Things had been dull in Apia before the arrival of Captain Satterlee in
the _Southern Belle_. Not business alone--which was, of course, only to
be expected, what with the civil war being just over and the Kanakas
driven to eat their cocoanuts instead of selling them to traders in the
form of copra--but, socially speaking, the little capital of the Samoan
group had been next door to dead. Picnics had been few; a heavy dust had
settled on the floor of the public hall--a galvanized iron barn which
social leaders could rent for six Chile dollars a night, lights
included; the butcher's wedding, contrary to all expectation, had been
strictly private, and might almost have slipped by unnoticed had it not
been for a friendly editorial in the _Samoa Weekly Times_; and with the
exception of an auction, a funeral, and a billiard tournament at the
International Hotel, a general lethargy had overtaken Apia and the
handful of whites who made it their home.
As Mr. Skiddy, the boyish American consul, expressed himself, "You
can't get anybody to do anything these days."
Possibly this long spell of monotony contributed to Captain Satterlee's
pronounced and instant success. The topsails of the Southern Belle had
hardly more than appeared over the horizon, when people began to wake up
and realize that stagnation had too long held them in its thrall.
Satterlee was not at all the ordinary kind of sea captain, to which the
Beach (as Apia always alluded to itself) was more than well acquainted.
Gin had no attractions for Captain Satterlee, nor did he surround
himself with dusky impropriety. He played a straight social game, and
lived up to the rules, even to party calls, and finger bowls on his
cabin table. He was a tall, thin American of about forty-five, with
floorwalker manners, grayish mutton-chop whiskers, and a roving eye. The
general verdict of Apia was that he was "very superior." His superiority
was apparent in his gentlemanly baldness, his openwork socks, his
well-turned references to current events, his kindly and indulgent
attitude toward all things Samoan. He deplored the rivalry of the three
contending nationalities, German, English, and American, whose official
representatives quarreled fiercely among themselves and mismanaged the
affairs of this unfortunate little South Sea kingdom, and whose
unofficial representatives sold guns and cartridges indiscriminately to
the warring native factions. Satterlee let it be inferred that the role
of peacemaker had informally settled upon himself.
"In a little place everybody ought to pull together," he would say, his
bland tolerance falling like balm from heaven, and he would clinch the
remark by passing round forty-cent cigars.
The _Southern Belle_ was a showy little vessel of about ninety tons,
with the usual trade room in the after part of the ship, where the
captain himself would wait on you behind a counter, and sell you
anything from a bottle of trade scent to a keg of dynamite. He never was
so charming as when engaged in this exchange of commodities for coin,
and it accorded so piquantly with his evident superiority that the
purchaser had a pleasant sense of doing business with a gentleman.
"Of course, I might run her as a yacht, and play the heavy swell," he
would remark. "But, candidly, I like this kind of thing; it puts me on a
level with the others, you know; and then it's handy for buying
supplies, and keeping one in touch with the people." With this he would
give you such a warming smile, and perhaps throw in free a handful of
fishhooks, or a packet of safety matches, or a toothbrush. Indeed, apart
from this invariable prodigality, his scale of prices was ridiculously
low, and if you were a lady you could buy out the ship at half price. As
for young Skiddy, the American consul, the bars in his case were
lowered even more, and he was just asked to help himself; which young
Skiddy did, though sparingly. Captain Satterlee took an immense fancy to
this youthful representative of their common country, and treated him
with an engaging mixture of respect and paternalism; and Skiddy, not to
be behindhand, and dazzled, besides, by his elder's marked regard and
friendship, threw wide the consular door, and constantly pressed on
Satterlee the hospitality of a cot on the back veranda.
The captain professed to find it remarkable--which, indeed, it was--that
a boy of twenty-six should have been intrusted with the welfare of so
considerable a section of Samoa's white population. The roll of the
consulate bore the names of thirty-eight Americans, not to speak of a
thirty-ninth who was soon expected, over whom the young consul possessed
extraordinary powers withheld from far higher posts in far more
important countries. Young Skiddy, on a modest salary of two hundred
dollars a month and a house rent-free, was supposed, if need be, to
marry you, divorce you, try you for crimes and misdemeanors, and in
extreme cases might even dangle you from the flagstaff in his front
yard.
