In Honolulu, convicts labour on the highways in piebald clothing, gruesome and ridiculous; and it is a common sight to see the family of such an one troop out, about the dinner hour, wreathed with flowers and in their holiday best, to picnic with their kinsman on the public wayside.  The application of these outlandish penalties, in fact, transfers the sympathy to the offender.  Remember, besides, that the clan system, and that imperfect idea of justice which is its worst feature, are still lively in Samoa; that it is held the duty of a judge to favour kinsmen, of a king to protect his vassals; and the difficulty of getting a plantation thief first caught, then convicted, and last of all punished, will appear.

During the early ’eighties, the Germans looked upon this system with growing irritation.  They might see their convict thrust in gaol by the front door; they could never tell how soon he was enfranchised by the back; and they need not be the least surprised if they met him, a few days after, enjoying the delights of a malanga.  It was a banded conspiracy, from the king and the vice-king downward, to evade the law and deprive the Germans of their profits.  In 1883, accordingly, the consul, Dr. Stuebel, extorted a convention on the subject, in terms of which Samoans convicted of offences against German subjects were to be confined in a private gaol belonging to the German firm.  To Dr. Stuebel it seemed simple enough:  the offenders were to be effectually punished, the sufferers partially indemnified.  To the Samoans, the thing appeared no less simple, but quite different:  “Malietoa was selling Samoans to Misi Ueba.”  What else could be expected?  Here was a private corporation engaged in making money; to it was delegated, upon a question of profit and loss, one of the functions of the Samoan crown; and those who make anomalies must look for comments.  Public feeling ran unanimous and high.  Prisoners who escaped from the private gaol were not recaptured or not returned and Malietoa hastened to build a new prison of his own, whither he conveyed, or pretended to convey, the fugitives.  In October 1885 a trenchant state paper issued from the German consulate.  Twenty prisoners, the consul wrote, had now been at large for eight months from Weber’s prison.  It was pretended they had since then completed their term of punishment elsewhere.  Dr. Stuebel did not seek to conceal his incredulity; but he took ground beyond; he declared the point irrelevant.  The law was to be enforced.  The men were condemned to a certain period in Weber’s prison; they had run away; they must now be brought back and (whatever had become of them in the interval) work out the sentence.  Doubtless Dr. Stuebel’s demands were substantially just; but doubtless also they bore from the outside a great appearance of harshness; and when the king submitted, the murmurs of the people increased.