, manifest and blind, amid the general ambush of the
darkness; and the islanders, passing with light footfalls and low voices
in the sand of the road, lingered to observe us, unseen.

On Tuesday the dusk had fallen, the lamp had just been brought, when a
missile struck the table with a rattling smack and rebounded past my
ear. Three inches to one side and this page had never been written; for
the thing travelled like a cannon ball. It was supposed at the time to
be a nut, though even at the time I thought it seemed a small one and
fell strangely.

_Wednesday, July 24_.--The dusk had fallen once more, and the lamp been
just brought out, when the same business was repeated. And again the
missile whistled past my ear. One nut I had been willing to accept; a
second, I rejected utterly. A cocoa-nut does not come slinging along on
a windless evening, making an angle of about fifteen degrees with the
horizon; cocoa-nuts do not fall on successive nights at the same hour
and spot; in both cases, besides, a specific moment seemed to have been
chosen, that when the lamp was just carried out, a specific person
threatened, and that the head of the family. I may have been right or
wrong, but I believed I was the mark of some intimidation; believed the
missile was a stone, aimed not to hit, but to frighten.

No idea makes a man more angry. I ran into the road, where the natives
were as usual promenading in the dark; Maka joined me with a lantern;
and I ran from one to another, glared in quite innocent faces, put
useless questions, and proffered idle threats. Thence I carried my wrath
(which was worthy the son of any queen in history) to the Ricks. They
heard me with depression, assured me this trick of throwing a stone into
a family dinner was not new; that it meant mischief, and was of a piece
with the alarming disposition of the natives. And then the truth, so
long concealed from us, came out. The king had broken his promise, he
had defied the deputation; the tapu was still dormant, "The Land we Live
in" still selling drink, and that quarter of the town disturbed and
menaced by perpetual broils. But there was worse ahead: a feast was now
preparing for the birthday of the little princess; and the tributary
chiefs of Kuma and Little Makin were expected daily. Strong in a
following of numerous and somewhat savage clansmen, each of these was
believed, like a Douglas of old, to be of doubtful loyalty. Kuma (a
little pot-bellied fellow)