“ISN’T IT WORTH COMING FOR?”

A
UNITED STATES
MIDSHIPMAN
IN THE
SOUTH SEAS

by
Lt. Com. Yates Stirling Jr. U.S.N.

Author of
“A U.S. Midshipman Afloat”
“A U.S. Midshipman in China”
“A U.S. Midshipman in the Philippines”
“A U.S. Midshipman in Japan”

Illustrated by Ralph L. Boyer

THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
MCMXIII

COPYRIGHT
1913 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY

During the process of empire building, even to-day carried on by the great powers, the far distant South Sea Islands received their share of attention from designing cabinets.

In their patriotic desire to further the cause of their country many sailors laid down their lives in battles with the natives.

These small wars are scarcely remembered at home, but in the islands where the rivalry between the nations was bitterest, there stand impressive monuments to these sailor heroes, and in their songs the chivalrous islanders praise the virtues of their fallen foes.

To the sailors of all nations who thus met death, fighting in their country’s cause, these pages are dedicated.

Introduction

In this story Midshipmen Phil Perry and Sydney Monroe, together with Boatswain’s Mate “Jack” O’Neil, act through an historic drama of a South Sea war.

The same characters have seen active service in many parts of the world.

In “A United States Midshipman Afloat,” life in a battle-ship of the Atlantic fleet, together with a typical South American revolution, furnished the setting. In “A United States Midshipman in China,” the midshipmen and O’Neil help to rescue an American Mission and put an end to a “Boxer” uprising. In “A United States Midshipman in the Philippines,” the same officers see very active service on board a gun-boat in coöperation with the army against the Filipino insurgents.

In “A United States Midshipman in Japan,” they discover a plot to bring the United States and Japan into open hostilities over the purchase of some foreign war-ships. War is narrowly averted through the detective work of the midshipmen and their Japanese classmate at Annapolis, but now a lieutenant in the Imperial Navy.

The present volume carries the midshipmen through further thrilling scenes that occurred in an island of the far-away South Seas. The portrayal of native life is faithful and many of the incidents are historic.

Contents

Illustrations

A United States Midshipman
in the South Seas

CHAPTER I
THE RIVAL CHIEFS

A man-of-war boat propelled by six sailormen and with the flag of the United States flying from its staff navigated the tortuous channel through the fringing coral reef and landed upon the sandy beach of the harbor of Ukula.

Three American naval officers from the cruiser “Sitka” stepped from the boat upon the shore.

In the great public square on Kulinuu Point at one end of the town many thousands of the natives of the Kapuan Islands had gathered. They had come from all the villages of the islands by special invitation from the Herzovinian consul for the purpose of giving welcome to their great war chief Kataafa, who had but just returned from five long years of exile in a foreign land.

Toward this assemblage the three officers bent their steps. They were shown to their chairs by obsequious Herzovinian sailors and found themselves placed with the English officers from their war-ship in port. The Herzovinian officers sat close to their consul, who, in all the splendor of a court uniform, his chest covered with medals, was enthroned under a bower of freshly cut shrubs and flowers.

The American captain, Commander Tazewell, regarded the Herzovinian officials, a twinkle of merriment in his eyes.

“All their paint and powder is on thick,” he said, smiling good-humoredly, to his two companions, Midshipmen Philip Perry and Sydney Monroe, who had accompanied him ashore to be present at this novel ceremony.

Phil was gazing with open-eyed admiration at the handsome islanders.

“I mean the Herzovinian officers,” Commander Tazewell added. “It’s a hot day for special full dress uniform, but ‘noblesse oblige,’ I suppose.”

The American consul, Mr. Lee, accompanied by the chief justice of Kapua, Judge Lindsay, walked solemnly behind their sailor escort and seated themselves in chairs reserved for them between the English and American officers. Their ladies were escorted to seats in another stand.

Mr. Lee remained standing until the two young women who had accompanied him had been shown seats, then he sat down with an audible exclamation of annoyance.

“Judge,” he exclaimed, “be prepared to be outraged. I know these pig-headed Herzovinians well enough to appreciate that they never do things half-way.”

“We were fools to come and be insulted,” the judge snapped, removing his soft “Panama” and wiping his moist forehead. “Look at that stand of theirs; looks like a Christmas tree—the very thing to catch the savage eye. Here are we in our democratic simplicity.”

The two midshipmen gazed about; the wonderful spectacle delighted them. Several thousands of Kapuan men and women collected in mathematical accuracy had formed a great square about the Herzovinian officials. In front were the women, garbed in colors of flaming hue, their dark hair loose over their shoulders. The scarlet hibiscus blossom woven into necklaces and entwined in their blue-black locks was both effective and startling. The men were naked to the lava-lava covering about their waists, their copper brown skins glistening with cocoanut oil.

“There’s Kataafa,” Commander Tazewell said to his companions at his side. “He and Panu-Mafili are rivals to the Kapuan throne, and the final decision is now in the hands of Judge Lindsay.” The midshipmen had arrived in Kapua only that morning on the mail steamer from San Francisco.

“Kataafa is the high chief who has always rebelled against the king,” the commander added. “The Herzovinians deported him to one of their penal islands after his warriors had killed many of their sailors, and now they are giving him a royal welcome.”

“Where’s Panu-Mafili?” Phil asked excitedly, after he had feasted his eyes upon the high chief sitting next the Herzovinian consul.

Commander Tazewell indicated a small native squatting on the ground in front of the assemblage. He seemed dwarfed in comparison to the giant next him.

“The big one alongside of him is Tuamana,” the commander explained. “He has always been loyal to the legal king, and is a fine character and a great fighter. We’ll call upon him by and by.”

With a flourish of trumpets the ceremony began. The band then struck up the impressive Herzovinian national air, and all rose to their feet.

The Herzovinian consul, Mr. Carlson, moved forward after the music had ceased. He held in his hand a paper which he raised above his head, praying silence.

The midshipmen listened eagerly.

“What language is it?” Phil whispered. He could not recognize a word. From different quarters of the great crowd could be heard the native “talking men” repeating the words until they were heard by every native.

Phil riveted his attention upon the sea of native faces opposite him, endeavoring to surprise their thoughts, and thus obtain knowledge of what was being said.

“I can’t follow him,” Commander Tazewell whispered to Phil, “but I see it’s making a great impression.” He turned slowly in his chair to observe the effect upon Judge Lindsay and Mr. Lee, both of whom spoke Kapuan fluently.

Judge Lindsay’s under lip was noticeably quivering, while Mr. Lee ground his teeth in silent rage.

An exclamation from Phil caused the commander to turn again. The tall warrior and Panu-Mafili, the other candidate for kingship, had turned their backs upon the speaker and were talking to their followers behind them. Almost as one man they obeyed the call, and nearly five hundred natives slowly and with great dignity marched away, leaving a gaping hole in the symmetry of the square.

