p, and weeping. Barbarous
war is an ugly business; but I believe the civilised is fully uglier;
but Lord! what fun!

I should say we now have definite news that there are _three_ women's
heads; it was difficult to get it out of the natives, who are all
ashamed, and the women all in terror of reprisals. Nothing has been done
to punish or disgrace these hateful innovators. It was a false report
that the head had been returned.

_Thursday, 13th._--Maatafa driven away from Savaii. I cannot write about
this, and do not know what should be the end of it.

_Monday, 17th._--Haggard and Ahrens (a German clerk) to lunch yesterday.
There is no real certain news yet: I must say, no man could _swear_ to
any result; but the sky looks horribly black for Mataafa and so many of
our friends along with him. The thing has an abominable, a beastly,
nightmare interest. But it's wonderful generally how little one cares
about the wounded; hospital sights, etc.; things that used to murder me.
I was far more struck with the excellent way in which things were
managed; as if it had been a peep-show; I held some of the things at an
operation, and did not care a dump.

_Tuesday, 18th._--Sunday came the _Katoomba_, Captain Bickford, C.M.G.
Yesterday, Graham and I went down to call, and find he has orders to
suppress Mataafa at once, and has to go down to-day before daybreak to
Manono. He is a very capable, energetic man; if he had only come ten
days ago, all this would have gone by; but now the questions are thick
and difficult. (1) Will Mataafa surrender? (2) Will his people allow
themselves to be disarmed? (3) What will happen to them if they do? (4)
What will any of them believe after former deceptions? The three consuls
were scampering on horseback to Leulumoega to the king; no Cusack-Smith,
without whose accession I could not send a letter to Mataafa. I rode up
here, wrote my letter in the sweat of the concordance and with the
able-bodied help of Lloyd--and dined. Then down in continual showers and
pitchy darkness, and to Cusack-Smith's; not returned. Back to the inn
for my horse, and to C.-S.'s, when I find him just returned and he
accepts my letter. Thence home, by 12.30, jolly tired and wet. And
to-day have been in a crispation of energy and ill-temper, raking my
wretched mail together. It is a hateful business, waiting for the news;
it may come to a fearful massacre yet.--Yours ever,

R. L. S.

TO JAMES S. STEVENSON