American, this gentleman had been for some time representing the New York World in a very effective manner, always in the front, living in the field with the Samoans, and in all vicissitudes of weather, toiling to and fro with his despatches.  His wisdom was perhaps not equal to his energy.  He made himself conspicuous, going about armed to the teeth in a boat under the stars and stripes; and on one occasion, when he supposed himself fired upon by the Tamaseses, had the petulance to empty his revolver in the direction of their camp.  By the light of the moon, which was then nearly down, this party observed the Olga’s two boats and the praam, which they described as “almost sinking with men,” the boats keeping well out towards the reef, the praam at the moment apparently heading for the shore.  An extreme agitation seems to have reigned in the rifle-pits.  What were the newcomers?  What was their errand?  Were they Germans or Tamaseses?  Had they a mind to attack?  The praam was hailed in Samoan and did not answer.  It was proposed to fire upon her ere she drew near.  And at last, whether on his own suggestion or that of Seumanu, Klein hailed her in English, and in terms of unnecessary melodrama.  “Do not try to land here,” he cried.  “If you do, your blood will be upon your head.”  Spengler, who had never the least intention to touch at the Fuisa, put up the head of the praam to her true course and continued to move up the lagoon with an offing of some seventy or eighty yards.  Along all the irregularities and obstructions of the beach, across the mouth of the Vaivasa, and through the startled village of Matafangatele, Seumanu, Klein, and seven or eight others raced to keep up, spreading the alarm and rousing reinforcements as they went.  Presently a man on horse-back made his appearance on the opposite beach of Fangalii.  Klein and the natives distinctly saw him signal with a lantern; which is the more strange, as the horseman (Captain Hufnagel, plantation manager of Vailele) had never a lantern to signal with.  The praam kept in.  Many men in white were seen to stand up, step overboard, and wade to shore.  At the same time the eye of panic descried a breastwork of “foreign stone” (brick) upon the beach.  Samoans are prepared to-day to swear to its existence, I believe conscientiously, although no such thing was ever made or ever intended in that place.  The hour is doubtful.  “It was the hour when the streak of dawn is seen, the hour known in the warfare of heathen times as the hour of the night attack,” says the Mataafa official account.  A native whom I met on the field declared it was at cock-crow.  Captain Hufnagel, on the other hand, is sure it was long before the day.  It was dark at least, and the moon down.  Darkness made the Samoans bold; uncertainty as to the composition and purpose of the landing-party made them desperate.  Fire was opened on the Germans, one of whom was here killed.  The Germans returned it, and effected a lodgment on the beach; and the skirmish died again to silence.  It was at this time, if not earlier, that Klein returned to Apia.