was a quiet, good-natured old fellow--an
Englishman--and as soon as he learned of the mishap to the brigantine,
at once offered to get a gang of natives to assist in beaching her; and
then pressed Flemming to make his house his home during the stay of the
vessel.

"Thank you," replied the young man, "I shall be very pleased. I want to
have a look at the big plantation here and try to have a yarn with some
of the Eingsmill Island labourers." Then he told the trader, who was
much interested, the object he had in view.

"I'm sure that the manager will let you talk to any of the labourers,"
he said, "for he's one of the 'White men' kind of Dutchmen. His name
is Knorr. He succeeded a regular brute of a man who used to flog the
plantation hands right and left. A lot of them have run away during the
past six or seven years and have taken to the mountains. They are all
armed, and sometimes, when they are in want of food, will lay the Samoan
villages under tribute, and if any resistance is shown, they set fire to
the houses. The Samoans are terribly afraid of them, for there are two
or three cannibal Solomon Islanders among them, and a Samoan has a holy
terror of a man-eater."

"Why don't the Dutchmen capture the beggars?" asked the captain. "There
are enough of them in Samoa."

The old trader laughed--"Ay, too many, sir; too many for us poor English
traders. But they have tried, time and time again, to capture these
fellows, but only got badly mauled in two or three fights. There is a
standing reward of two hundred dollars for every one of them, dead or
alive, and about a year ago ten flash young Samoan _manaias_{*} set out,
well armed and well primed with grog, to surprise the escapees, who were
known to be living in an almost inaccessible part of the mountains. Only
four of the ten came back; the other six were shot down one by one as
they were climbing the side of a mountain, and these four were made
prisoners by the outlaws, who gave them such a fright that they will
never get over it. It was as good as any novel to hear them talk about
it, I can assure you."

* Warriors or rather would-be warriors--young men whom the
local white men usually speak of as "bucks,"--i.e., flashy,
saucy fellows.

"Go on, tell us the whole yarn," said the skipper of the _Maori Maid_,
as he pushed a decanter of brandy towards his visitor, and take a cigar.
"It's pleasant to meet an Englishman in these Dutchman-infested isla