ES

A little before twelve on Monday, Herr Rudolph Schwankmacher, one of
the most respected residents of Apia, capital of Samoa, was reclining
under the shade of a plantain in his garden beyond the promontory of
Mulinuu, enjoying the conversation of a friend and the refreshing
bitterness of a bottle of light lager beer. The garden rose a few feet
above the level of the ground in front of it, and afforded an
excellent view over the sea. Hither Herr Schwankmacher was wont to
retire for a brief spell of rest and meditation in the heat of the
day, and on this occasion he had been accompanied by a compatriot
newly arrived from Germany, to whom he was expatiating on the
pleasures of colonial life in general, and in particular on the
delights of rearing cabbages in so rich and prolific a soil.

"Yes," he said, "you will find no cabbages like these in Germany. You
see them. They are grown from seed. It is not a month since I put the
seed in the ground, and the plants are already flourishing. They will
soon be full-grown, and then I shall pickle them, and have for every
day in the year a dish that will remind me as I eat it of the days of
my youth in the dear Homeland. Ach! the Homeland; it is very dear. I
love it, although I would not return to it for the world. This is the
happy land, my friend. It is a fairland. It is a beautiful land for
copra, flowers, and cabbages. I am content."

He tossed off a glass of beer and lay back on the green sward, puffing
at a pipe and gazing benignly up into the broad-leaved canopy that
sheltered him from the midday sun. For some time he reclined thus,
dropping a word now and then to his companion, answering his
questions, but always returning to the cabbages.

As they lay in this placidity and ease they were suddenly aware of a
slight buzzing in the air. Herr Schwankmacher raised himself on his
elbow, and looked around for the insect that had dared to intrude into
this peaceful cabbage-patch. There was no insect in sight of such a
size as to account for the deep-toned hum, which was growing louder
moment by moment.

"This is strange," he said. "I never heard such a noise before."

"I have heard it," said his friend. "I have heard it very close. The
last time was when Count Zeppelin's airship came down in the
Teutoberger Wald. I was there."

"So; but Count Zeppelin would not be here in Samoa. We have no
airships here. The newspapers say that there is much activity in
Europe, especia