It soon, however, became clear that the visitors were approaching at a walk only, from which it was gathered their intentions were friendly. Nevertheless it was a relief when, as they got nearer, they raised their hats and gave a cheer; they then formed a semicircle round the door and dismounted. The “priest” who was with them, and who carried a picture of the Virgin, read something, presumably a prayer, at which the company crossed themselves. He then gave greetings from Angata, and a message from her to say that _Mana_ was returning safely with letters on board, and the men presented from their saddle-bows, eggs, potatoes, and about a dozen hens. The position was unwelcome, but as none of the goods were stolen, it seemed better to accept, and discharge the obligation as far as possible by giving in return what European food we could spare We subsequently informed Mr. Edmunds, and sent a message to the Prophetess that, as our camp was out of bounds, the Kanakas must not come without leave. The old lady herself, however, kept sending to us for anything she happened to want, and as the requests continually grew in magnitude the breaking-point seemed only a question of time. One of the earlier demands, to which Mr. Edmunds thought it advisable we should accede, was for material for a flag for the new Republic; later, it floated proudly as a tricolour, made of a piece of white cotton, some red material from the photographic outfit, and a fragment of an old blue shirt. Elsewhere things went from bad to worse, and it seemed as if the expected warship would never arrive. Word came that the Kanakas had ordered the native overseer to leave his house, the only one outside the village, and were taking away the servants of the Manager; our photographer wrote that he “dared not come over as their lives were being threatened”; and finally, one afternoon we received a note from Mr. Edmunds, saying, that “he could not leave the place as the Kanakas were talking of coming up in a body to the house.” They were also, as we later learnt, threatening to kill him if he resisted their taking possession. It was obvious that the crisis had arrived; that we must risk leaving the camp and go into Mataveri. We talked over every conceivable plan of campaign, but it was too late to do anything that night, and I remember that, finally at dinner, to turn our thoughts, we discussed the curious manner in which some of the statues had fallen. In four cases which we had seen that day, while the body lay on its front, the head had broken off in mid air, turned a complete somersault, and rested on its back with the crown towards the neck. The next morning, August 5th, I awoke early and recorded in my journal the events of the day before. “Of course,” I added, “if it were a stage play, just as the crisis arrived there would be cries of ‘the _Baquedano_ is here,’ and the curtain would fall. But, alas! it is not.” Scarcely was the ink