almost without result. Colonel
de Coetlogon, an old soldier, described the noise as deafening. The
harbour was all struck with shots; a man was knocked over on the German
war-ship; half Apia was under fire; and a house was pierced beyond the
Mulivai. All along the two lines of breastwork, the entrenched enemies
exchanged this hail of balls; and away on the east of the battle the
fusillade was maintained, with equal spirit, across the narrow barrier of
the Fuisa. The whole rear of the Tamaseses was enfiladed by this flank
fire; and I have seen a house there, by the river brink, that was riddled
with bullets like a piece of worm-eaten wreck-wood. At this point of the
field befell a trait of Samoan warfare worth recording. Taiese (brother
to Siteoni already mentioned) shot a Tamasese man. He saw him fall, and,
inflamed with the lust of glory, passed the river single-handed in that
storm of missiles to secure the head. On the farther bank, as was but
natural, he fell himself; he who had gone to take a trophy remained to
afford one; and the Mataafas, who had looked on exulting in the prospect
of a triumph, saw themselves exposed instead to a disgrace. Then rose
one Vingi, passed the deadly water, swung the body of Taiese on his back,
and returned unscathed to his own side, the head saved, the corpse filled
with useless bullets.

At this rate of practice, the ammunition soon began to run low, and from
an early hour of the afternoon, the Malietoa stores were visited by
customers in search of more. An elderly man came leaping and cheering,
his gun in one hand, a basket of three heads in the other. A fellow came
shot through the forearm. "It doesn't hurt now," he said, as he bought
his cartridges; "but it will hurt to-morrow, and I want to fight while I
can." A third followed, a mere boy, with the end of his nose shot off:
"Have you any painkiller? give it me quick, so that I can get back to
fight." On either side, there was the same delight in sound and smoke
and schoolboy cheering, the same unsophisticated ardour of battle; and
the misdirected skirmish proceeded with a din, and was illustrated with
traits of bravery that would have fitted a Waterloo or a Sedan.

I have said how little I regard the alleged plan of battle. At least it
was now all gone to water. The whole forces of Mataafa had leaked out,
man by man, village by village, on the so-called false attack. They were
all pounding for their lives on the