The next day Kataafa was formally crowned at Kulinuu, but no salute was fired in his honor. The morning after the coronation the midshipmen and Alice watched their sailors gather up their belongings and return on board their ship.
“They’ll be ashore again before very long,” Phil prophesied. “The ‘Sacramento,’ one of our big cruisers, will be on the way here with an American admiral on board. I have an idea that he will not be content to see the islands get away from us without an argument.”
The town of Ukula was a sorry sight. Many valuable native houses were in utter ruin. Many stores owned by the white men had been looted. Empty cans were scattered about everywhere. Those canned delicacies of meats, soups and vegetables, much prized by the natives, had been consumed or carried away. Tin goods in Kapua went by the name of “peasoupee,” because the first cargo of tinned goods ever received in the islands was of the pea-soup variety.
Armed natives were encountered on every hand, but their faces were no longer blackened, and the savage ecstasy of war had partially subsided.
Phil stopped a smiling native and asked him by signs to allow him to inspect his gun. Alice spoke his own language to him, and the warrior proudly gave his cherished belonging into Phil’s hands.
“It’s a brand new ‘Snyder,’” Sydney said as they both handled it; “but look, he has taken off the sight. Thinks it’s a useless ornament.”
“Probably is,” Phil replied. “In bush fighting a sight is probably of little use unless the native is trained to use it intelligently.”
The three walked slowly along the main street. At the gate of the Herzovinian consulate in Matafeli, they saw Count Rosen. All were surprised to receive a cordial smile, as he raised his hat to Alice.
“Look,” Phil exclaimed, “the boxes are still on the porch of the Kapuan firm’s store.”
All had stopped to gaze upon the mysterious boxes yet unopened. A crowd of natives, laughing and jostling each other, covered the wide porches encircling the store, and spilled over into the courtyard.