Mr. Carlson’s flow of native eloquence came to a sudden stop. He gazed in apparent bewilderment about him. Then from the departing natives came in melodious rhythm the words, sung over and over again—“Malea-Toa-Panu-Tupu-e-Kapua”—Malea-Toa Panu is King of Kapua.

“I’m afraid I can’t stand to hear the rest myself,” Judge Lindsay declared, unable to Control himself longer. He rose to his feet and walked away with great dignity. Mr. Lee and the British consul followed.

“I am going to stick it through,” Commander Sturdy, of the British war-ship “Hyacinth,” exclaimed as he changed his seat to one next to Commander Tazewell. “I can’t understand a jolly word, you know, but it’s as good as a musical opera at home.”

Chief Kataafa now stood beside Mr. Carlson, while Klinger, the manager of the Herzovinian firm’s plantations in Kapua, called the “Kapuan Firm,” called loudly to the natives for silence.

“The worst is yet to come,” Commander Tazewell laughed. The Herzovinian sailor company of a hundred strong, their rifles shining brightly in the sunlight, had smartly taken the position of “present arms.” “But quiet must be restored before the remainder of this impressive ceremony will be retailed out to us,” he added impressively.

Mr. Carlson solemnly placed a wreath of royal yellow about the chief’s neck. The assemblage suddenly burst forth in uncontrolled savage joy. Then as if by magic this demonstration was stilled by the music of a gun. The Herzovinian war-ship was firing a salute in honor of the returned exiles.

“Nineteen guns, I suppose,” Commander Sturdy said. Every one was counting, the natives most of all. The nineteenth gun had fired. All held their breath. This was the salute usually given a high chief. There seemed a perceptible pause and then another crash reverberated across the water, and yet another.

“A royal salute,” all gasped. Again pandemonium broke loose among the Kataafa adherents. Herzovinia had acknowledged Kataafa as king of Kapua.

Commander Tazewell’s face suddenly dropped its joviality. The British captain said things under his breath, while the American and English officers gazed at each other, utterly speechless with surprise.

“Kataafa Tupu-e-Kapua[1]—ah,” the song burst forth, drowning out all other sounds.

The stands were quickly emptied. The American and English officers joined the resident ladies of their nationality and escorted them in angry silence away from the scene.

Judge Lindsay and Mr. Lee were encountered only a few hundred yards away. Mr. Lee called Commander Tazewell to his side.

“We are waiting to hear from Mr. Carlson what is the meaning of this treachery,” he exclaimed. “Judge Lindsay goes so far as to believe that now a war over the title of king of Kapua cannot be averted. It is outrageous.”

Phil and Sydney gazed with interest at the daughters of the American consul, Mr. Lee, whom they had not met, and were greatly disappointed when they heard him direct them to return home immediately. The midshipmen remained behind with their captain.

The Herzovinian consul, accompanied by Klinger and a stranger and followed by several naval officers, soon appeared. Their faces were wreathed in smiles and their shoulders were decorated with circlets of flowers placed there by the jubilant Kataafa adherents.

Judge Lindsay placed himself squarely in their path. His face was pale, and he held his cane clutched firmly in his hand.

“Mr. Carlson,” he exclaimed in a clear vibrant voice, “I desire you to state to me, as chief justice of Kapua, publicly and at once, your authority in making such a speech, acknowledging for Herzovinia the claim of Kataafa to be king of Kapua. Further, I desire to hear the authority for the salute of twenty-one guns, a salute given only to a king. As chief justice of these islands I represent the Herzovinian law as well as the law of England and America. Do I understand, sir, that you have set aside law, the law of the treaty between the three great nations, and have rendered a decision in favor of Kataafa, even while I am still deliberating upon the justice of these two claimant chiefs for the title of king?”

Mr. Cartoon’s face was a study. He looked appealingly to the stranger beside him as if for support. Phil was astonished to note the evident gleam of triumph in the stranger’s eyes. The lad regarded him closely. He was tall and finely built; his face was pale and highly intellectual in appearance. He appeared to be a man of great force of character.

“My dear judge,” Mr. Carlson floundered hopelessly. “Come with us to the consulate. This is really not the place for dispute.”

They had been surrounded by inquisitive natives of all sizes, who are quick to scent an altercation, and even though not understanding the words, like all nature’s children, can read the language of the eye, the face and the hand.

“Don’t dear me,” the judge exclaimed, even more angrily. “Your treachery was public; my condemnation of it shall be public also.”

Mr. Carlson’s face streamed with perspiration. He was a big man and inclined to be fat. His gorgeous uniform fitted like a glove. Under a torrid sun he was a picture of woe.

The stranger whispered in the consul’s ear. Phil noted that the red face suddenly cleared.

“You have misunderstood, judge,” Mr. Carlson began, not at all certain of his ground, but his voice gained strength as he continued. “I did not say he was Tupu[2] of Kapua. That you must decide. I only hailed Kataafa as Tupu. Being the choice of so many villages makes him Tupu. That was my meaning. Kataafa and Panu-Mafili are both Tupu, but neither is yet Tupu-e-Kapua.” Mr. Carlson was now smiling benignly upon the judge.

Judge Lindsay made a sign of disgust.

“Do you take me for a babe in arms?” he exploded. “How dare you insult my intelligence by such an absolute and unnecessary falsehood! Whether you know what you read or not, I do know. I heard and understood. You did not mince matters there.” He drew himself up haughtily and glared defiantly and for the first time at the stranger and Klinger.

“The Kapuan language, to one who knows it, is not difficult. I advise you, Mr. Carlson, hereafter to stick to a language you know, otherwise your able co-conspirators will be putting embarrassing words into your innocent mouth.”

A ripple of suppressed merriment rose unrebuked at the judge’s sally. Mr. Carlson seemed too dazed and worried to make any reply.

The judge bowed ceremoniously, linking his arm in that of Mr. Lee, and walked away.

CHAPTER II
DISCORD AMONG THE WHITES

The day after the ceremony of welcome to Kataafa, Phil and Sydney again accompanied their captain on shore. Commander Tazewell took a lively interest in everything that was going on and was delighted to have such enthusiastic young supporters.

“You’ll find,” he said after they had landed and sent the boat away, “that the natives of both factions are equally friendly to us. That is a good sign and I hope it will continue.”

The highroad of Ukula was filled with half-naked muscular men and lithe, graceful, dark-eyed women. Every native exhaled the acrid odor of cocoanut oil. The men’s long hair was plastered white with lime and tied on top in the form of a topknot.

“The lime bleaches the hair red, you know,” Commander Tazewell explained, noting the lads’ curiosity at this peculiar custom. “The oil is to prevent them from catching cold. They go into the water, you see, any hour of the day, and when they come out they are as dry as ducks.”

The officers had landed at Kulinuu, the traditional residence of the Malea-Toa family, from which many kings had been chosen and to which Panu-Mafili belonged. On every hand they encountered good-natured smiling natives. “Talofa, Alii”[3] was on every lip.

