kept him
on the watch. Poor Bill! How had he fared this night? Was he even now
tumbling in the mighty rollers, his last duty done on this sorrowful
earth, his brave heart still for ever? Or did he lie, as so many lay
that night here and there about the town, wrapped in blankets in some
white man’s house or native chief’s, safe and sound, beside a blazing
fire?
Amatua at last grew tired of waiting there beside Oa. The cold ate
into his very bones, and the crowd pressed and trampled on him without
ceasing. He cared for nothing so long as he thought he might find Bill;
but he now despaired of that and began to think of his tired little
self. He forced his way back, and moved aimlessly along from house to
house, looking in at the lighted windows in the vain hope of seeing
Bill. Of dead men there were plenty, but he could not bear to look
at them too closely. He was worn out by the horror and excitement he
had undergone, and when his eyes closed, as they sometimes would, he
seemed to see Bill’s face dancing before him. He was a very tired boy
by the time he made his way home and threw himself once again on the
mats in that empty house.
It was a strange sight that met Amatua’s gaze the next day on the
Apia beach. The wind had fallen, and the mountainous waves of the
previous night had given way to a heavy ground-swell. But the ships,
the wreckage of ships, the ten thousand and one things--the million
and one things--which lined the beach for a distance of two miles! One
German man-of-war had gone down with every soul on board; another--the
_Adler_--lay broken-backed and sideways on the reef; the _Olga_ had
been run ashore, and looked none the worse for her adventure. The
United States ship _Vandalia_ was a total wreck, and half under water;
close to her lay the _Trenton_, with her gun-deck awash; and within a
pistol-shot of both was the old _Nipsic_, her nose high on land. The
British ship, the _Calliope_, was nowhere to be seen, having forced her
way to sea in the teeth of the hurricane.
Amatua went almost crazy at the sight of what lay strewn on the beach
that morning. He ran hither and thither, picking up one thing and
then throwing it away for another he liked better: here an officer’s
full-dress coat gleaming with gold lace, there a photograph-album
in a woful state, some twisted rifles, and a broom; everywhere an
extraordinary hotchpotch of things diverse and innumerable. Amatua
found an elegant sword not a bit the worse for its trip ashore, an
officer’s gold-laced cap, and a ditty-box, full of pins and needles and
sewing-gear and old letters. He would also have carried off a tempting
little cannon had it weighed anything under a quarter of a ton; as it
was, he covered it with sand, and stood up the broom to mark the place,
which, strange to say, he has never been able to find since. He got
a cracked bell next, a tin of pork and beans, a bottle of varnish, a
one-pound Hotchkiss shell, a big platter, and a German flag! This he
thought enough for one load, and made his triumphant way home, where he
tried pork and beans for the first time in his life--and did not like
them.
It would have fared badly with him, for there was nothing in the house
for him to eat save a few green bananas, had it not been for the Samoan
pastor next door. The pastor had hauled a hundred-pound barrel of
prime mess pork out of the surf, and in the fulness of his heart he
was dividing slabs of it among his parishioners. Another neighbour had
salvaged eleven cans of biscuit-pulp, which, though a trifle salt, was
yet good enough to eat.
In fact, Amatua ate a rather hearty breakfast, and lingered longer
over it than perhaps was well for the best interests of his family. By
the time he returned to the beach the cream had been skimmed from the
milk. True, there was no lack of machinery and old iron, and mountains
of tangled rope and other ship’s gear; but there was no longer the
gorgeous profusion of smaller articles, for ten thousand busy hands
had been at work since dawn. Amatua searched for an hour, and got
nothing but a squashy stamp-album and a musical box in the last stages
of dissolution.
He realised regretfully that he could hope for nothing more, and
after trading his album to a half-caste boy for a piece of lead, and
exchanging the musical box for six marbles, he again bent his energies
to the finding of Bill.
For fear of a conflict, the naval commanders had divided their forces.
The Germans were encamped at one end of the town, the Americans at
the other, and armed sentries paced between. Amatua had never seen so
many white men in his life, and he knew scarcely which way to turn
first. He was bewildered by the jostling host that encompassed him on
every side, by the busy files that were marshalled away to work, the
march and countermarch of disciplined feet, the shrill pipe of the
boatswains’ calls, and the almost ceaseless bugling. He looked long and
vainly for Bill in every nook and cranny of the town. He watched beside
the _Nipsic_ for an hour; he forced the guard-house, and even made his
way into the improvised hospital, dodging the doctors and the tired
orderlies. But all in vain. He trudged into Savalalo and Songi, where
the Germans were gathered, fearing lest Bill might have been thrown
into chains by those haughty foemen; but he found nothing but rows of
dead, and weary men digging graves. He stopped officers on the street,
and kind-faced seamen and marines, and asked them earnestly if they had
seen Bill. Some paid no attention to him; others laughed and passed
on; one man slapped him in the face.
