Kataafa and his important chiefs and their women sat under the spreading branches of an umbrella tree, whose horizontal boughs covered with dark green foliage gave shelter from the scorching sun to nearly two hundred men and women. The warriors sat in serried ranks, close to their chosen king, while the women fringed the edge of the densely packed crowd. The various villages formed their companies where they had camped upon arrival, and very soon they could be heard approaching. Faint singing was heard in the distance, becoming stronger as the groups advanced. At last the war chant burst out in all its barbaric melody. The maidens led, two abreast, their Tapau in front, dressed in her most elaborate creation of fine mats, tapa and girdles of sweet-scented grass. Her skin, shiny with oil, resembling soft satin, and her locks polished to the deep bluish black of the raven’s wing. Upon her head rested grotesquely the Tapau head-dress of human hair and shells of pearl. Around her throat were string after string of shells and beads. Following the maidens came the warriors, each carrying a staff to represent a rifle. As each village arrived they danced wildly, keeping time to their quick, inspiring chant, the women, led by their graceful Tapau, swaying from side to side in perfect time, while the men brandished their wooden guns, in pantomime of battle. Then the villagers with a sudden burst of throaty sound, resembling the final roar of a wave dashing upon the reef, deposited their food offerings and withdrew to their appointed places, from where they would take part in the great “fono,”[28] called by their candidate for king. Count Rosen gazed in undisguised admiration upon this wonderfully drilled assemblage. All were now sitting immovable on the ground, their deep lustrous eyes turned in the direction of the inner circle of chiefs, where sat their calm leader. After several minutes of impressive silence a chief rose to his feet and struck the attitude traditional to the Kapuan of one who wishes to be heard. He carried a “fui” of white horsehair in his right hand, while his left rested upon the knob of his orator’s staff. He talked for nearly fifteen minutes, while the multitude listened in breathless attention. “He is Kataafa’s talking man,” Klinger whispered to the count. “He has told them that you are here to help crown their chosen king.” Captain Scott was becoming restless. These native “fonos” he knew were often long drawn out affairs. He was anxious to be free, to sail away from the Kapuan Islands. He did not relish being stopped by an American war-ship. “Can’t you cut this short?” he asked Klinger. Klinger shook his head. “There’s no danger,” he assured Scott. “I have spies out, and when they bring me news of any movement which may threaten us, there will be time enough. The Kapuan cannot be hurried in his deliberations. We must be sure these people are all on our side before we give them the means to accomplish our purpose.”