CHAPTER IV

In the quiet little harbour of Mulifanua, situated at the western end of
the island of Upolu, a fine-looking brigantine was lying at anchor, and
the captain and supercargo were pacing the deck together enjoying their
after-breakfast pipes.

The brigantine was the _Maori Maid_ of Auckland, Captain Heselton,
and the supercargo was young Robert Flemming. The vessel had run into
Mulifanua Harbour owing to her having struck on a reef a few days
previously whilst beating up against the south-east trades from Wallis
Island to Leone Bay, a port on the island of Tutuila, one of the Samoan
Group, and as she was leaking rather seriously her captain decided to
run into Mulifanua, put her on the beach, and get at the leak or leaks.

"There is no need for you to stay on board, Bob," said Heselton
presently to his young supercargo. "Go ashore and stay ashore until we
are ready for sea again. All going well we'll find out where the damage
is by this time to-morrow, and be afloat again in a few days. But there
is nothing to keep you aboard, and you might as well put in your time
shooting or otherwise enjoying yourself; why not go and have a look at
Goddeffroy's big plantation? It's only about a couple of miles away."

"Thank you, captain, I think I shall. As you know for years past I have
always been hoping that during one of our cruises, I might come across
some native or other on one of these plantations who might be able to
tell me something about those four poor fellows who were collared by
that Peruvian barque ten years ago. And this plantation of Goddeffroy's
is one of the biggest in the South Seas--there are over seven hundred
labourers, Line Islanders, Solomon Islanders, New Britain niggers and
heaven knows what else."

"Well, you'll have a good chance now. And look here, Bob--take your
time, a day or two more or less doesn't matter to us. I shall have
plenty to do even after I get at this confounded leak. The rigging wants
setting up badly, so we may be here any time under a week."

"Right. I'll go and have a look at the plantation; and if the manager is
a decent sort of a Dutchman he might put me up. If he's a hog--which
he probably is--I'll go to the native village, sleep there to-night and
have a day's pigeon-shooting to-morrow."

Just then a boat was seen putting off from the shore, manned by Samoans,
but steered by a white man, who as soon as he came on deck introduced
himself as the local trader. He