When he came back from the German quarter he found a band playing in
front of Mr. Moors’s store, and noticed sentries about the place,
and important-looking officers, with swords and pistols. He was told
that the admiral was up-stairs, and that Mr. Moors’s house was now
the headquarters of the American forces. A great resolution welled up
in Amatua’s heart. If there was one man on earth that ought to know
about Bill, it was the admiral. Amatua dodged a sentry, and running
up the steps, he crept along the verandah, and peeped into the room
which Kimberly had exchanged for his sea-swept cabin. The admiral sat
at a big table strewn inches high with papers, reports, and charts.
He was writing in his shirt-sleeves, and on the chair beside him lay
his uniform coat and gold-laced cap. At another table two men were
also writing; at another a single man was nibbling a pen as he stared
at the paper before him. It reminded Amatua of the pastor’s school.
Half a dozen officers stood grouped in one corner, whispering to one
another, their hands resting on their swords. It was all as quiet as
church, and nothing could be heard but the scratch of pens as they
raced across the paper. Suddenly a frowning officer noticed Amatua at
the door. “Orderly,” he cried, “drive away that boy”; and Amatua was
ignominiously seized, led down-stairs, and thrown roughly into the
street.
Amatua cried as though his little heart would break. He sat on the
front porch of the house, careless of the swarming folk about him, and
took a melancholy pleasure in being jostled and trampled on. Oh, it was
a miserable world! Bill was gone, and any one could cuff a little boy.
More than one sailor patted his curly head and lifted him in the air
and kissed him; but Amatua was too sore to care for such attentions.
It was cruel to think that the one man alone in Samoa who knew where
to find Bill, the great chief-captain up-stairs, was absolutely beyond
his power to reach. This thought was unbearable; he nerved himself to
try again; he recalled the admiral’s face, which was not unkindly,
though sad and stern. After all, nothing worse could befall him than
a beating. Again he dodged the lower sentry, and sprang up the stairs
like a cat. Again he gazed into that quiet room and listened to the
everlasting pens. This time he was discovered in an instant; the
orderly pounced at him, but Amatua, with his heart in his mouth, rushed
towards the admiral, and threw himself on his knees beside him. The old
man put a protecting arm round his neck, and the orderly, foiled in the
chase, could do nothing else than salute.
“Anderson,” said the admiral to an officer, “it is the second time the
boy has been here. I tell you he is after something, and we are not in
a position to disregard anything in this extraordinary country. He may
have a message from King Mataafa. Send for Moors.”
In a few moments that gentleman appeared, and was bidden to ask Amatua
what he wanted. The officers gathered close behind their chief, and
even the assiduous writers looked up.
“What does he want?” demanded the admiral, who had no time to spare.
“He wants to find a sailor named Bill,” said Moors. “He’s afraid Bill
is drowned, and thought he would ask you.”
Every one smiled save the admiral. “Are you sure that is all?” he said.
“He says he loved Bill very much,” said Moors, “and has searched the
beach and the hospital and even the lock-up without finding him. Says
he even waited alongside the _Nipsic_ for an hour.”
“Half my men are named Bill,” said Kimberly; “but I fear his Bill is
numbered with the rest of our brave fellows who went down last night.
Moors,” he went on, “take the lad below, and give him any little thing
he fancies in the store.”
Amatua did not know what might happen next, but he bravely tramped
beside Mr. Moors, prepared to face the worst. He felt dizzy and faint
when they got below, and Mr. Moors popped him up on the counter, and
asked him whether he would prefer candy or some marbles. “The great
chief-captain said thou wert a brave boy, and should have a present,”
said Mr. Moors.
Amatua shook his head. Somehow he had lost interest in such trifles.
“Thank his Majesty the admiral,” he said, “but an aching heart takes
no pleasure in such things. With thy permission I will go out and look
again for Bill. Perhaps, if I change my mind, I will come back and
choose marbles,” he added cautiously; and with that he scrambled off
the counter and made for the door.
“Oh, Bostock,” cried Moors to a naval officer lounging on the front
verandah, “if you have nothing better to do, just take this kid along
with you. He’s crazy to find a sailor named Bill, and he isn’t sure but
that he was drowned last night. He must be pretty well cut up if he
won’t take any marbles.”
Bostock stopped Amatua, and took his hand in his own. “We’ll go find
Bill,” he said.
Again was the search begun for Bill, along the main street; in the
alleys, and through the scattered native settlements behind the town as
far as the Uvea huts, at Vaimoso, and the slums of the Nieué Islanders.