“Ten thousand of these fellows are encamped in the vicinity of Ukula waiting to see who the chief justice makes their king,” the commander said. “You see,” he added, “strange as it may seem to us, two chiefs may rightfully be elected. Election depends upon quality of votes rather than upon quantity. So according to traditional Kapuan custom when two kings are elected, they decide it by having a big battle. That is the normal way, but we have persuaded the natives that arbitration is more civilized. Now the chief justice decides and the three nations support that decision.”

“It looks rather as though Herzovinia would support the judge only in case he decides for Kataafa,” Sydney said questioningly. “If that country refuses to back up the judge what will happen?”

Commander Tazewell was thoughtful for half a minute.

“According to the treaty all are required to agree,” he answered. “There is no choice. Once the decision is made that creates a king, all who oppose him are rebels. That is the law, and these foreign war-ships are here to uphold Judge Lindsay’s decision, right or wrong.”

As the three pedestrians, dressed in their white duck uniforms, white helmets protecting their heads from the tropical sun, reached the hard coral road leading along the shore of the bay, the panorama of the harbor opened and delighted the eyes of the young men.

The white coral reef, lying beneath scarcely half a fathom of water, was peopled by natives gathering shell-fish to feed the greater influx of population. On the bosom of the dark green water, beyond the inner reef, and almost encircled by spurs of a second ledge of coral, lay anchored the war-ships of three great nations. In the foreground, lying on their sides, two twisted red-stained hulls, the bleaching bones of once proud men-of-war, told of the sport of giant waves that had hurled them a hundred yards along the inner reef and drowned many of their crews. This manifestation of the power of a tropical hurricane, that might come almost unheralded out of the watery waste, prevented any relaxation of vigilance. At all times the war-ships were kept ready to seek safety at sea, clear of the treacherous coral reefs. To be caught at anchor in the harbor of Ukula when a hurricane broke could mean only another red-stained wreck upon the reef.

MAP OF UKULA

The road soon left the water’s edge. Now it ran several hundred yards inland through groves of cocoanut, banana and breadfruit trees. Fringing the road were many spider-like, grass-thatched native houses, similar to those they had seen among the groves at Kulinuu. Seated on mats under these shelters were numerous natives, and the Americans as they progressed received frequent cordial invitation to stop and refresh themselves from the very hospitable islanders. Commander Tazewell, during his stay in Kapua, had acquired some facility in the language, which greatly delighted the childlike natives, and they lost no opportunity to engage him to join their meetings, in order that they might listen to their own language from the lips of a “papalangi”[4] chief. But apparently the commander did not intend to stop. Both midshipmen now eyed longingly the cool interior of a large and pretentious house which they were approaching. From the entrance a stately warrior beckoned them to come and partake of the milk of a cocoanut.

Commander Tazewell waved a solemn acknowledgment. “That’s Tuamana, the chief of Ukula,” he said to his companions. “We’ll stop for just a minute. It was he,” the commander added as they approached the delighted chief, “who saved so many lives during the hurricane when those two war-ships were thrown up bodily on the reef, and several others were wrecked at their moorings.”

Tuamana grasped each by the hand in turn and then led them to mats laid upon the pebbly floor. He clapped his hands, and almost at once from behind the dividing curtain of “Tapa”[5] cloth, two native girls glided, gracefully and with outstretched hands, to the side of the “papalangis.” Seating themselves the girls began industriously fanning the heated officers. Phil soon appreciated the reason for this delicate attention; swarms of flies hovered about them, to fight which alone would soon exhaust one’s patience.

Commander Tazewell and Chief Tuamana engaged in quiet conversation in Kapuan while the chief’s talking man, a native educated at one of the mission schools, came frequently to their aid when the commander’s limited native vocabulary gave evidence of being inadequate.

Phil and Sydney were thus left free to enjoy the novelty of their surroundings.

The two young girls fanned and giggled in turns until Phil, unused to such delicate attention from the opposite sex, insisted upon taking the cleverly wrought banana leaf fan, and much to the amusement of the two girls began fanning himself and the girl too. After a few moments this young lady arose, bowed and disappeared behind the screen convulsed with laughter.

“You’ve offended her,” insisted Sydney. “Haven’t you learned yet to give women their own way?”

But Phil’s gallantry was to receive its reward. A third graceful Kapuan girl, her high caste face beaming upon them, glided through the tapa screen. Bowing low before Commander Tazewell, she took the vacant place at Phil’s side.

Commander Tazewell made a jesting remark in Kapuan, which caused every one to laugh except the two midshipmen.

“This is Tuamana’s daughter Avao,” the commander said. “I told her she’d have a difficult time making a choice between my two handsome aides; but I see she has made up her mind already.”

Avao had taken the fan from Phil’s hand and was now efficiently fanning him.

A half hour later as they were standing, bidding good-bye to their hosts, Commander Tazewell announced to Phil that the chief’s daughter had paid him a signal honor.

“She wants you to be her felinge,”[6] he said, his grave eyes sparkling. “It’s a Tapau’s[7] privilege to choose. Your obligation is to present her with soap, tooth powder, in fact, anything she fancies that you can get in the ship’s store. For this you are privileged to drink as many cocoanuts and eat as much fruit as you desire at her father’s house. She will even send you presents of fruit, tapa and fans. If I were Mr. Monroe, I’d envy you your luck, for Avao is the belle of Ukula.”

Avao blushed under her bronze and playfully struck the commander with her fan.

“Leonga Alii!”[8] she exclaimed abashed.

“She understands and speaks English as well as I do,” he said, laughing at the girl’s sudden shyness. “Once I thought she’d make me her felinge, but I suppose youth takes rank.”

Once more on the road Commander Tazewell became again serious.

“That affair yesterday is taking on a darker aspect,” he confided. “Tuamana says that every one knows among the natives that if Judge Lindsay decides for Panu-Mafili then Kataafa has been persuaded by the Herzovinians to make war.

“Tuamana, of course,” he added, “is a loyal man. He is on Panu’s side, but will be loyal to whom Judge Lindsay decides is really the king.”

In front of the big wooden store in the Matafeli district of the town, Commander Tazewell stopped. Many natives were gathered there. The porch was crowded, while within the store there seemed to be only standing room.

“What mischief is going on here?” he exclaimed, a perplexed frown on his face.

Suddenly Klinger and the stranger of yesterday darkened the doorway. The stranger gazed coldly upon the Americans but gave no sign of recognition. He and Klinger continued to talk in their guttural Herzovinian tongues.

Phil suddenly observed that the air of friendliness they had noted earlier was now lacking. The natives no longer greeted them. Instead in the native eye was a sheepish, sullen look.

“That was Count Rosen,” Commander Tazewell said as they again moved onward. “Klinger, of course, is active and sides with Kataafa. Klinger’s wife is a native, you know, a close relative of the high chief. I suppose he’d like to have royalty in the family.”

