had territorial rights; it was monstrous to prevent them from entering one of their own villages because a German trader kept the store; and in case property suffered, a claim for compensation was the proper remedy.  Knappe argued that this was a question between Germans and Samoans, in which de Coetlogon had nothing to see; and that he must protect German property according to his instructions.  To which de Coetlogon replied that he was himself in the same attitude to the property of the British; that he understood Knappe to be intending hostilities against Laulii; that Laulii was mortgaged to the MacArthurs; that its crops were accordingly British property; and that, while he was ever willing to recognise the territorial rights of the Samoans, he must prevent that property from being molested “by any other nation.”  “But if a German man-of-war does it?” asked Knappe.—­“We shall prevent it to the best of our ability,” replied the colonel.  It is to the credit of both men that this trying interview should have been conducted and concluded without heat; but Knappe must have returned to the Adler with darker anticipations.

At sunrise on the morning of the 15th, the three ships, each loaded with its consul, put to sea.  It is hard to exaggerate the peril of the forenoon that followed, as they lay off Laulii.  Nobody desired a collision, save perhaps the reckless Leary; but peace and war trembled in the balance; and when the Adler, at one period, lowered her gun ports, war appeared to preponderate.  It proved, however, to be a last—­and therefore surely an unwise—­extremity.  Knappe contented himself with visiting the rival kings, and the three ships returned to Apia before noon.  Beyond a doubt, coming after Knappe’s decisive letter of the day before, this impotent conclusion shook the credit of Germany among the natives of both sides; the Tamaseses fearing they were deserted, the Mataafas (with secret delight) hoping they were feared.  And it gave an impetus to that ridiculous business which might have earned for the whole episode the name of the war of flags.  British and American flags had been planted the night before, and were seen that morning flying over what they claimed about Laulii.  British and American passengers, on the way up and down, pointed out from the decks of the war-ships, with generous vagueness, the boundaries of problematical estates.  Ten days later, the beach of Saluafata bay fluttered (as I have told in the last chapter) with the flag of Germany.  The Americans riposted with a claim to Tamasese’s camp, some small part of which (says Knappe) did really belong to “an American nigger.”  The disease spread, the flags were multiplied, the operations of war became an egg-dance among miniature neutral territories; and though all men took a hand in these proceedings, all men in turn were struck with their absurdity.  Mullan, Leary’s successor, warned Knappe, in an emphatic despatch, not to squander