It was a lovely day, and in half an hour we were in the delightful gloom of the sweet-smelling mountain forest. In passing through King Malietoa's trenches, the local chief of Apia, Se'u Manu, who was in command, requested me to stay and drink kava with him. Politeness required consent, and we were delayed an hour; this made the Man Who Knew Everything very cross and rather rude, and the stalwart chief (afterwards to become famous for his magnanimous conduct to his German foes, when their squadron was destroyed in the great Calliope gale of March, 1889) looked at him with mild surprise, wondering at his discourtesy. However, his temper balanced itself a little while after leaving the lines, when he brought down a brace of fine pigeons with a right and left shot, and a few minutes later knocked over a mountain cock with my Winchester. It was a very clever shot—for the wild cock of Samoa, the descendant of the domestic rooster, is a hard bird to shoot even with a shot gun—and my friend was much elated. He really was a first-class shot with either gun or rifle, though he had had but little experience with the latter.
A few miles farther brought us to the little mountain village of Tagiamamanono. It was occupied by the rebel troops from the Island of Savai'i. Their chiefs were very courteous, and, of course, we were asked to “stay and rest and drink kava”. To refuse would have been looked upon as boorish and insulting, so I cheerfully acquiesced, and Marchmont and I were escorted to a large house, where I formally presented him to our hosts as a traveller from “Peretania,” whom I was “showing around Samoa”. Any man of fine physique attracts the Samoans, and a number of pretty girls who were preparing the kava cast many admiring glances at my friend, and commented audibly on his good looks.
Presently, as we were all smoking and exchanging compliments in the high-flown, stilted Samoan style, there entered the house a strapping young warrior, carrying a wickerwork cage, in which were two of the rare and famous Manu Mea (red-bird) of Samoa—the Didunculus or tooth-billed pigeon. These were the property of the young chief commanding the rebel troops, and had simply been brought into the house as a mark of respect and attention to Marchmont and me. Money cannot always buy these birds, and the rebel chief looked upon them as mascottes. No one but himself, or the young man who was their custodian, dared touch them, for a Samoan chief's property—like his person—is sacred and inviolate from touch except by persons of higher rank than himself. I hurriedly and quietly explained this to Marchmont.
“Bosh! Look here! You tell him that I want to buy those birds, and will give him a sovereign each for them.”
“I shall do no such thing. I know what I am talking about, and you don't. Fifty sovereigns would not buy those birds—so don't say anything more on the subject. If you do, you will give offence—and these Samoans are very touchy.”
“Bah—that's all bosh, my dear fellow. Any way, I'll give five pounds for the pair,” and to my horror, and before I could stay him, he took out five sovereigns, and “skidded” them along the matted floor towards the chief, a particularly irascible young man named Asi (Sandalwood).
“There, my friend, are five good English sovereigns for your birds. I suppose I can trust you to send them to the English Consul at Apia for me. Eh?”
There was a dead silence. Asi spoke English perfectly, but hitherto, out of politeness, had only addressed me in Samoan. His eyes flashed with quick anger at Marchmont, then he looked at me reproachfully, made a sign to the custodian of the birds, and rising proudly to his feet, said to me in Samoan:—
“I will drink kava with you alone, friend. Will you come to my own house,” and he motioned me to precede him. Never before had I seen a naturally passionate man exhibit such a sense of dignity and self-restraint under what was, to him, a stupid insult.
I turned to Marchmont: “Look what you have done, confound you for an ass! If you are beginning this way in Samoa you will get yourself into no end of trouble. Have you no sense?”