Malie, the supreme chief of the district, was indeed, as Raymond said,
one of the most renowned fighters, not only on Upoln, but in all Samoa,
and Frewen, as he shook hands with him, thought he had never seen so
noble and imposing a figure. He was a man of about sixty years of age,
with closely-cropped white hair and thick moustache, but so youthful was
he in his carriage, and so smooth was the bright copper-red of his skin,
that he seemed more like a man of thirty whose hair and moustache had
become prematurely blanched. The upper portion of his huge but yet
beautifully proportioned and muscular figure was bare to the waist,
around which was wrapped many folds of tappa cloth bleached to a snowy
whiteness, which accentuated the startling contrast of the bright blue
tattooing which reached from his waist to his knees. Depending from his
neck, and falling in a long loop across a broad chest scarred by many
wounds, was a simple yet beautiful ornament consisting of some hundreds
of discs of gleaming pearl-shell, perforated at the sides, and strung
together by a thin cord of human hair. In his right hand he carried a
_fui_, or fly-wisp, made of coco-nut fibre, and Frewen noticed during
the conversation that followed that he used this with the dainty grace
that characterises a Spanish lady with her fan.
Accompanying the chief was a tall, thin old man, named Talitaua, who
was Malië's _tulafale_ or orator--a position which in Samoa is one
much coveted and highly respected, for the _tulafale_ is in reality a
Minister of War, and on his public utterances much depends. If he is
possessed of any degree of eloquence, he can either avert or bring about
war, just as he chooses to either inflame or subdue the passions of his
audience when, rising and supporting himself on his polished staff of
office, he first scans the expectant faces of the throng seated on the
ground before him ere he opens his lips to speak. On this occasion,
however, Talitaua had merely come with Malië as a personal friend
anxious to learn privately what he would probably have to communicate
to the assembled people as soon as the discussion with Raymond was
concluded. Both he and the chief had already heard full details of the
mutiny from Raymond, and they guessed that the planter had something
further and of importance to say to them concerning it. After the usual
courtesies so rigidly observed on visits of ceremony had passed between
them and Raymond, they patiently awaited him to begin, though very
curious to learn what was the occasion of Frewen's and Cheyne's
unlooked-for appearance. Their natural politeness, however, as well as
the never-to-be-infringed-upon Samoan etiquette, utterly forbade them to
make even the slightest allusion to the matter; they would, they knew,
learn in good time.
Seating themselves on chairs in European fashion at one side of the
table, whilst Raymond and his two companions occupied those opposite,
they first made inquiry as to the wounded men and Mrs. Marston, and the
planter answered their polite queries. Then after a pause Raymond began
by saying--
“This _alii_ {*} is named Mr. Frewen. He is an officer of a _vaa
soia_,{**} and is a friend of my wife's brother, and therefore is a
friend of mine--and thine also, Malië toa o Samatau,{***} and Talitaua.”
* Chief--gentleman.
** A whale-ship.
*** His full title, “Malië, warrior of Samatau.” The present
King Malietoa of Samoa is a descendant.
The chief and his orator bent their heads, but said nothing beyond a
simple _Lelei, lelei lava_ (“Good, very good”).
Then Raymond went to the point as quickly as possible, and asked the
chief if he would assist him, Frewen, and Cheyne in recapturing the ship
from the mutineers. Speaking, of course, in Samoan, he said--
“As thou seest, Malië, the wind hath died away, and the ship is
becalmed, so that the murderers on board cannot escape us if we do but
act soon and come upon them suddenly.”
The chief thought for a few moments, then answered--
“I will not refuse thee anything in reason that thou asketh me, Lêmonti.
But yet my people must be told of what is in thy mind.”
“True. They shall know. But before I unfold to thee my plan to take
this ship by surprise so that but little or no blood may be shed, I will
pledge myself to the people of Samatan and to thee to act generously
to them for the help they will give. The captain is hurt to death
and cannot speak, and the lady his wife is too smitten with grief to
consider aught but her husband, so on her behalf do I speak; for she is
my countrywoman, and it would be a shameful thing for me did I not help
her.”
Then he went on, and dearly and lucidly detailed his scheme to the
chief, afterwards translating his remarks into English for the benefit
of Frewen, who listened with the keenest interest. Cheyne, of course,
understood Samoan perfectly.
Raymond's plan was simple enough.
He proposed to take the _Casilda's_ boat, and with Frewen, Cheyne, and
a few natives go boldly off and board the ship, and representing
himself as a trader anxious to buy European provisions, begin to work
by throwing the mutineers off their guard, by warning them of the danger
the ship was in through being in so close to the land during a calm, for
the currents in the Straits of Manono were very strong and she would
be carried on to the reef unless she was towed out of the danger
limit towards which he would say (and truthfully enough) that she was
drifting. The mutineers, he felt convinced, would feel so alarmed that
they would listen to and accept his suggestion to let him engage the
services of half a dozen native boats, whose united efforts would soon
place the ship out of danger by towing her out of the danger zone.
Then he and those with him would bide their time, and at a given signal
spring upon the mutineers, who would be completely off their guard.
He entered into the details so minutely that not only Frewen and Cheyne,
but Malië as well, expressed the warmest admiration and approval. Then
he told Malië exactly what to do when he (the chief) saw the whale-boat
leaving the ship to return to the shore, and Malië listened carefully to
his instructions and promised that they should be carried out exactly as
he desired.
Then the stalwart chief and his orator rose to take their leave, for
they had to call the people together and acquaint them with what was to
be done.
“Have no fear, Lêmonti, that the calm will break,” he said in reply to a
fear expressed by the planter that a breeze might, after all, spring
up and carry the ship too far off the land for the attempt to be made.
“'Tis a calm that will last for many days. Look at the mountains of
Savai'i”--and he pointed out the cloud-capped summits of the range that
traverses the great island of Savai'i--“when the clouds lie white and
heavy and low down it meaneth no wind for many days, not as much as
would stir a palm-leaf. But there will be rain at night--much rain.”
“The better for our purpose,” said Raymond, as the chief left the house.
“Now, Randall, we must hurry along. Take half a dozen of my people, and
let them catch a couple of pigs and plenty of fowls; then cut about
a dozen or so large bunches of bananas and get enough other
fruit--pineapples, sugar-cane, guavas, and young coco-nuts as will
make a big show in the boat. Mr. Frewen and I will join you in about a
quarter of an hour, and then you and he can show the natives how to stow
the things, as I have suggested to the chief.”
Returning to the house he sought out his wife.
“Marie, we are going to recapture that ship. Don't be alarmed, and don't
say anything to poor Mrs. Marston till you see us returning; but you may
tell the mate.”
Mrs. Raymond never for one instant thought of trying to dissuade her
husband from a mission which she felt was full of danger. She kissed
him, and said, “Tell me what to get ready, Tom.”