“The store looked like a recruiting station,” Phil suggested.

Commander Tazewell nodded gravely. “It may be,” he replied.

The Matautu section of Ukula, set aside for the official residences of the consuls of England and the United States, was being approached.

At the gate of the American consulate, Mr. Lee hailed them. The consul was naturally a peace loving man, and the fact that he had with him in Kapua his two daughters was an added argument for peace.

“Come in, commander,” he called from his doorway.

They turned in through the gateway.

“All manner of war rumors,” Mr. Lee exclaimed, as he shook hands, “are going the rounds. The latest is that a paper has been found written by Herzovinian statesmen some years ago declaring their country would never, never permit Kataafa to be king. The Kapuans believe that this will make Judge Lindsay decide for Panu-Mafili. Until that disgraceful affair of yesterday, and the rumor of this paper, we all thought that whatever the decision the three consuls would unite to prevent war. Panu-Mafili has said openly he and his followers would abide by the decision. Kataafa appeared willing, but has as yet made no statement.

“The situation is alarming, commander,” Mr. Lee added gravely, “and I for one am at a loss what should be done.”

“Arrest the white men who are inciting Kataafa to revolt in the event of an adverse decision and ship them from Kapua; that’s my remedy,” Commander Tazewell answered promptly.

“Count Rosen and Klinger,” the consul exclaimed. “Impossible!”

Commander Tazewell shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s the one way to prevent war,” he said.

“The Herzovinian consul, after agreeing to stand with us and prevent a war, has now assumed a mysterious air of importance and we can get nothing definite from him,” Mr. Lee complained bitterly. “If my advice had only been followed and Kataafa kept away until after a new king had been crowned, this perplexing state could not have existed.”

Commander Tazewell was thoughtful for several minutes.

“Mr. Lee,” he said gravely, “I believe that bringing Kataafa back at this time was a Herzovinian plan. The chief has been in exile for five years and in a Herzovinian colony, and I hear was treated as a prince instead of a prisoner. Although his warriors killed Herzovinian sailors in the last revolt, now he favors that nation. Once he is king of Kapua he will advance all Herzovinian interests. They may hope even for annexation, a dream long cherished by Klinger and his countrymen.

“Yes, if the judge decides against Kataafa there will be war,” he concluded solemnly.

Phil and Sydney listened eagerly. Though these native affairs were not easy to understand, yet they could not interrupt and ask for explanations.

At this time there came an interruption in the serious talk between Commander Tazewell and Mr. Lee. It was the arrival of the two young ladies. They had been out in the “bush,” as the country back of the sea beach is called in Kapua. They appeared, their young faces glowing with health from their recent exercise and their arms full of the scarlet “pandanus” blossoms.

Margaret, the older girl, was a woman in spite of her nineteen years. She greeted the newcomers to Kapua with a grace that won the midshipmen at once. Alice, two years her junior, caught the boyish fancy of the lads instantly. She seemed to carry with her the free air of the woods, and exhaled its freshness. She had scarcely a trace of the reserve in manner of her older sister. Her greeting was spontaneously frank and unabashed.

While Margaret presided at the tea table, around which Commander Tazewell and the consul gathered, Alice impressed the willing midshipmen into her service, and with their arms loaded with the pandanus flowers, led them to the dining-room. Here she placed the brilliant blossoms into numerous vases, giving to the room with its paucity of furniture a gala aspect.

“Do you care for tea?” she said questioningly, implying clearly a negative answer, which both lads were quick to catch.

“Never take it,” Phil replied quickly. “Do you, Syd?”

Sydney smiled and shook his head.

“Because if you don’t, while the others are drinking it, we can climb Mission Hill back of the town and enjoy the view of the harbor. It’s not far,” she added glancing at the spotless white uniform of the young officers.

She led them at a rapid pace across the garden and by a narrow path into a thickly wooded copse. The path was apparently one not frequently used and was choked with creepers and underbrushes. After a score of yards the path led at a steep angle up the wooded side of one of the low surrounding hills, which at Matautu descended almost to the harbor’s edge. Here the shore is rocky and dangerous.

Alice climbed with the ease of a wood sprite, while the midshipmen lumbered after her in their endeavor to keep pace.

“Here we are,” she cried joyfully as she sprang up the last few feet of incline and seated herself in the fork of a small mulberry tree.

Out of breath, their white trousers and white canvas shoes stained with the juice of entangling vines, and with perspiration streaming in little rivulets down their crimson faces, the two young men looked with amazement at their slim pace-maker; she was not even out of breath.

“Isn’t it worth coming for?” she exclaimed, perfect enjoyment in her girlish voice. “See, the town and the harbor and all the ships lie at our feet; and everything looks so very near;” then she added whimsically, “I sometimes pretend I am queen and order everything and every one about—no one else ever comes here,” she explained quickly. “My sister Margaret came once, but never came again.”

“It’s not easy to get here,” Sydney said, panting slightly, “but it would more than be worth the trouble if by coming one could really know the feeling of being a king or a queen. I haven’t sufficient imagination. What should you do if you were queen?” he asked of Alice.

She drew her brows down thoughtfully.

“I don’t know all that I should do,” she replied earnestly, “but the very first thing would be to send away every papalangi.”

“The war-ships too?” Phil inquired. “I call that hospitable!”

“I might keep you,” indicating both lads by a wave of her free hand, “as leaders for my army, but every one else would be sent away and leave these children of nature free to live their lives as God intended they should.” A deep conviction in the girl’s voice was not lost upon the midshipmen.

“Suppose you tell us of Kapua,” Phil said gently, after a short silence.

“Yes, do,” Sydney urged eagerly.

“Tell you of Kapua Uma,”[9] Alice said wistfully. “I have lived here now three years, and I feel as if the people were my people. They are gentle, generous and lovable, except when they are excited by the papalangi. The white men have brought only trouble and sorrow to the islands. No Kapuan has ever broken his word, except when the white men have betrayed him. In all their wars they have been generous to their foes. They never harm women and children. The white men incite war, but are free from injury, except when they attack the Kapuans first.

“Once all the rich land near the sea belonged to Kapua. Now white men have stolen it away by fraud and deceit.” Alice’s eyes flashed indignantly, while her hearers were thrilled by the fervor in her young voice. “The foreign firm of which Klinger is manager, called the ‘Kapuan Firm,’ owned by Herzovinian capital, is no ordinary company of South Sea traders,” she added. “It is the feet of the Herzovinian Empire, holding the door of annexation open. The firm’s business grows greater every year. They import black labor from the Solomon Islands and hold them to work as slaves. The treaty gives the Kapuans the right to choose their king, but the firm will sanction no king who will not first agree to further the interests of the Kapuan firm.