He had been very seldom called on, however, to use these extensive
powers. In three years he had married as many couples, helped to baptize
a half-caste baby, held an inquest on a dead sailor, bullied a Samoan
army off his front grass, and had settled a disputed inheritance
involving five acres of cocoanuts. This, of course, left him with some
spare time on his hands, which, on the whole, he managed to get through
with very tolerable enjoyment. But until the date of Captain Satterlee's
arrival he had never had a friend, or at least so it seemed to him now
in the retrospect. His official colleagues were out of the question--the
standoffish Englishman, the sullen German, the grotesque Swede who held
the highest judicial office. No, there was not the little finger of a
friend in the whole galaxy. And elsewhere? Not a soul to whom one could
give intimacy without the danger, almost the certainty, of its being
abused. No wonder, then, that he turned to Satterlee, and grasped the
hand of fellowship so warmly extended to him.
The little consul had never known such a man; he had never heard such
talk; he had never before realized the extent and splendor of the world.
Sitting in the cabin of the _Southern Belle_, often far into the night,
he would give a rapt attention to this extraordinary being who had done
everything and seen everything. Paris, London, Constantinople, New York,
all were as familiar to Satterlee as the palm of his hand, and he had
the story-telling gift that can throw a glamour over the humblest
incident. Not that his incidents were often humble. On the contrary, in
his mysterious suggestive fashion he let it be inferred that his bygone
part had been a great one. He would offer dazzling little peeps, and
then shut the slide; a chance reference that would make his hearer gasp;
the adroit use of a mighty name, checked by a sudden, "Oh, hold on--I'm
saying more than I ought to!" You felt, somehow, that to have roused the
interest of this powerful personage was to insure your own career. With
a turn of his hand he was capable of gratifying your wildest ambition.
He had remarked your unusual capacity, and had quietly determined it
should be given proper scope. When and where and how were to be settled
later. These questions you left confidently to Satterlee. It was enough
that you were informed, in those fine shades of which he was a master,
that your day would surely come. On leaving Satterlee you walked on air
without knowing exactly why; or rather Skiddy did, for by "you" I mean
the little consul.
It is a sad commentary on human nature that it is so easily deceived. A
glib tongue, an attractive manner, a few hundred dollars thrown
carelessly about, and presto! you have the counterfeit of a Cecil
Rhodes. We are not only willing to take people at their own valuation,
but are ever ready to multiply that valuation by ten. Obtrude
romance--rich, stirring romance--into the lives of commonplace people,
and they instantly lose their heads. Romance, more than cupidity, is
what attracts the gold-brick investor.
Of course, Satterlee was a poser, a fraud, a liar; the highest type of
liar; the day-dreaming, well-read, genuinely inventive, highly
imaginative, loving-it-for-its-own-sake liar. But to Skiddy every word
he said was Gospel-true. He never doubted the captain for an instant.
Life grew richer to him, stranger and more wonderful. It was like a
personal distinction--a medal, or the thanks of Congress--that Satterlee
should thus have singled him out. His gratitude was unbounded. He felt
both humble and elated. His cup was brimming over.
Let not his credulity be counted against him. After all, he was not the
only admirer of the captain. Did he not see Satterlee lionized by the
Chief Justice and the rest of his brother officials; publicly honored by
the head of the great German company; called to the bosom of both the
missionary denominations? Was not all Apia, in fact, regardless of sex,
creed, or nationality, acclaiming Satterlee to the skies, and vying
among themselves for the privilege of entertaining him? Never, indeed,
were there so many picnics, so many parties, such a constant succession
of dances at the public hall. Even the king was galvanized into action,
and, to the surprise of everyone, gave a sort of At Home, where
Satterlee was the guest of honor, and received the second _kava_ cup. A
half-caste couple, who before had barely held up their heads, sprang
into social prominence by getting married under the direct patronage of
the popular captain, and thus rallying to their visiting list all the
rank, fashion, and beauty of Apia.
It was a delirious month. There was an event for almost every night of
it. The strain on the half-caste band was awful. Miss Potter's millinery
establishment worked night and day. Of a morning you couldn't find a
lady on a front veranda who wasn't stitching and sewing and basting and
cutting out. And the men! Why, in the social whirl few of them had time
to sober up, and the sale of Leonard's soda water was unprecedented.