Bostock let no seaman pass unnoticed; a heavy fatigue-party coming back
from work on the wrecks--sixty men and four officers--were lined up at
his request, and Amatua was led through the disciplined ranks in search
of Bill. Even the _Nipsic_ was boarded by the indefatigable Bostock
and the weary little boy; and although repairs were being rushed at a
tremendous pace, and every one looked overdriven and out of temper, the
huge ship was overhauled from top to bottom. From the grimy stoke-hole,
where everything dripped oil and the heat was insupportable, to the
great maintop where men were busy at the rigging; from the crowded
quarters of the seamen to the sodden and salt-smelling mess-room, in
which the red came off the cushions like blood, the pair made their way
in search of Bill.
Bostock led the boy back to land, and said good-bye to him at the
corner of the Apia Hotel. He tried to raise his spirits, and atone
for their failure to find Bill, by the present of a shilling. Amatua
accepted it with quiet gratitude, although the gift had not the
cheering effect that Bostock desired. The little fellow was sick at
heart, and all the shillings in the world could not have consoled him
for the loss of Bill. The naval officer followed him with his eyes as
he trudged sorrowfully home. He, too, had lost a lifelong friend in
that awful night.
Amatua gave up all hope of ever seeing Bill again, as time slipped
away and one day melted into another. He made friends with Bostock,
and spent many a pleasant hour in the company of that jovial officer,
following him about everywhere like a dog; but for all that he did not
love him as he had loved Bill. Those were exciting times in Apia, and
there was much to amuse and distract a little boy. In the day Bill
often passed from his thoughts, for the incessant panorama life had now
become almost precluded any other thought; but at night, when he awoke
in the early hours and heard the cocks calling, then it was that his
heart turned to Bill and overflowed with grief for his lost friend.
Two days after the storm--two as men count, but centuries in Amatua’s
calendar--the British ship _Calliope_ returned to port, strained and
battered by that terrible hour when she had pitted her engines against
the gale and taken her desperate dash for freedom.
But Amatua’s little head was far too full of something else for him to
bother about another man-of-war. Bostock had promised to take him to
the raft where men were diving for the _Trenton’s_ treasure-chest. He
knew all about men-of-war by this time, for he had the freedom of the
_Nipsic’s_ ward-room, and he took breakfast regularly with his friends,
the officers. They had given him a gold-laced cap and a tin sword,
and the tailor had made him a blue jacket with shoulder-straps and
brass buttons and the stripes of a second lieutenant. He had his own
appointed station when the ship beat to quarters; for the _Nipsic_ had
been got safely off the reef and once more divided the waters of the
bay.
It was a beautiful morning when they pulled out in a shore boat to the
raft where the work was in progress. As the Americans possessed no
diving apparatus, Kane, the British captain, had lent them the one he
carried, with six good men who had some experience in such matters.
Amatua was disappointed to find so little to interest him. He examined
the pump with which two men were keeping life in the diver below; but
he could not understand the sense of it, and the continuous noise soon
grew monotonous. Except a tin pail containing the men’s lunch, the
brass-bound breaker of drinking water, and some old clothes, there
was nothing in the world to attract a small boy. Amatua stood beside
Bostock and yawned; the little second lieutenant longed to be on shore
playing marbles with his friends in civil life. He was half asleep
when Bostock plucked his arm and pointed into the depths beneath. A
glittering shell-fish of ponderous weight and monstrous size was
slowly rising to the surface. Every one rushed to the side of the raft,
save only the two men at the pumps, who went on unmoved. Amatua clung
to Bostock. Higher and higher came the hideous shell-fish, until its
great, goggling-eyed head appeared horribly above the water. Amatua
turned faint. The crew behaved with incredible daring, and seized the
huge, bulging thing with the utmost fearlessness. It was frightful to
see it step on the raft and toil painfully to the centre, as though it
had been wounded in some mortal part. One of the men lifted a hammer as
though to kill it, and began to tap, tap, tap on some weak spot in the
neck. Then he threw down the hammer, detached the long suckers which
reached from the beast’s snout, and started to unscrew its very head
from its body. Amatua looked on confounded; he was shaking with horror,
yet the fascination of that brassy monster drew him close.
Suddenly the creature sank on its knees, and the man gripped the head
in both his hands and lifted it up. And underneath, wonder of wonders!
there was the face of a man--a white man.
And the white man was Bill!
With a cry Amatua threw himself into his friend’s arms, dripping though
he was. What did he care for the fine uniform, now that Bill was found
again!
“And where have you been all this time?” asked Bostock.
“Oh, I’m the boatswain’s mate of the _Calliope_,” said Bill; “and
what with the knocking about we got, I’ve been kept hard at it on the
rigging.”
“You have been badly missed,” said Bostock.
“Bless his old heart!” said the sailor, “I think a lot of my little Am.”
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.