nchored that go to
Samoa," and led him to "a very magnificent house, with carriages inside
and a wonderful roof of glass"; to wit, the railway station. They were
benighted on the train, and then went in "something with a house, drawn
by horses, which had windows and many decks"; plainly an omnibus. Here
(at Bremen or Bremerhaven, I believe) they stayed some while in "a house
of five hundred rooms"; then were got on board the _Nuernberg_ (as they
understood) for Samoa, anchored in England on a Sunday, were joined _en
route_ by the famous Dr. Knappe, passed through "a narrow passage where
they went very slow and which was just like a river," and beheld with
exhilarated curiosity that Red Sea of which they had learned so much in
their Bibles. At last, "at the hour when the fires burn red," they came
to a place where was a German man-of-war. Laupepa was called, with one
of the boys, on deck, when he found a German officer awaiting him, and a
steam launch alongside, and was told he must now leave his brother and
go elsewhere. "I cannot go like this," he cried. "You must let me see my
brother and the other old men"--a term of courtesy. Knappe, who seems
always to have been good-natured, revised his orders, and consented not
only to an interview, but to allow Moli to continue to accompany the
king. So these two were carried to the man-of-war, and sailed many a
day, still supposing themselves bound for Samoa; and lo! she came to a
country the like of which they had never dreamed of, and cast anchor in
the great lagoon of Jaluit; and upon that narrow land the exiles were
set on shore. This was the part of his captivity on which he looked back
with the most bitterness. It was the last, for one thing, and he was
worn down with the long suspense, and terror, and deception. He could
not bear the brackish water; and though "the Germans were still good to
him, and gave him beef and biscuit and tea," he suffered from the lack
of vegetable food.

Such is the narrative of this simple exile. I have not sought to correct
it by extraneous testimony. It is not so much the facts that are
historical, as the man's attitude. No one could hear this tale as he
originally told it in my hearing--I think none can read it as here
condensed and unadorned--without admiring the fairness and simplicity of
the Samoan; and wondering at the want of heart--or want of humour--in so
many successive civilised Germans, that they should have continued to
surround