As the time began to draw near for the monthly mail from San Francisco,
Satterlee got restless and talked regretfully of leaving. He gave a
great P.P.C. bargain day on board the _Southern Belle_, where sandwiches
and bottled beer were served to all comers, and goods changed hands at
astonishing prices: coal oil at one seventy-five a case; hundred-pound
kegs of beef at four dollars; turkey-red cotton at six cents a yard;
square face at thirty cents a bottle; and similar cuts in all the
standard commodities. There was no custom house in those days, and you
were free to carry everything ashore unchallenged. A matter of eighty
tons must have been landed all round the beach; and the pandemonium at
the gangway, the crush and jostle in the trade room, and the steady
hoisting out of fresh merchandise from the main hold, made a very
passable South Sea imitation of a New York department store. At any
rate, there was the same loss of temper, the same harassed expression on
the faces of the purchasers, and the same difficulty in getting change.
As like as not you had to take it--the change--in the form of Jews'
harps, screw eyes, or anything small and handy that happened to be near
by. It was the most lightning performance Apia had ever witnessed, and
the captain carried it off in a brisk, smiling way, as though it was the
best joke in the world, and he was only doing it all for fun.
Unfortunate captain! Unhappy destiny that brought in the mail cutter two
days ahead of schedule! Thrice unlucky popularity that found thee
basking in the sunshine of woman's favor instead of on thy four-inch
deck! The pilot signaled the mail; Skiddy put forth in his consular
boat, intercepting the cutter in the pass, and receiving (on his head)
his own especial Government bag. The proximity of the _Southern Belle_,
and the likelihood of Satterlee being at home, caused Skiddy to board
the ship and open the bag on her quarter-deck. One stout, blue, and
important-looking letter at once caught his eye. He opened the stout,
blue, and important-looking letter, and----
There were no white men in the crew of the _Southern Belle_. They were
all Rotumah boys, with the exception of Ah Foy, the Chinese cook. This
amiable individual was singing over his pots and pans when he was
suddenly startled by the apparition of Skiddy at the galley door. The
little consul was deathly pale, and there was something fierce and
authoritative in his look.
"Come out of here," he said abruptly, "I want to talk to you!"
The Chinaman followed him aft. He had a pretty good idea of what was
coming. That was why he was sewn up with two hundred dollars in hard
cash, together with a twenty-dollar bill under his left heel. He began
to cry, and in five minutes had blurted out the whole thing.
Self-preservation is the first law, and he had, besides, some dim
conception of State's evidence. Skiddy made the conception clearer, and
promised him immunity if he would make a clean breast of it. This the
Chinaman forthwith did in his laborious pidgin. A good part of it was
incomprehensible, but he established certain main facts, and confirmed
the stout, blue, important-looking letter. As Satterlee came off on a
shore boat, pulling like mad, and then darted up the ladder in a sweat
of apprehension, he was met at the top by Skiddy--not Skiddy the
friend, but Skiddy the arm of the law, Skiddy the retributive, Skiddy
the world's avenger, with Seniko, his towering cox, standing square
behind him.
"John Forster," he said, "_alias_ Satterlee, I arrest you in the name of
the United States, on the charge of having committed the crime of
barratry, and warn you that anything you say now may be hereafter used
against you."
It was a horrible thing to say--to be forced to say--and no sense of
public duty could make it less than detestable. Skiddy almost whispered
out the words. The brutality of them appalled him. Remember, this was
his friend, his hero, the man whose intimacy an hour before had been
everything to him. Satterlee gave him a quick, blank, panicky look, and
then, with a pitiful bravado, took a step forward with an attempted
return to his usual confident air. He professed to be dumfounded at the
accusation; he was the victim of a dreadful mistake; he tried, with a
ghastly smile, to reassert his old dominion, calling Skiddy "old man"
and "old chap" in a shaky, fawning voice, and wanting to take him below
"to talk it over." But the little consul was adamantine. The law must
take its course. He was sorry, terribly sorry, but as an officer of the
United States he had to do his duty.
Satterlee preceded him into the boat. The consul followed and took the
yoke lines. They were both dejected, and neither dared to meet the
other's eyes. It was a mournful pull ashore, and tragic in the
retrospect. A silence lay between them as heavy as lead. The crew,
conscious of the captain's humiliation, though they knew not the cause,
felt also constrained to a deep solemnity. Yes, a funereal pull, and it
was a relief to everyone when at last they grounded in the shingle off
the consulate.
