The Call of the South / 1908

by Louis Becke

I have elsewhere in this volume spoken of the affectionate regard I have always had for the Samoan people, with whom I passed some of the happiest years of my life. I have lived among them in peace and in war, have witnessed many chivalrous and heroic deeds, and yet have seen acts of the most terrible cruelty to the living, the mutilation and dishonouring of the dead killed in combat, and other deeds that filled me with horror and repulsion. And yet the perpetrators were all professing Christians—either Protestant or Roman Catholic—and would no more think of omitting daily morning and evening prayer, and attending service in church or chapel every Sunday, than they would their daily bathe in sea or river.

Always shall I remember one incident that occurred during the civil war between King Malietoa and his rebel subjects at the town of Saluafata. The olo or trenches, of the king's troops had been carried by the rebels, among whom was a young warrior who had often distinguished himself by his reckless bravery. At the time of the assault I was in the rebel lines, for I was on very friendly terms with both sides, and each knew that I would not betray the secrets of the other, and that my only object was to render aid to the wounded.

This young man, Tolu, told me, before joining in the assault, that he had a brother, a cousin, and an uncle in the enemy's trenches, and that he trusted he should not meet any one of them, for he feared that he might turn pala'ai (coward) and not “do his duty”. He was a Roman Catholic, and had been educated by the Marist Brothers, but all his relatives, with the exception of one sister, were Protestants—members of the Church established by the London Missionary Society.

An American trader named Parter and I watched the assault, and saw the place carried by the rebels, and went in after them. Among the dead was Tolu, and we were told that he had shot himself in grief at having cut down his brother, whom he did not recognise.

Now as to my own weird experience.

There had been severe fighting in the Fâgaloa district of the Island of Upolu, and many villages were in flames when I left the Port of Tiavea in my boat for Fâgaloa Bay, a few miles along the shore. I was then engaged in making a trip along the north coast, visiting almost every village, and making arrangements for the purchase of the coming crop of copra (dried coco-nut). I was everywhere well received by both Malietoa's people and the rebels, but did but little business. The natives were too occupied in fighting to devote much time to husking and drying coco-nuts, except when they wanted to get money to buy arms and ammunition.

My boat's crew consisted of four natives of Savage Island (Niué), many of whom are settled in Samoa, where they have ample employment as boatmen and seamen. They did not at all relish the sound of bullets whizzing over the boat, as we sometimes could not help crossing the line of fire, and they had a horror of travelling at night-time, imploring me not to run the risk of being slaughtered by a volley from the shore—as how could the natives know in the darkness that we were not enemies.

Fâgaloa Bay is deep, narrow and very beautiful. Small villages a few miles apart may be seen standing in the midst of groves of coco-nut palms, and orange, banana and bread-fruit trees, and everywhere bright mountain streams of crystal water debouch into the lovely bay.

On Sunday afternoon I sailed into the bay and landed at the village of Samamea on the east side, intending to remain for the night. We found the people plunged in grief—a party of rebels had surprised a village two miles inland, and ruthlessly slaughtered all the inhabitants as well as a party of nearly a score of visitors from the town of Salimu, on the west side of the bay. So sudden was the onslaught of the rebels that no one in the doomed village escaped except a boy of ten years of age. After being decapitated, the bodies of the victims were thrown into the houses, and the village set on fire.

The people of Samamea hurriedly set out to pursue the raiding rebels, and an engagement ensued, in which the latter were badly beaten, and fled so hurriedly that they had to abandon all the heads they had taken the previous day in order to save their own.