Thus was created in the islands a situation, strange in the beginning, and which, as its inner significance is developed, becomes daily stranger to observe.  On the one hand, Mataafa sits in Malie, assumes a regal state, receives deputations, heads his letters “Government of Samoa,” tacitly treats the king as a co-ordinate; and yet declares himself, and in many ways conducts himself, as a law-abiding citizen.  On the other, the white officials in Mulinuu stand contemplating the phenomenon with eyes of growing stupefaction; now with symptoms of collapse, now with accesses of violence.  For long, even those well versed in island manners and the island character daily expected war, and heard imaginary drums beat in the forest.  But for now close upon a year, and against every stress of persuasion and temptation, Mataafa has been the bulwark of our peace.  Apia lay open to be seized, he had the power in his hand, his followers cried to be led on, his enemies marshalled him the same way by impotent examples; and he has never faltered.  Early in the day, a white man was sent from the government of Mulinuu to examine and report upon his actions:  I saw the spy on his return; “It was only our rebel that saved us,” he said, with a laugh.  There is now no honest man in the islands but is well aware of it; none but knows that, if we have enjoyed during the past eleven months the conveniences of peace, it is due to the forbearance of “our rebel.”  Nor does this part of his conduct stand alone.  He calls his party at Malie the government,—­“our government,”—­but he pays his taxes to the government at Mulinuu.  He takes ground like a king; he has steadily and blandly refused to obey all orders as to his own movements or behaviour; but upon requisition he sends offenders to be tried under the chief justice.

We have here a problem of conduct, and what seems an image of inconsistency, very hard at the first sight to be solved by any European.  Plainly Mataafa does not act at random.  Plainly, in the depths of his Samoan mind, he regards his attitude as regular and constitutional.  It may be unexpected, it may be inauspicious, it may be undesirable; but he thinks it—­and perhaps it is—­in full accordance with those “laws and customs of Samoa” ignorantly invoked by the draughtsmen of the Berlin Act.  The point is worth an effort of comprehension; a man’s life may yet depend upon it.  Let us conceive, in the first place, that there are five separate kingships in Samoa, though not always five different kings; and that though one man, by holding the five royal names, might become king in all parts of Samoa, there is perhaps no such matter as a kingship of all Samoa.  He who holds one royal name would be, upon this view, as much a sovereign person as he who should chance to hold the other four; he would have less territory and fewer subjects, but the like independence and an equal royalty.  Now Mataafa, even if all debatable points were decided against him, is still Tuiatua,