Skiddy had a busy day of it. Leaving the captain at the consulate under
guard, and sending off Asi, the chief of Vaiala, together with ten
warriors armed with rifles and axes to take charge of the _Southern
Belle_ and her crew, he walked into Apia to make arrangements to meet
the painful situation. Single-handed he had to rear the structure of a
whole judicial system, including United States marshals, a clerk of
court, four assessor judges, and a jail. His first steps were directed
toward a little cottage on the Motootua Road, the residence of Mr.
Scoville Purdy, a goaty, elderly, unwashed individual, who formed the
more respectable half of the Samoan bar. Mr. Purdy was forthwith
retained by the United States Government, and the papers of the case
left in his hands. Skiddy next sought out Mr. Thacher, the other half of
the bar, and directed him to defend the prisoner. Then he bent his mind
to the consideration of jails, of which Samoa boasted two.
The municipal jail was a two-roomed wooden shed, sparingly furnished
with a couple of tin pails. Humanity forbidding the incarceration of
Captain Satterlee in such a hovel, the little consul passed on to
Mulinuu, where the general Samoan Government held sway. The jail here
was on a more pretentious scale. It consisted of a rectangular
inclosure, perhaps sixty feet by forty, formed by four eight-foot walls
of galvanized iron, and containing within five or six small huts of the
kind that shipwrecked seamen might build on a desert island. In fact
that was just about what they were, and as foul and repulsive as the
real article. Owing to financial stringency the Samoan Government was
unable to house or feed its prisoners, who for both these reasons might
well be described as castaways. These unfortunates were absent at the
time of Skiddy's visit, employing a very languid leisure on the
improvement of the roads; and the consul could not have penetrated the
jail at all had it not been for the king, who, on being appealed to, was
obliging enough to lend the diplomat his spare key.
Skiddy stood and regarded the place with an immense depression. It would
not do at all. It was no better than a cattle pen. He was about to turn
away, when the two Scanlons appeared on the scene, their keen noses
having scented out a job. The Scanlons were burly half-castes, of a
muddy, sweaty complexion, whose trustworthiness and intelligence were
distinctly above the average. The Scanlon brothers, to any one in a
difficult position, could be relied upon as pillars of strength. There
was nothing a Scanlon brother wouldn't do, and do well, for two dollars
and fifty cents a day. Mind and muscle were both yours--Scanlon mind and
muscle--for this paltry and insignificant sum; and the consul, in his
quandary, welcomed the stout, bristly haired pair as though they were
angels from heaven.
In less time than it takes to write, Alfred Scanlon was appointed a
United States marshal, Charles Scanlon an assistant United States
marshal, and the arrangement was made with them to take full charge of
Captain Satterlee during his trial. He was to live in their cottage,
have his meals served from the International Hotel, and, while carefully
guarded night and day, was to be treated "first class" throughout.
"The law of the United States," boomed out little Skiddy, "assumes that
a prisoner is innocent until he is actually convicted. I want both of
you to remember that."
The Scanlons didn't understand a word of what he said, but they saluted,
and looked very much impressed. When you bought a Scanlon you got a lot
for your money, including a profound gravity when you addressed him. It
was the Scanlon way of recognizing that you were paying, and the
Scanlon receiving, two dollars and fifty cents a day!
At the head of his two satellites, who kept pace respectfully behind
him, Skiddy next directed himself to find Dillon. Dillon was a variety
of white Scanlon, though of an infinitely lower human type, who kept a
tiny store and cobbled shoes near the Mulivae bridge; and who, from some
assumed knowledge of legal procedure, invariably acted as clerk of the
court--any court--American, English, or the Samoan High. You associated
his heavy, bloated, grog-blossomed face, and black-dyed whiskers, as an
inevitable part of the course of justice. It was his custom to take
longhand notes of all court proceedings, as, of course, stenographers
were unknown in Apia; and at times it would seem as though all Samoan
justice boiled down to dictating to Dillon. As a witness, you never
looked at the judge; you looked at Dillon, and wondered whether he was
taking you down right. A careful witness always went slowly, and used
the words that Dillon was likely to understand.
