was immediately in the saddle. Near Matafangatele he
met a Manono chief, whom he asked if there were any German dead. "I
think there are about thirty of them knocked over," said he. "Have you
taken their heads?" asked Moors. "Yes," said the chief. "Some foolish
people did it, but I have stopped them. We ought not to cut off their
heads when they do not cut off ours." He was asked what had been done
with the heads. "Two have gone to Mataafa," he replied, "and one is
buried right under where your horse is standing, in a basket wrapped in
tapa." This was afterwards dug up, and I am told on native authority
that, besides the three heads, two ears were taken. Moors next asked the
Manono man how he came to be going away. "The man-of-war is throwing
shells," said he. "When they stopped firing out of the house, we stopped
firing also; so it was as well to scatter when the shells began. We
could have killed all the white men. I wish they had been Tamaseses."
This is an _ex parte_ statement, and I give it for such; but the course
of the affair, and in particular the adventures of Haideln and Hufnagel,
testify to a surprising lack of animosity against the Germans. About the
same time or but a little earlier than this conversation, the same spirit
was being displayed. Hufnagel, with a party of labour, had gone out to
bring in the German dead, when he was surprised to be suddenly fired on
from the wood. The boys he had with him were not negritos, but
Polynesians from the Gilbert Islands; and he suddenly remembered that
these might be easily mistaken for a detachment of Tamaseses. Bidding
his boys conceal themselves in a thicket, this brave man walked into the
open. So soon as he was recognised, the firing ceased, and the labourers
followed him in safety. This is chivalrous war; but there was a side to
it less chivalrous. As Moors drew nearer to Vailele, he began to meet
Samoans with hats, guns, and even shirts, taken from the German sailors.
With one of these who had a hat and a gun he stopped and spoke. The hat
was handed up for him to look at; it had the late owner's name on the
inside. "Where is he?" asked Moors. "He is dead; I cut his head off."
"You shot him?" "No, somebody else shot him in the hip. When I came, he
put up his hands, and cried: 'Don't kill me; I am a Malietoa man.' I did
not believe him, and I cut his head off...... Have you any ammunition to
fit that gun?" "I do not know." "What has b