“Kataafa has written the admiral the most remarkable letter,” the captain said after they had left behind the last vestige of civilization. “He says that he does not question the right of Panu-Mafili to be king, but that by the Kapuan custom he also is king, and that according to their traditional custom, as old as their race, he will fight Panu for the office. He says that he has no war with the white men, and that no harm will come to them if they do not attack him.”
“What answer did the admiral send back?” Phil and Sydney asked in a breath.
“That Panu-Mafili was now under the protection of the two allied powers, and that if Kataafa attacked him the admiral would consider it an attack upon his own men, and that by so doing Kataafa would have brought on a war with the white men.”
“Hello,” Sydney exclaimed suddenly reining in his horse. A party of natives, their faces blackened, had silently come from the bush and barred their way. A chief stepped forward and courteously told Commander Tazewell that no one should pass.
While they consulted with the native, many warriors appeared from each side of the road and gazed in friendly curiosity at their visitors.
“He says,” Commander Tazewell told the midshipmen, “that Kataafa’s troops have surrounded the village of Ukula, and will starve out the inhabitants instead of attacking. That Kataafa has given orders that white men shall not be molested, but must remain within the besieging lines.”
“Starve them out!” Phil exclaimed. “Why, that’s impossible. They can catch fish and eat fruit.” The Americans had withdrawn some yards from the natives, but remained to observe further.
“How long do you suppose the supply of fruit would last?” Commander Tazewell asked. “Besides, many of the fruit trees in Ukula have been destroyed, and it will take a year for them to again bear fruit. And as for fish, the reefs off Ukula are not good fishing ground, and would not feed one-tenth of the population now gathered in the vicinity of the town.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Phil asked earnestly.
“The war-ships will have to give the natives food from their own supplies,” the commander replied. “Kataafa is a wily old fox, or else that Herzovinian count is ably advising him. But come,” he added, swinging his pony about; “we have received interesting news, and if we are to succeed in this affair, we’ve got to take the offensive. The food supplies on our ships would be devoured by the horde of natives in the town inside of a week. We shall have to attack Kataafa in order to feed our native allies.”