Dillon having been found and engaged, the next procedure was to appoint
the assessor judges, of whom the consular instructions insisted on there
being four. This weighty matter seemed to require the cooperation of the
vice consul, Mr. Beaver, a highly respected quack doctor, whose
principal nostrum was faith cure plus hot water. After arguing away
your existence, which he always could do with extraordinary fluency, he
would plunge you into a boiling bath till your imaginary skin turned a
deep imaginary scarlet, and then send you home with some microscopic
doses of aconite. The best that could be said of him was that he never
really harmed anybody, scalded the poor for nothing, and was willing
(and even pressing) to turn over serious cases to the regular
practitioner, Dr. Funk.
There were twenty-seven American citizens on the consular roll of male
sex, sound mind, and above twenty-one years of age. Four of them lived
far from Apia, and were therefore unavailable. Two more, as known
deserters from the United States navy, were considered unworthy of the
judgment seat. Forged or suspected naturalization papers threw out
another five. This reduced the residuum to sixteen, whose names were
written on slips of paper, thrown into a pith helmet, and tumbled
together. The first four withdrawn constituted the assessor judges, who
were at once warned by messenger to be in attendance at the consulate at
ten the next morning, or be punished for contempt.
What a stir was made in the little town as the news went round!
Satterlee, the cherished, the entertained, the eagerly sought
after--Satterlee, had been discovered to be a pirate! The _Southern_
_Belle_ was no _Southern Belle_ at all, but the _James H. Peabody_! He
had shipped as supercargo, putting in a thousand dollars of his own to
lull Mr. Crawford's suspicions, and then had marooned the captain and
mate on Ebon Island, and levanted with the ship! Heavens! what cackle,
what excitement, what a furious flow of beer in every saloon along the
beach! It was rumored that the great bargain-day sales might be
canceled; that the goods might have to be returned; that not a penny of
compensation would be paid to the unlucky purchasers. Then what a
rubbing off of marks took place, what a breaking up of tell-tale cases,
what a soaking off of tags! The whole eighty tons disappeared like
magic, and you could not find a soul who would even confess to a packet
of pins!
The trial took place in the large office room of the consulate. The big
front doors stood open to the sea, where a mile away the breakers tossed
and tumbled on the barrier reef. The back door was kept shut, to keep
out the meaner noises of domesticity, but at intervals in the course of
the trial you could hear the deliberate grinding of the consular coffee;
the chasing of consular chickens; the counting of the consular wash;
shrill arguments over the price of fish--a grotesque juxtaposition that
seemed to make a mock of the whole proceedings.
The consul, in well-starched white clothes and pipe-clayed shoes, sat
on a dais beneath the crossed flags of his country, giving the effect of
an elegant and patriotic waxwork. Below him were the four assessors,
sunburned, commonish, seafaring men, with enormous hands that they did
not know what to do with, who moved uneasily in their chairs, and looked
about for places to spit--and then didn't dare to! One, whose brawny
arms far exceeded the shrunken sleeves of his jumper, unbared to view on
his hairy skin the tattooed form of a naked mermaid. A table stood in
the center of the uncarpeted room, with a lawyer on either side--Purdy,
the goaty-haired, messy, elderly man, half-blind, sharp-voiced, rasping
out his case; opposite him, Thacher, a slinky, mean-looking young man,
who was reputed to have left New Zealand under a cloud. He looked what
he was, a cheap lawyer's clerk, of the pinched, hungry variety one sees
in gloomy anterooms. At the head of the table was Dillon, the
everlasting dictatee, his dyed black whiskers drooping in the heat, who
raised a fat hand from time to time as a brake on outstripping tongues.
And there the captain, the cause of all this singular assembly, tilting
back in his chair, or occasionally leaning over to whisper into his
counsel's ear--spare, angular, careworn--with his grim mouth and
resolute air, as though the soul within him refused to be cowed by such
droning tomfoolery.
Beside the front door was a shabby basket-work sofa, where members of
the public were entitled to sit. They would tiptoe in, these members of
the public, furtively, as though expecting to be shot on sight, the
bolder ones perhaps exchanging a whisper, the weaker brethren silent,
and trembling if they caught an official eye. Outside, on the steps of
the broad veranda, the brothers Scanlon lolled and slumbered, with
pewter stars on their sweaty breasts, enjoying the deep contentment that
comes with two dollars and fifty cents a day.
