Australia, whereupon the rumor spread among the Bugis like
wild-fire that 'the King of Manila' was about to return to his ancient
kingdom, but the excitement gradually subsided when the
Governor-General failed to appear. But when the _Negros_ entered the
harbor this morning, and it was reported that she was from Manila and
had on board a white man who had some mysterious mission in the
interior of the island, the excitement flamed up again. The natives,
you see, who are as simple and credulous as children, believe that you
are the Messiah of their legend and that you have come to liberate them
from Dutch rule."[2]

[Footnote 2: Owing to my ignorance of Dutch and Buginese, I was
unable to obtain a dependable account of this curious legend,
but the several versions which I heard agreed in the main with
that given above.]

"But look here," said I, annoyance in my tone, "this isn't as funny as
it seems. Tying me up to this fool tradition may result in spoiling my
plans for taking pictures in the Celebes. Of course the Dutch
authorities know perfectly well that I haven't come here to start a
revolution, but, on the other hand, they may not want a person whom the
natives regard as a Messiah to go wandering about in the interior,
where Dutch rule is none too firmly established anyway, for fear that
my presence might be used as an excuse for an insurrection."

"Don't let that worry you," the Consul reassured me. "I'll take you
over now to call on the Governor. He's a good sort and he'll do
everything he can to help you. Then I'll send the editors of the
vernacular papers around to the _Negros_ this afternoon to call on you.
You can explain that you're here to get motion-pictures to illustrate
the progress and prosperity of the Celebes, and it might be a good idea
to tell them that some of your ancestors were Dutch. That will help to
make you solid with the authorities. The interview will appear in the
papers tomorrow and in twenty-four hours the news will have spread
among the Bugis that you're not their Messiah after all."

"But I'm not Dutch," I protested. "All my people were Welsh and
English. The only connection I have with Holland is that the house in
which I was born is on a street that has a Dutch name."

"Fine!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Born on Van Rensselaer street,
you say? Be sure and tell 'em that. That's the next best thing to
having been born in Holland."

"I know now," I said, "how