O’Neil nodded. “Yes,” he said, “and there was an American who also was accused by the other side of carrying the news. Anyway, the Kataafa warriors attacked the Herzovinian sailors. Surprised them, killed about twenty and wounded twice as many. It was an awful shock to us all, and showed us we had been playing too close to a playful volcano. Such a thing had never occurred before. We thought the natives would not dare to raise their hands against the whites. “I was on board another ship then; the ‘Wyoming’ had gone home to be paid off,” O’Neil continued after an impressive silence. “The worst of it all was that the heads were cut off the poor sailors. It gave us all cold shivers. We had thought the Kapuans were just good-natured children, and we found them heartless, brutal savages.--Excuse me, Mary,” he apologized. “I’m not inventing now. That’s the plain truth. When your people get really excited you ain’t civilized. You’re a lot of Apache Indians on the war-path. “I don’t know what would have happened if the hurricane hadn’t come at that time. We found ourselves all on the beach and our ships wrecks. Over a hundred or more sailors were drowned, and the natives, both Kataafa and Samasese, came and risked their lives many times to save us out there clinging to the wreckage. Mighty near every man saved owed his life to the natives. That sort of patched things up. We lived ashore for several months, and every one was as friendly as you please. You wouldn’t have known there ever had been a war. “Lots of things, I reckon,” he added finally, “have happened since I have been away, but what makes me laugh is to see the Herzovinians falling all over themselves to make friends with this Kataafa, and we, who were his best friends then, falling all over ourselves to call him all the bad names we can think of. “It all goes to prove, Bill, and you can take this from me without any sugar,” O’Neil exclaimed, “that friendships among natives are only good business deals. There ain’t no sentiment mixed up in it. “What’s all that row about out there?” O’Neil suddenly exclaimed, rising and going in haste to look out. He saw several native policemen grasping firmly a thin white man who was protesting vigorously. “That’s Missi Stump,” Mary Hamilton cried aghast. “What is Johnny Upolu arresting him for?” “I’m going to find out,” O’Neil said determinedly. He did not like to see a white man in the clutch of the natives. To O’Neil’s mind it lowered all the whites in the eyes of the Kapuans to permit such a thing as this. Before Johnny Upolu and his two assistants could recover from the onslaught, the big sailor, followed closely by one a little smaller but as impetuous, had attacked their captive, and the policemen were sitting in the sandy road. Johnny scowled darkly. A crowd had gathered, and like all crowds the Kapuans at once sided against the officers of the law, and were making insulting remarks to the discomfited chief of police.