The trial lasted two days, but judgment was held over for the third. The
case against Satterlee was complete. The San Francisco affidavits,
properly made out by competent hands, were confirmed by the confession
of Ah Foy, the cook, who (besides Satterlee) was the only present member
of the original crew. Satterlee set up the lame defense that he had
purchased the vessel from Crawford, and was therefore her actual owner.
He was sworn, and gave evidence accordingly, but Purdy's
cross-examination left him without a leg to stand on. He cut a pitiful
figure as he floundered and lied and contradicted himself under the lash
of that relentless tongue, miring himself ever deeper with explanations
that did not explain, and agitated references to a "conspiracy" whose
object it was to ruin him. No, the only thing to be considered was the
degree of punishment that would adequately offset his crime.
On the reassembling of the Court on the morning of the third day, little
Skiddy, from the majesty of the dais, summed up the case at length. It
covered nine sheets of foolscap, and had cost him hours of agonizing
toil. Beginning with a general rhetorical statement about the "policy of
nations" and "the security of the high seas," he descended by degrees to
the crime of barratry--or, in plainer English, the theft of ships. He
looked at barratry from every side, and the more he looked the less he
seemed to like it. It was the cradle of piracy; it destroyed the
confidence of owners; barratry, if frequently repeated, would shake the
whole commercial structure. A person who committed barratry would commit
anything. In this manner he went on and on, reviewing the evidence of
the case, destroying the whole fabric of the defense, dwelling at length
on the enormity of the entire transaction. The _James H. Peabody_ had
been deliberately seized. The prisoner had lawlessly converted her, the
property of another, to his own base uses. He had broken into the cargo
and shamelessly sold it as his own. He could plead neither the
extenuation of youth, nor ignorance, nor the urging of others. He had
conceived the crime, and had carried it out single-handed. The Court
could not accept the contention that Ah Foy, the Chinaman, had been in
any sense a confederate or an accomplice. The Court dismissed the charge
against Ah Foy. But, after mature deliberation, its unanimous judgment
was that John Forster, _alias_ Satterlee, was _guilty_. The Court
sentenced John Forster, _alias_ Satterlee, to _ten years' penal
servitude_.
Purdy popped up with some question as to the scale of court fees.
Thacher winked at Dillon, and began to roll up his papers. Skiddy
descended from the dais and became an ordinary human being again. The
captain, leaning forward in his chair, gazed absently out to sea. The
Scanlon brothers appeared, officiously wanting to know what they were to
do next. Skiddy was unable to tell them, except that they were to stay
by the prisoner until he could consult with the authorities. He put on
his hat, lit a cigar, and forthwith departed.
The President was kind, the Chief Justice urbane. The income of the
kingdom barely sufficed for their two salaries, and they judged it
incumbent (as they could do nothing else) to be as polite as possible to
the American consul. But jails? Oh, no, they couldn't oblige Skiddy with
a new jail! He was welcome to what they had, but it wasn't in reason
that he could expect anything better. Skiddy said it was a hog-pen. The
President retorted that the king's allowance was eight months in
arrears, and that the western end of the island was still in rebellion.
Jails cost money, and they had no money. Skiddy declared it was an
outrage, and asked them if they approved of putting a white man into a
bare stockade, with none of the commonest conveniences or decencies of
life? They were both shocked at the suggestion. The pride of race is
very strong in barbarous countries. A white man is still a white man
even if he has committed all the crimes in the calendar. The Chief
Justice very seriously pointed out that it would disgrace them all to
confine Satterlee in the stockade, and force him to mix with the dregs
of the native population. Surely Mr. Skiddy could not consider such a
thing for a moment. Mr. Skiddy wanted to know, then, what the deuce he
was to do? The Chief Justice benignantly shook his head. He had no
answer to that question. The President murmured suavely, that perhaps
next year, with an increased hut tax, and the suppression of the
rebellion, the Government might see its way to----
"Next year!" roared Skiddy. "I want to know what I'm to do
NOW!"
