THE huge majority of Samoans,like other God-fearing folk in other countries,are perfectly content with their own manners.And upon one condition,it is plain they might enjoy themselves far beyond the average of man.Seated in islands very rich in food,the idleness of the many idle would scarce matter;and the provinces might continue to bestow their names among rival pretenders,and fall into war and enjoy that a while,and drop into peace and enjoy that,in a manner highly to be envied.But the condition -that they should be let alone -is now no longer possible.More than a hundred years ago,and following closely on the heels of Cook,an irregular invasion of adventurers began to swarm about the isles of the Pacific.The seven sleepers of Polynesia stand,still but half aroused,in the midst of the century of competition.And the island races,comparable to a shopful of crockery launched upon the stream of time,now fall to make their desperate voyage among pots of brass and adamant.
Apia,the port and mart,is the seat of the political sickness of Samoa.At the foot of a peaked,woody mountain,the coast makes a deep indent,roughly semicircular.In front the barrier reef is broken by the fresh water of the streams;if the swell be from the north,it enters almost without diminution;and the war-ships roll dizzily at their moorings,and along the fringing coral which follows the configuration of the beach,the surf breaks with a continuous uproar.In wild weather,as the world knows,the roads are untenable.Along the whole shore,which is everywhere green and level and overlooked by inland mountain-tops,the town lies drawn out in strings and clusters.The western horn is Mulinuu,the eastern,Matautu;and from one to the other of these extremes,I ask the reader to walk.He will find more of the history of Samoa spread before his eyes in that excursion,than has yet been collected in the blue-books or the white-books of the world.
Mulinuu (where the walk is to begin)is a flat,wind-swept promontory,planted with palms,backed against a swamp of mangroves,and occupied by a rather miserable village.The reader is informed that this is the proper residence of the Samoan kings;he will be the more surprised to observe a board set up,and to read that this historic village is the property of the German firm.
But these boards,which are among the commonest features of the landscape,may be rather taken to imply that the claim has been disputed.A little farther east he skirts the stores,offices,and barracks of the firm itself.Thence he will pass through Matafele,the one really town-like portion of this long string of villages,by German bars and stores and the German consulate;and reach the Catholic mission and cathedral standing by the mouth of a small river.The bridge which crosses here (bridge of Mulivai)is a frontier;behind is Matafele;beyond,Apia proper;behind,Germans are supreme;beyond,with but few exceptions,all is Anglo-Saxon.
Here the reader will go forward past the stores of Mr.Moors (American)and Messrs.MacArthur (English);past the English mission,the office of the English newspaper,the English church,and the old American consulate,till he reaches the mouth of a larger river,the Vaisingano.Beyond,in Matautu,his way takes him in the shade of many trees and by scattered dwellings,and presently brings him beside a great range of offices,the place and the monument of a German who fought the German firm during his life.His house (now he is dead)remains pointed like a discharged cannon at the citadel of his old enemies.Fitly enough,it is at present leased and occupied by Englishmen.A little farther,and the reader gains the eastern flanking angle of the bay,where stands the pilot-house and signal-post,and whence he can see,on the line of the main coast of the island,the British and the new American consulates.
