“Go on, tell us the whole yarn,” said the skipper of the Maori Maid, as he pushed a decanter of brandy towards his visitor, and take a cigar. “It's pleasant to meet an Englishman in these Dutchman-infested islands, especially when he has a good yarn to spin.”
“The yarn isn't a pleasant one, captain,” said the trader. “It's a d———d unpleasant one, but it's true, sir.”
He lit a cigar and then resumed: “Well, after six of these flash young fellows were shot down, the other four dropped their rifles and cried out, Fia ola! Fia ola! (Quarter! Quarter!) and in a few minutes about a dozen of the escapees made their appearance, took away their rifles and cartridges, and tying their arms behind their backs made them march in front of them up the mountain-side till they came to a bit of a thicket in which were four or five small huts. Telling their prisoners to sit down, half of their number went away, returning in half an hour with the six heads of the men who had been shot.
“Take these heads back with you,” said one of the outlaws, who could speak Samoan, “and tell all Mulifanua that we are strong men. We fear no one, for we have plenty of guns and cartridges, and five hundred men such as you cannot take us. And say to the chief of the village, that on every fourth day, food for us must be brought to the foot of the eastern spur of the mountain. If this be not done, then shall we kill all whom we meet—men, women or children. Now go and tell the man who flogged us that some day we shall cook and eat his head, for we are very strong men.'
“Well, the four poor trembling beggars were liberated, and carrying the six heads of their comrades, they went back, and their story so terrified the people of Mulifanua that no further attempt was ever made to capture the outlaws. And although the Germans don't know of it, the villagers are to this very day, gentlemen, supplying these dangerous devils with food, and I know for a fact that sometimes two or three of them come down from the mountains and sleep in the village without fear. They have never troubled me; but very often a native boy or girl will come to me and buy a 28-lb. bag of shot, caps and powder, and I know perfectly well that it is for the 'wild men,' as the people here call the escaped men. Every one of them has not only a rifle, but a shot-gun as well, for they one night broke into the plantation store and carried off all the rifles and guns they could find.”
“Take care, Bob, that they don't take some pot shots at you,” said the captain, with a laugh, as his supercargo rose to get ready to go ashore with the trader.
“They would if they thought Mr. Hemming was a German from the plantation,” said the trader, seriously, “so you had better not go too far away when you are shooting, unless you take a native guide with you. For, as I have said before, these men and the people of the village are now, I really believe, in secret friendship, or rather alliance—an alliance born out of terror on one side and savage desperation on the other.”
A few minutes later young Flemming and the trader were being pulled ashore.