The two high officials gazed at him sadly. It was a great peety, they
observed (with an air of gentle complaint), that Mr. Skiddy should have
embarrassed the government at a time when its whole position was so
precarious. Had he not better refer the matter to Washington? Doubtless
Washington, recognizing the fact that----
Skiddy flung himself out, lest his anger should get the best of him. He
went and had another look at the jail, and liked it even less than
before. Faugh! it was disgusting! It would kill a white man in a week.
It would be nothing less than murder to put Satterlee into it. He
returned to the consulate to talk over the matter with the trusty
Scanlons.
Would they consider a monthly arrangement on a reduced charge, giving
Satterlee the best room in their cottage, and pledging themselves that
he should never quit the confines of their three-acre cocoanut patch?
The half-caste brothers fell in joyfully with the suggestion, and their
first wild proposals were beaten down to forty dollars a month for
custodianship and fifteen dollars for the room and the transport of
Satterlee's food from the International Hotel--fifty-five dollars in
all. Thirty dollars a month for the hotel raised the grand total to
eighty-five dollars. Skiddy wondered ruefully whether Washington would
ever indorse this arrangement, but in his desperation he couldn't see
that he had any other choice. He would simply _make_ Washington indorse
it. It was with great relief that he saw the captain's departure from a
corner of his bedroom window, and felt that, for the moment, at least,
he had a welcome respite from all his perplexities.
He put a captain and crew on board the _James H. Peabody_, and packed
her back to San Francisco, at the same time apprising the State
Department by mail, and begging that a telegraphic answer might be sent
him in respect to Satterlee's imprisonment, and the expense it had
necessarily entailed. He calculated that the telegram would catch an
outgoing man-of-war that was shortly due. The consular salary was two
hundred dollars a month, and if the eighty-five dollars for Satterlee
was disallowed, the sum was indubitably bound to sink to one hundred and
fifteen dollars. Deducting a further fifty, which little Skiddy was in
the habit of remitting to his mother, a widow in narrow circumstances,
and behold his income reduced to sixty-five a month! It was hardly
surprising, therefore, that Skiddy waited on pins and needles for the
Department's reply.
In the course of weeks it came.
_Skiddy U S consul apia samoa satterlee case the department
authorizes charge for food, but none for custody or lodging,
bronson assistant secretary._
This was a staggering blow. It definitely placed his salary at
ninety-five dollars. He sat down and wrote a stinging letter to the
Department, inclosing snapshot pictures of the jail, the prisoners, the
huts, and other things that cannot be described here. It evolved an
acrimonious reply, in which he was bidden to be more respectful. He was
at liberty (the dispatch continued), if he thought it advisable as an
act of private charity, to maintain the convict Satterlee in a
comfortable cottage, but the Department insisted that it should be at
his (Skiddy's) expense. The Department itself advocated the jail. If the
situation were as disgraceful as he described it, ought not the onus be
put on the Samoan Government, and thus place the Department in a
position "to make strong representations through the usual diplomatic
channels"?
"But in the meantime what would happen to Satterlee?" returned the
consul in official language, across six thousand miles of sea and land.
"You are referred to the previous dispatch," retorted the Department.
"But it will kill him," said Skiddy, again crossing an ocean and a
continent.
"If the convict Satterlee should become ill, you are at liberty to send
him to the hospital."
"Yes, but there isn't any hospital," said Skiddy.
"The Department cannot withdraw from the position it took up, nor the
principle it laid down in Dispatch No. 214 B."
Thus the duel went on, while Skiddy cut down his cigars, sold his riding
horse, and generally economized. A regret stole over him that he hadn't
sentenced Satterlee to a shorter term, and he looked up the Consular
Instructions to see what pardoning powers he possessed. On this point
the little book was dumb. Not so the Department, however, to whom a hint
on the subject provoked the reply, "that by so doing you would stultify
your previous action and impugn the finding of the Consular Court. The
Department would view with grave displeasure, etc.----"
Satterlee soon made himself very much at home in the Scanlon prison. His
winning personality never showed to better advantage than in those days
of his eclipse. He dandled the Scanlon off-spring on his knee; helped
the women with their household tasks; played checkers with the burly
brothers. He was prodigiously respected. He gathered in the Scanlon
hearts, even to uncles and second cousins. You would have taken him for
a patriarch in the bosom of a family of which he was the joy and pride.