“Kataafa once fought against the firm and won, but he was exiled by the Herzovinian government. Now a majority of people again wish him for king, and this time the firm is not only willing but anxious that he should be made king. England and America represented in Kapua see in this a bid for annexation. Judge Lindsay will soon decide between Kataafa and Panu-Mafili. Panu has given his word he will not fight. Kataafa signed a sworn agreement in order to obtain the consent of the three Powers to his return from exile, that he would never again take up arms.”

Alice stopped breathless. “There you have the full history of Kapua in a nutshell,” she added laughingly as she slipped down from her seat.

“Poor Panu-Mafili is only a boy. His father, you know, was the late king Malea-Toa or ‘Laupepe,’ a ‘sheet of paper,’ as the natives called him, because he was intellectual. Panu begged to be allowed to go away and study,” she said, “but our great governments need him as a big piece in the political chess game.”

“More aptly a pawn,” Phil corrected.

Alice was gazing wistfully seaward.

“Out there,” she said after a moment’s silence, “is a sail. It’s probably the ‘Talofa,’ a schooner from the Fiji. The natives say ‘Bully’ Scott and the ‘Talofa’ scent out wars in the South Seas and arrive just in time to sell a shipload of rifles.”

The midshipmen saw the tops of a “sail” far out on the horizon.

“If Kataafa needs guns to defy the chief justice, there they are,” she added.

“Isn’t it against the law to sell guns to the natives?” Sydney asked.

Alice regarded him with high disdain.

“‘Bully’ Scott knows no law nor nationality,” she replied. “To give your nationality in Kapua is a disadvantage, because then your consul interferes with your business. When you’re trading in ‘blacks’ and guns, it’s best to deprive yourself of the luxury of a country. ‘Bully’ Scott is from the world.”

“How do you know that is the ‘Talofa’?” Phil asked incredulously, but all the same greatly interested.

“I don’t know,” she answered gayly as she led the way toward home; “but the ‘Talofa’ is a schooner, and the natives believe she will come. And that’s a schooner.”

Her logic was not convincing to the midshipmen, but then they had not lived three years in Kapua. Schooners were not frequent visitors at Ukula.

CHAPTER III
PLOTTING FOR POWER

The Herzovinian consul sat upon his wide verandah gazing out upon the quiet bay of Ukula. His usually serene face wore a troubled look. Count Rosen paced the porch restlessly. His well-knit figure was becomingly clad in a military khaki riding suit, and he held a heavy rhinoceros hide whip in his hand. Consul Carlson was over fifty. Rosen was not over thirty, and appeared even younger.

Count Rosen was talking while Mr. Carlson listened with an unusual air of deference.

“When Kataafa was hurried here from Malut, the island of his exile, our foreign office expected you to have paved the way to make him king.” The speaker struck a picturesque stand in front of the consul’s chair. “Instead you have been fraternizing with these other consuls. The chief justice has you under his thumb. Is that the way to bring on a crisis?”

The Herzovinian consul swallowed a lump in his throat. It was hard to be taken to task by such a young man.

“Count Rosen,” he answered, a sudden spark of resentment coming into his small eyes, “if I have displeased the foreign office, I can resign.”

“Resign,” the count exclaimed disgustedly. “Why talk of resigning with such an opportunity before you? Have you no ambition? Will you permit Herzovinia to be robbed of what naturally belongs to her? We have worked long and spilled Herzovinian blood in order to acquire these beautiful rich islands. And with the end in sight will you resign?”

Mr. Carlson roused himself from his dejection.

“I agreed with the other consuls to try to prevent a war. Cannot we succeed without bloodshed? I don’t believe the foreign office really wishes that.”

Count Rosen’s eyes flashed.

“What are these puny wars to our statesmen?” he asked. “Has anything worth while ever been attained without the shedding of blood? But,” he added, “you were about to tell me of some important news.”

“I have reliable information that a letter has been received by Judge Lindsay, written some years ago by our government, which demands that Kataafa shall never be king,” Mr. Carlson said earnestly. “I knew of the letter, but believed it was withdrawn when England and America refused to agree.”

“It was never withdrawn,” Count Rosen replied. “The chief justice then will decide for this foolish boy Panu-Mafili. That decision must bring on a war.”

Mr. Carlson looked surprised, his round red face a picture of timid anxiety. “Kataafa will break his oath?” he questioned aghast.

“Of course, and now for the political side of this issue,” the count nodded and continued. “Under the treaty the three consuls must act in concert to uphold the decisions of the chief justice. Will you, knowing the aim of your government and loving the natives as your friends, give your support to such a wicked decision? Will you call for your sailors and force upon these honest, childlike natives a king not of their choosing?”

Mr. Carlson glanced up appealingly. “Count,” he exclaimed, “what would you do if you were in my place?”

Count Rosen smiled enigmatically. “Mr. Carlson,” he replied, “I have no credentials. I have been sent by our foreign office to study the situation in the South Seas. At Fiji I received a letter to go to Ukula. I am here. Advice without responsibility is not good. You must decide for yourself, for you alone are responsible for your acts to our government. I can, however, show you,” he added earnestly, “how the situation will develop if you continue to act in harmony with the other consuls in upholding the decision, if it is against Kataafa. The natives will arm and fight. The Kataafa warriors are in vastly superior numbers and will soon win a victory. The sailors of three nations will be landed to fight the victorious side. With their superior guns and training many innocent natives must be killed. It would then be a general war, the whites against the natives.”

“And if I refuse to stand with the others?” the consul asked earnestly.

“That will greatly simplify everything,” the count replied. “The Kataafa warriors would declare him king. The Panu natives in such great inferiority of numbers cannot resist except with the aid of the sailors, and that could not be given as long as you refuse to join. The treaty distinctly stipulates that action may be taken unanimously. There would be no war. The next mail from home would bring the recall of this partial judge. Kataafa would remain king, and then he must soon seek annexation to our Herzovinia. I hope to see our flag hoisted over the Kapuan Islands. And of course,” he added, “you will get all the credit. The order of the Black Eagle will be yours.”

The consul’s face was now fairly beaming upon this kind prophet.

“My mind is made up,” he said. “I shall refuse to be used by those who have only selfish aims. I shall write and refuse to agree with the other consuls.”

Count Rosen smiled triumphantly as he rode his pony along the main road of Ukula.

“Carlson has been here too long,” he said to himself. “He thinks there’s nothing beyond his narrow horizon. His lonesome life has made him timid; he needed stirring to life. Herzovinia’s aims must be kept always before us. Our statesmen decided years ago to own these islands. Our money is invested here and they are a link in our colonial chain. A war! a little bloodshed! What does it matter?”

At the Kapuan firm’s store the count dismounted, giving his pony in care of a native.

Klinger, the manager, met him at the door-step. No word was spoken until they reached the office in the rear of the store and the door closed behind them.

“I see in your face you are successful,” Klinger said as the count took the proffered chair.

