The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17Stevenson, Robert Louis
History
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Samoan Islands -- History; Short stories
Thenceforward, all day and most of the next night, volley followed
volley; and pounds of lead and pounds sterling of money continued to be
blown into the air without cessation and almost without result. Colonel
de Coetlogon, an old soldier, described the noise as deafening. The
harbour was all struck with shots; a man was knocked over on the German
war-ship; half Apia was under fire; and a house was pierced beyond the
Mulivai. All along the two lines of breastwork, the entrenched enemies
exchanged this hail of balls; and away on the east of the battle the
fusillade was maintained, with equal spirit, across the narrow barrier
of the Fuisa. The whole rear of the Tamaseses was enfiladed by this
flank fire; and I have seen a house there, by the river brink, that was
riddled with bullets like a piece of worm-eaten wreck-wood. At this
point of the field befell a trait of Samoan warfare worth recording.
Taiese (brother to Siteoni already mentioned) shot a Tamasese man. He
saw him fall, and, inflamed with the lust of glory, passed the river
single-handed in that storm of missiles to secure the head. On the
farther bank, as was but natural, he fell himself; he who had gone to
take a trophy remained to afford one; and the Mataafas, who had looked
on exulting in the prospect of a triumph, saw themselves exposed instead
to a disgrace. Then rose one Vingi, passed the deadly water, swung the
body of Taiese on his back, and returned unscathed to his own side, the
head saved, the corpse filled with useless bullets.
At this rate of practice, the ammunition soon began to run low, and from
an early hour of the afternoon, the Malietoa stores were visited by
customers in search of more. An elderly man came leaping and cheering,
his gun in one hand, a basket of three heads in the other. A fellow came
shot through the forearm. "It doesn't hurt now," he said, as he bought
his cartridges; "but it will hurt to-morrow, and I want to fight while
I can." A third followed, a mere boy, with the end of his nose shot off:
"Have you any painkiller? give it me quick, so that I can get back to
fight." On either side, there was the same delight in sound and smoke
and schoolboy cheering, the same unsophisticated ardour of battle; and
the misdirected skirmish proceeded with a din, and was illustrated with
traits of bravery that would have fitted a Waterloo or a Sedan.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account