He received the best half-caste society on his front porch, and
dispensed Scanlon hospitality with a lavish hand. These untutored souls
had no proper conception of barratry. They couldn't see any crime in
running away with a schooner. They pitied the captain as a bold spirit
who had met with undeserved misfortunes. The Samoan has ever a
sympathetic hand for the fallen mighty, and the hand is never empty of a
gift. Bananas, pineapples, _taro_, sugar cane, _palusami_, sucking pigs,
chickens, eggs, _valo_--all descended on Satterlee in wholesale lots.
Girls brought him _leis_ of flowers to wear round his neck; anonymous
friends stole milk for his refreshment; pigeon hunters, returning
singing from the mountains, deferentially laid their best at his feet.
Nothing was too good for this unfortunate chief, who bore himself so
nobly, and had a smile and a kind word for even the humblest of his
admirers.
On Sundays Skiddy paid the captain a periodical visit. He would bring
the latest papers, if there were any, or a novel or two from his scanty
stock. Their original friendship had died a violent death, but a new one
had gradually risen on the ashes of the old. Skiddy had no more
illusions in respect to this romantic-minded humbug and semi-pirate; but
the man was likable, tremendously likable, and, in spite of himself, the
little consul could not forbear suffering some of the pangs of remorse.
The world was so big, so wide, with such a sufficiency of room for all
(even romantic-minded humbugs and semi-pirates), and it was hard that
Providence should have singled him out to clip this eagle's wings. There
was something, too, very pathetic in Satterlee's contentment. He
confided to Skiddy that he had never been so happy. With glistening eyes
he would discourse on "these simple people," "these good hearts," "this
lovely and uncontaminated paradise, where evil seems never to have set
its hand," and expatiate generally on the beauty, charm, and
tranquillity of Samoan life. He dreaded the time, he said, when a
ruthless civilization would sweep it all away.
Satterlee and he took long walks into the mountains, invariably
accompanied by a Scanlon brother to give an official aspect to the
excursion. It maintained the fast-disappearing principle that Satterlee
was a convict and under vigilant guard. It served to take away the
appearance, besides (which they might otherwise have presented), of two
friends spending a happy day together in the country. A Scanlon brother
stood for the United States Government and the majesty of law, and
propriety demanded his presence as peremptorily as a chaperon for a
young lady. A Scanlon brother could be useful, too, in climbing cocoanut
trees, rubbing sticks together when the matches were lost, and in
guiding them to noble waterfalls far hidden in the forest.
In this manner nearly a whole year passed, which, for the little consul,
represented an unavoidable monthly outlay of fifty-five dollars. He got
somewhat used to it, as everybody gets somewhat used to everything; but
he could not resist certain recurring intervals of depression when he
contrasted his present circumstances with his bygone glory. Fifty-five
dollars a month made a big hole in a consular income, and he would gaze
down that ten-year vista with a sinking heart. But relief was closer at
hand than he had ever dared to hope. From the Department? No, but from
Satterlee himself.
The news was brought to little Skiddy early one morning. Alfred Scanlon,
with an air of gloom, deprecatingly coughed his way into the bedroom,
and handed the consul a letter. It was written on pale pink note-paper,
of the kind Samoans like best, with two lavender love birds embossed in
the corner. It was from Satterlee. The letter ran thus:
DEAR FRIEND: _When this reaches you I shall be far
to sea. My excuse for so long subsisting on your bounty must
be laid to my ignorance, which was only illuminated two days
ago by accident. I had no idea that you were paying for me
out of your own private purse, or that my ease and comfort
were obtained at so heavy a cost to yourself. Regretfully I
bring our pleasant relations to an end, impelled, I assure
you, by the promptings of a heartfelt friendship. I loved
the simple people among whom my lot was cast, and looked
forward, at the termination of my sentence, to end the
balance of my days peacefully among them. The world, seen
from so great a distance, and from within so sweet a nest,
frightened me, old stager that I am. God knows, I have never
seen but its ugliest side, and return to it with profound
depression. Kindly explain my abrupt departure to the
Scanlons, and if you would do me a last favor, buy a little
rocking-horse that there is at Edward's store, price three
dollars, and present it in my name to my infant goddaughter,
Apeli Scanlon. To them all kindly express my warmest and
sincerest gratitude; and for yourself, dear friend, the
best, the truest, the kindest of men, accept the warm grasp
of my hand at parting. Ever yours,_