archives; and that this was his reason for handing the affair to Leary.  It is not necessary to suppose so.  It is plain he thought little of the business; thought indeed nothing of it; except in so far as armed men had entered the neutral territory from Mulinuu; and it was on this ground alone, and the implied breach of Becker’s engagement at the conference, that he invited Leary’s attention to the tale.  The impish ingenuity of the commander perceived in it huge possibilities of mischief.  He took up the Scanlon outrage, the atrocity of the threatened pigs; and with that poor instrument—­I am sure, to his own wonder—­drove Tamasese out of Mulinuu.  It was “an intrigue,” Becker complains.  To be sure it was; but who was Becker to be complaining of intrigue?

On the 7th Leary laid before Fritze the following conundrum:  “As the natives of Mulinuu appear to be under the protection of the Imperial German naval guard belonging to the vessel under your command, I have the honour to request you to inform me whether or not they are under such protection?  Amicable relations,” pursued the humorist, “amicable relations exist between the government of the United States and His Imperial German Majesty’s government, but we do not recognise Tamasese’s government, and I am desirous of locating the responsibility for violations of American rights.”  Becker and Fritze lost no time in explanation or denial, but went straight to the root of the matter and sought to buy off Scanlon.  Becker declares that every reparation was offered.  Scanlon takes a pride to recapitulate the leases and the situations he refused, and the long interviews in which he was tempted and plied with drink by Becker or Beckmann of the firm.  No doubt, in short, that he was offered reparation in reason and out of reason, and, being thoroughly primed, refused it all.  Meantime some answer must be made to Leary; and Fritze repeated on the 8th his oft-repeated assurances that he was not authorised to deal with politics.  The same day Leary retorted:  “The question is not one of diplomacy nor of politics.  It is strictly one of military jurisdiction and responsibility.  Under the shadow of the German fort at Mulinuu,” continued the hyperbolical commander, “atrocities have been committed. . . .  And I again have the honour respectfully to request to be informed whether or not the armed natives at Mulinuu are under the protection of the Imperial German naval guard belonging to the vessel under your command.”  To this no answer was vouchsafed till the 11th, and then in the old terms; and meanwhile, on the 10th, Leary got into his gaiters—­the sure sign, as was both said and sung aboard his vessel, of some desperate or some amusing service—­and was set ashore at the Scanlons’ house.  Of this he took possession at the head of an old woman and a mop, and was seen from the Tamasese breastwork directing operations and plainly preparing to install himself there in a military posture.  So much he meant to be understood;