“Everything so far has been wonderful,” the count exclaimed. “Judge Lindsay will give the decision to Panu, Kataafa will revolt, and Carlson will refuse to do anything. The hands of our friends the enemy are tied.”

“I too have news,” Klinger said. “Kataafa has bought all the guns coming in the ‘Talofa.’ Also he has answered Judge Lindsay’s letter, that he cannot agree to give his word to remain peaceful if the decision is against him, as he considers the right to be king is his, and he has already been acknowledged king by one power. What do you think of that?” he asked delightedly.

“I saw Kataafa to-day and he says he is anxious for annexation to Herzovinia,” Klinger continued. “The Americans, you know, have acquired title to land in the harbor of Tua-Tua on the island of Kulila. That must be broken up.”

The count nodded. “Go ahead, you have a free rein. And now what about the whereabouts of our friend Captain ‘Bully’ Scott?”

“I am looking for him daily,” Klinger replied. “He is bringing enough guns to arm every Kataafa warrior. All day long I have been getting receipts from the natives for gun to be delivered.”

“Always an eye for business,” the count exclaimed in half jesting disgust. “You merchants own these poor natives body and soul.”

THREE AMERICAN OFFICERS WERE STANDING IN THE ROAD

“What would you have us do?” Klinger answered defensively. “I have spent many thousands of dollars upon these rifles. I am taking great risks in getting them here, for if either of the war-ships seize them they will be confiscated under the treaty, and I have no redress. And, count,” he added, “you know it is all for our country.”

Count Rosen nodded his head, but his steel gray eyes looked squarely into those of the manager of the Kapuan firm until the latter’s fell in quick embarrassment. The count knew that the man’s natural cupidity was a large measure of the driving force stimulating his patriotic enthusiasm.

“There’s nothing to do but wait,” the count said as they reached the door of the store.

Three American officers were standing in the road at the front.

“The American commander will have to be handled carefully,” the count said in a low voice to Klinger, as he turned his back upon the officers. “He’s a fine type; I can see it in his face. He’d make a stanch friend, but a difficult enemy.” This last to himself. Sentiment was wasted upon the selfish manager of a grasping firm.

“I must contrive to know him,” the count added aloud.

The American officers had now continued along the road.

“Don’t be too precipitate,” the count cautioned as he whistled to the native boy, holding his pony’s bridle.

The count mounted his pony, walking it slowly down the road. At the Tivoli Hotel he stopped and dismounted. Within a half hour he walked from the hotel, carefully dressed in a spotless white linen suit and helmet. He turned his steps toward Matautu.

He turned in at the American consulate gate, and walked with an air of high bred assurance up the steps of the porch.

Mr. Lee arose to receive him, a frank smile of cordiality upon his face.

“Count Felix Rosen.” The visitor pronounced his name slowly; there was the smallest of accents. “I have come to pay my respects,” he said quietly. “We tourists often forget our social duties.”

“It is I who should apologize, Count Rosen,” Mr. Lee exclaimed, introducing the visitor to his daughter and Commander Tazewell. “You have been in Ukula for several days, and I should have called upon you and bid you welcome to our little island.”

“Truly, sir, I should not expect you to take so much trouble,” the count returned suavely. “I am but a globe-trotter, as you say in America. I have no aim, no business. I go where I may be amused.”

The count accepted the cup of tea offered him by Miss Lee and sipped it meditatively. He felt the awkward silence and hastened to relieve it.

“My time here is likely to be so short,” he added, “that I hope if there must be war among the natives they will wait until after I can explore the islands. In my few days I have ridden miles and have been everywhere charmed with the natural beauty of the country and the charming hospitality of the natives.”

“We also, count, are hoping that there will be no war,” Mr. Lee replied. “And if your consul will stand with the British consul and myself it can be averted.”

“So!” the count exclaimed surprisedly. “Does Mr. Carlson then desire a war? Sometimes I lose all patience with my stubborn countryman. It is very strange,” he added. “I lunched with him to-day and he seemed aggrieved that you and the British consul would not support him to prevent a war.”

Commander Tazewell had been carefully studying the speaker’s face. He read there only disinterested amusement over the situation. What business could this cultured Herzovinian have with Klinger? He decided to endeavor to find out.

“Most of the disturbances among the natives,” Commander Tazewell said quietly, “are brought about by the merchants. Arms, you know, Count Rosen, are merchandise upon which an enormous profit is realized. A war, though, is required to create a market. I believe that Mr. Klinger could allay your uneasiness over the possibility of a war more certainly than can either of the consuls.”

The count raised his eyes slowly to the speaker’s face. Their eyes met and for a moment each gauged the other. The count shifted his gaze first; a faint suspicion of a flush had come under his tanned cheeks.

“Klinger has been good enough to arrange some trips for me into the interior of the island,” the count explained quickly. “I was arranging details with him for a trip to the Papasea,[10] the sliding rock, when you passed his store.” A smile of delight spread over his handsome face as he suddenly asked: “Can’t we make up a party for that trip? I should be charmed to play host. But,” he added, “I suppose with you it is an old story.”

Mr. Lee declined for himself. The uncertainty of the situation demanded his continuous presence in Ukula.

After some discussion it was arranged that the party start the next morning. Alice and the midshipmen returned in time to be included, together with Commander Tazewell and Miss Lee.

“I cannot express to you the honor you have done me in accepting my invitation,” the count exclaimed, as he bade good-bye. “This morning I was a lonesome stranger, and now I am rich in friends.”

“Who is he?” Commander Tazewell asked the consul as his straight figure passed out of sight down the road.

Mr. Lee shook his head.

“Some well connected Herzovinian of the smaller nobility, I suppose,” he replied. “His consul called upon him almost at once after he arrived on the last steamer from the South. A title carries a great deal of dignity with it.”

“He is certainly very fine looking,” Miss Lee said admiringly.

“And knows how to talk,” Phil added.

“I believe he is a past master in the art of talk,” Alice said pointedly. “And the worst of it is we know what he says and not what he means.”

All laughed at the girl’s quaint mode of expression.

“Call me silly and a rebel all you please,” she added turning upon her sister, who at once denied even the thought of any such accusation, “but I am and always will be suspicious of a Herzovinian in Kapua. Anywhere else he may be honest and mean what he says, but here, no!” She shook her head vigorously.

While the two midshipmen with Commander Tazewell were returning in the captain’s gig to the “Sitka,” Phil spoke of the sailing vessel they had seen from Alice’s “lookout.”

“Probably it isn’t Captain Scott’s ‘Talofa,’” he added deprecatingly. “It was too far away to see anything but the tops of her sails.”

Commander Tazewell listened earnestly.

“‘Bully’ Scott is usually on hand where there is a chance for his nefarious trade in guns,” he replied. “Miss Alice Lee may have no real grounds for her belief that it is the ‘Talofa,’ but that young girl is more than usually clever for one of her age, and her father tells me she is worshiped by the native women, to whom she is a veritable administering angel. Tuamana’s daughter, Avao, is her particular friend. You know,” he added, “in Kapua, the women are the tale bearers; no bit of interesting news escapes them.”

CHAPTER IV
CAPTAIN “BULLY” SCOTT AND HIS MATE

Captain “Bully” Scott sat comfortably on the combing of the after deck house and gazed toward the high mountain ranges of the islands of Kapua. The land had been in sight all day, but the fitful breeze was hardly enough to hold the “Talofa’s” great expanse of canvas out taut against the sheets. Yet even the light breeze drove the schooner faster than the captain wished to travel.

“Bring her up another point,” he directed, in a well modulated, almost cultivated voice.

The helmsman, a Fiji Islander, a strapping bronze skinned native, naked except for the loin cloth of tapa, eased down his helm until the great sails flapped idly.

“Mr. Stump,” the captain called down the hatch.

A middle-sized, wizened man stuck his head up above the deck in answer.

“Mr. Stump, I’ll thank you to invite our passengers down to their staterooms and put the hatch cover on and lock it,” Captain Scott said politely. “It’ll be dark in another half hour, and then we’ll ‘bear up’ and run in to close with the land.”

Benjamin Stump nodded his head in reply and turned on his heel to go forward. This was a daily occurrence. Captain Scott had learned to secure his human cargo at night. A mutiny that came near ending fatally to him had taught him this lesson.

“Oh, Stump!” Captain Scott raised his voice to be heard above the lapping of the water and the noise of shaking canvas. “I hope our disagreement at Suva[11] is all forgotten by now. You can’t afford to fall out with me, Stump,” he added menacingly after the man had returned and lolled against the shrouds of the main rigging. “There’s that little affair at the Ellice Islands and the deal in Tahiti; and besides, Stump, you know that black boy on our last manifest didn’t really fall overboard.”

Stump’s knees shook imperceptibly while his thin claw-like fingers worked convulsively. His uncouth mind had not forgotten the matter. He had remembered it, lived with the remembrance every day of the thirty since leaving the Fijis; and had nursed his desire for revenge against his captain and benefactor.

“Captain Scott, you hadn’t any call to do what you did,” he said doggedly. “Those people were my friends, and righteous people too. They believed the story I told ’em. They gave me human sympathy, and I was downright sorry I wasn’t what I said I was. I was afeared to tell them the truth. They took me to prayer-meetings and prayed for my soul and one of the young ladies begged me to go home to my old parents and be forgiven.”

Captain Scott suddenly leaned back in his seat and roared with uncontrolled laughter.

“You impious rascal!” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose I could permit you to impose upon my friends with any such tales? I picked you up in Shanghai, do you remember? You either had to go with me or to the consular jail for being too light fingered with other people’s money. You told me your parents were dead; and besides, that young lady was getting too sorry for you for both her good and yours.”

Stump’s weasel eyes flashed angrily.

“You might have split on me differently,” he said. “That girl’s accusing eyes hurt me every time I think of it.”

Captain Scott stifled his merriment.

“I’m really sorry, Stump,” he said. “You and I have been together a long time, and sometimes maybe I don’t understand you as I should. Sentiment is new to you. This trip is going to give us a rich haul, and I’m going to give you an extra hundred dollars just to square your injured vanity.”

Captain Scott watched the lean figure as it ambled forward. He saw him herd together the score of black Solomon Islanders, brought to sell into slavery on the plantations of the Kapuan firm. After all had descended into the dark stuffy forehold, Stump, with the help of a couple of the Fiji crew, put on the hatch cover and locked it. The only air for the prisoners was admitted through two small ventilators in the deck.

“Stump’s acting queerly this trip,” Captain Scott said thoughtfully to himself. “Appears to be considering jumping the game. It won’t do,” he exclaimed. “He knows too much about yours truly. Nice gratitude, I call it, after I saved him from a Chinese prison.”

Stump walked aimlessly aft and leaned indolently against the rail. His face wore a frown.

“What in blazes is the matter with you, anyway?” Captain Scott exclaimed. “Your face has been as long this trip as a Fiji widow’s. You know me well enough by this time to understand that sort of grump don’t go with me. If you don’t cultivate a little more pleasantry, I’ll have to dispense with your company, no matter how necessary it has been.”

Stump gained a measure of confidence in the knowledge of war-ships in the harbor of Ukula, not over twelve miles distant. The very tops of their lofty spars could indistinctly be seen against the dark green background of the island.

“I have been considering cutting out this here kind of life,” he replied. “That girl in Suva made me hanker after going back to my own folks. I haven’t heard of them for nearly ten years.”

A sinister look came into Captain Scott’s cold gray eyes. Stump was not only a useful man, but he shared too many of the schooner’s dark secrets. A way must be found to shake these sentimental longings loose from Stump’s mind.

“Some day,” he returned suavely, “we’ll make a trip with the ‘Talofa’ up to ‘Frisco’ and turn over a new page in our life. You are just down on your luck now, Stump,” he added kindly. “That will all pass away when you get ashore among your old cronies on the beach at Ukula.”

In Stump’s mind a battle was being waged. He was not naturally a bad man, but was weak in character. He had run away from home when he was only a lad, and the years he had spent upon the sea had only brought him lower in the human scale. Hard knocks and brutality had been showered upon him. He was by nature shiftless and lazy. No one had ever taken the trouble to show him the error of his ways. Captain Scott had used him because he could bend him to his will. The many unlawful acts he had committed were at the instigation of his benefactor. Stump was not a coward. He had proved his fearlessness during many fights with the savages of the black islands to the southward where the “Talofa” had gone to steal the inhabitants to sell them in the labor markets of the South Seas. Captain Scott he did fear. He feared his cold, calculating but nevertheless diabolical temper, backed by a physical strength almost superhuman. Ever since leaving Suva, Stump had been brooding over his misdeeds. Now he must finally make up his mind. He wanted to get clear of the life he now hated. He wanted to be free of the fear of being arrested and put behind prison bars. He wanted to part forever from the man he so much feared. He was not entirely ungrateful, nor did he harbor extreme revenge against Captain Scott. Yet if he opposed him, he must, to succeed, betray him into the hands of the law even if by so doing he arrived there himself.

After dark the “Talofa” was put under more canvas and headed upon a compass course set by the captain.

An hour later Captain Scott and his mate, Stump, stood again together near the wheel. There were no lights except a dim lantern set in a deck bucket.

“Stump,” the captain said pleasantly, “how’d you like to be captain of the ‘Talofa’?”

The mate glanced up in surprise.

“You’ll have to be taught navigation,” the captain added. “That’s most all you need. A little chart reading and practice in picking your way among the reefs.”

“I navigated the ‘Pango’ from the Ellice Islands to Strong Island,” Stump reminded him.

“So you did,” Captain Scott replied.

“Well, maybe you’ll do,” he added, after a slight pause. He took the lantern out of the bucket and held it over the chart of the Kapuan Islands. Then he handed the lantern to Stump.

“Hold this,” he directed, “and I’ll give you a lesson in navigating.”

With parallel rulers, dividers and pencil, the captain laid down a line from a position he had made on the chart; then he transferred the line with the parallel rulers to the compass printed on the chart, and read the compass direction of the line.

“There’s where I figured we were at dark,” he said to the attentive Stump. “There’s the entrance to the reef at Saluafata, and that’s our compass course. Southeast, I make it.” Then he stepped off the distance with the dividers. “Fifteen miles it is.” He glanced over the side and then up at the slack canvas. “I guess we’re making about four knots, so about eleven o’clock we should be hearing the surf on the reef.”

Captain Scott took the lantern and again placed it within the bucket.

“I reckon I can navigate,” Stump said to himself. High hopes came into his mind, and if Captain Scott could have read them he would not have been so sure of winning back Stump’s friendship. The mate’s thoughts had at first been upon Suva, and his desire to go back and square himself with the people before whom Captain Scott had humiliated him. Especially, Stump had wanted to tell the young girl who had tried to make him a better man that she had done him some good. Once the captain of the “Talofa,” he could try to be a better man. That in accepting such a position in command of a vessel owned by Captain Scott, he would be unable to cast off his old life, did not occur to him. In fact Stump did not consider as crimes the many acts they had committed, and were committing. To Stump a thing was a crime only when the perpetrator was caught in the act and put in jail. Stump knew that he owed his immunity to Captain Scott. Once in Suva without the captain, Stump thought he could square himself with the girl, and incidentally get even with Captain Scott.

As he took the lantern from Stump, Scott held it up for an instant and observed his mate’s face. What he saw there did not seem to worry him. “I guess that offer will keep his tongue quiet,” he mused. “With an American war-ship in port, Stump’s apt to meet some friends ashore and say too much.”

“Hold her on this course, Mr. Stump,” the captain said officially. “I’m going to turn in for forty winks. You can call me at ten o’clock, and then get the crew all up on deck.” Stump grunted and leaned over to look at the compass. He saw the lubber’s point was on the course the captain had figured out from the chart. Captain Scott descended the ladder to the cabin.

Stump suddenly took up the lantern and placed it on the covered chart table. With the dividers he measured off a distance on the black line the captain had drawn and then with the rulers he took off a course to another point on the island.

“South by east,” he exclaimed in an undertone. “Twelve miles to Ukula harbor. We could do it in two hours at this speed.” He glanced aloft. The canvas was drawing well, the booms lying about three points on the lee quarter. The wind was at east northeast. The ship was heading southeast, and therefore about two points “free.” South by east would bring the wind one point abaft the weather beam.

Stump, after satisfying himself of the feasibility of his suddenly conceived plan, proceeded to put it into execution. Picking his way across the sleeping forms on the deck, he made his way forward to the galley, where the blacksmith’s forge was lashed. That day he had been at work making a weld of wrought steel to replace a spreader for the topmast backstays. With this bar of steel in his hands, he glanced into the galley. It was empty, but the coffee kettle, still hot, was on the stove. As he poured himself a cup, he ran over in his mind the risk he was taking. His timid soul quailed. Had he the courage to carry through this bold plan of revenge? In the harbor of Ukula Captain Scott had said was a Yankee man-of-war. To bring the notorious “Bully” Scott into the arms of the law, red handed, with black boys and guns for the natives, would be a stroke of diplomacy which would bring fame to the name of Benjamin Stump throughout all the South Sea Islands. A better reward than the command of the “Talofa”! Once Scott was behind the jail bars, convicted of a felony, all his black career would be told by those who would no longer fear to tell the truth. The girl in Suva would hear of it, and would believe her advice had influenced him to bring to justice this sheep in wolf’s clothing, the bold schemer who made others do his evil work.

“Thinks I ain’t on to navigation,” he chuckled. “Wasn’t in an iron war-ship for nothing and helped the navigator to make magnets out of steel bars to fix his compass.

“I don’t owe him anything,” he added, when his conscience troubled him as he remembered how Captain Scott had paid his fine at Shanghai. “He’s gotten his money’s worth out of me, long ago. The score’s on my side now. I’d rather go to jail anyway than to sail with him longer. I swore I’d kill him when I got a chance after he broke my arm with that belaying-pin. He can’t prove nothing against me; that Solomon Islander was accidentally drowned, and the other things he knows of—— Well, I’m sick of being treated like a dog, and that’s the end of it.”

The warm coffee revived his waning courage, and determinedly he started aft to the wheel. He laid his steel bar against the rail and took his stand behind the helmsman.

“There’s a pot of coffee on the galley,” he said to Mata, the half-breed Fijian quartermaster. “I’ll mind the wheel while you get a cup.” He had no fear that the man would refuse.

Mata turned over the wheel to Stump with alacrity, and with a grunt of thanks disappeared forward.

Now was his chance. He was not quite sure that the plan would work. He did not understand the science of magnetic attraction. He was only following blindly what he had seen the American naval officer do some years before.

His frame trembling with nervous eagerness, he eased the helm spoke by spoke. The “Talofa” pitched and rolled more heavily as her bow turned farther from the wind. Then Stump was fearful lest the wind might be shifting and might catch the sails aback and jibe the heavy booms, thus carrying away the sheets. At south by east he steadied. A bright star almost directly ahead was just visible along the line of the two masts. Disregarding the compass he steered for the star, taking a last glance at the compass. It still read south by east. To reach out and secure the bar of steel was accomplished in a second. He put it alongside the binnacle. The compass swung slowly away and came to rest within a point of the old course. He raised the bar and brought it closer against the wooden binnacle. The course was within a few degrees of the one the captain had set. Releasing the helm for an instant he tied the bar securely to the binnacle. The sails shivered and the mainsail gave one loud flap that brought Mata in sudden haste to his side.

“The breeze’s been hauling astern,” Stump said, “and those booms are uneasy.”

Mata took the wheel. Glancing quickly into the compass bowl, he saw the course was correct.

“I’ll ease off the sheets; it’ll make her lie easy,” Stump explained, as he hurried away to carry out his intention. He was filled with joyous apprehension—joyful at the success of his plan, but apprehensive that it would be discovered. He eased off the main fore and jib sheets until the sails were spanking full, giving more speed, then he walked, with apparent unconcern, back to the wheel.

“Getting in near the land, I reckon,” he said. “Wind’s apt to blow different in there.”

Mata seemed puzzled, but his untrained mind could not conceive that everything was else but natural. A sudden change of wind meant to him the approach of a storm, but the sky showed no evidence, nor did the barometer which he had read not an hour ago.

As near as Stump could figure the schooner was now approaching Ukula harbor at a speed of nearly six knots.