He held his cards in his hand, but his jaw had fallen and his eyes were staring over my shoulder with the most dreadful expression of consternation and surprise. I whisked round, and I myself was amazed at what I saw.

Three men were standing quite close to us-fifteen meters at the farthest. The middle one was of good height, and yet not too tall-about the same height, in fact, that I am myself. He was clad in a dark uniform, with a small cocked hat and some sort of white plume upon the side. But I had little thought for his dress. It was his face, his gaunt cheeks, his beak of a nose, his masterful blue eyes, his thin, firm slit of a mouth which made one feel that this was a wonderful man, a man of a million. His brows were tied into a knot, and he cast such a glance at my poor Bart from under them that one by one the cards came fluttering down from his nerveless fingers. Of the two other men, one, who

had a face as brown and as hard as though it had been carved out of old oak, wore a bright red coat; while the other, a fine, portly man with bushy side-whiskers, was in a blue jacket with gold facings. Some little distance behind three orderlies were holding as many horses, while an escort of lancers were waiting in the rear.

"Heh, Crawford, what the devil's this?" asked the thin

man.

"D' you hear, sir?" cried the man with the red coat. "Lord Wellington wants to know what this means."

My poor Bart broke into an account of all that had occurred, but that rock face never softened for an instant. "Pretty fine, 'pon my word, Gen. Crawford," he broke

in.

"The discipline of this force must be maintained, sir! Report yourself at headquarters as a prisoner.

It was dreadful to me to see the Bart mount his horse and ride off with hanging head. I could not endure it. I threw myself before this English general. I pleaded with

him for my friend. I told him how I, Col. Gérard, would witness what a dashing young officer he was. Ah, my eloquence might have melted the hardest heart; I brought tears to my own eyes, but none to his. My voice broke and I could say no more.

"What weight do you put on your mules, sir, in the French service?" he asked. Yes, that was all this phlegmatic Englishman had to answer to these burning words of

mine. That was his reply to what would have made a Frenchman weep upon my shoulder.

"What weight on a mule?" asked the man with the red

coat.

"Two nundred and ten pounds," said I.

"Then you load them deucedly badly," said Lord Wellington. "Remove the prisoner to the rear.

His lancers closed in upon me, and I was driven mad, as I thought that the game had been in my hands and I ought at that moment to be a free man. I held the cards up in front of the general.

"See, my lord!" I cried, "I played for my freedom and I won, for, as you perceive, I hold the king.

For the first time a slight smile softened his gaunt face. "On the contrary,' said he, as he mounted his horse, "it was I who won, for, as you perceive, my king holds you."

THE BIRTH OF THE COCOANUT*

A Samoan Legena

BY J. H. GIBBONS, U. S. N.

N the shores of the mountain-shielded bay of Pago Pago, there lived, long before the Papalagi (which is the Samoan for peoplethat-burst-through-the-clouds) had set foot on the South Sea Islands, the noble chief Asi. His family consisted of several sonstall, lithe, and bronze-skinned; lazy in time of peace, but brave in time of war-and one daughter, Fanua, the taipu of the village.

much to

Now, to be a taipu carried with it all the honors of barbaric royalty. Fanua moved about with a train of attendant maidens, whose duty it was to anticipate her every wish. No Cleopatra could have been more despotic. Yet the honor had been won by real merit; for among all the maidens scattered through the numerous villages of the tribe living on the narrow shores of Pago Pago, not one could be found that handled a canoe with such fearless skill as Fanua. Indeed, it was a favorite story among the old warriors that on the occasion of a certain memorable storm she had been carried in her canoe far out to sea, where for three days she had battled against wind and wave, and, when the gale abated, had brought her canoe safely into the bay, the surprise and joy of her despairing family. venture is still preserved in the songs of the siva. this same siva or native dance, there was no one that could equal Fanua in ease of movement and grace of gesture.. When the tribe made a pilgrimage to Apia, where the great Malietoa often called them to a fono or general council, Fanua always led the march from the beach to the royal hut, and no leader of the Amazons could have had a more martial tread or wielded a spear with more dexterity. In short, the daughters of Samoa were judged no less by the rough standard of courage and endurance than by the more *Written for Short Stories.-Copyrighted.

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And in

gentle gifts of grace and beauty. In all of these Fanua was without a rival.

In time of peace and plenty, the taipu's lot was that of a perpetual queen of the May; and had it not been for a feud that broke out between the islands of Aunu and Tutuila, Fanua's reign might have gone on like that of the fairy Titania. This feud soon ripened into a war. Spears were sharpened and clubs were brandished in all the villages of Pago Pago. The great war-canoes were lashed together; bands of shouting men sailed away, singing their battle songs and swearing vengeance. The old chief Asi watched his departing comrades with tears in his eyes; he could not go with them for he was feeble and ailing. Fanua remained with her father, and from day to day brought him the news of the neighboring camps. Villages were burned; fields were plundered; women were carried off; hundreds of men were killed. For nearly a year the savage warfare raged; then both parties began to think of peace. The men from Aunu returned to their island, and the men of Tutuila proclaimed the war ended. Joy reigned in Pago Pago.

The cloud was lifted only for a time, however. Upon the heels of war came gaunt-eyed famine. The bread-fruit trees had been stripped; the plantains shriveled away into dry husks; not even a patch of yams or taro was left. Poor old Asi lay on his mat and seemed to waste away. Three of his sons had been killed in the wars; the two that had been spared claimed that their recent hardships entitled them to a long rest. So it fell to Fanua's lot to keep the family in food, for her brothers did nothing but sit around and talk about their battles. Every day she would tramp through the bush, looking for roots and berries, or paddle off in her canoe to spear fish. Then, when night came, she would steal behind the tapa that screened off her sleeping-place, always tired out and sometimes very hungry. Poor Fanua! the world was so full of toil and trouble now, and the old glad days seemed so far, far away.

One afternoon Fanua had returned early from her labors. Finding her father asleep she launched her canoe and set out for Fagatoga, a point of land that separated Pago Pago from the sea. This was a favorite haunt of Fanua's when she felt weary and depressed. There was a narrow strip of white sandy beach, walled in by high rocks, and the tiniest

thread of a stream that came trickling down the mountain side. The sea had washed out a long, narrow ledge at the root of the cliff, and here Fanua, after hauling up her canoe, sat down to dangle her feet in the cool waters of the brook. Round the point came the sound of the breakers; the air was filled with the smell of seaweed; brilliant winged insects floated in the sunlight, and the waters of the bay danced and sparkled as the trade-wind swept lightly over

them.

Fanua, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, was just falling into a delightful reverie, when she was startled by hearing a low, deep voice call out her name. She sprang to her feet. Who could have followed her? The voice was unfamiliar; she must be dreaming. Thus would she have dismissed her fears with a laugh; but the smile that trembled on her lips turned into a sharp exclamation of fright, when, almost within reach of her hand, and slowly wriggling toward her, she saw a hideous sea-monster. Its head seemed to tower above the boulders on the shore; its tawny mane, tangled with weeds and kelp, fell over a pair of large green eyes that rolled and glittered; its flaming red nostrils distended with each breath, and its open mouth showed immense fangs that could easily have snapped a war-canoe in twain. Slowly waving its head, the dreadful thing drew nearer and nearer.

There was a narrow path leading along the course of the brook, and up this Fanua clambered, never looking behind her until she had reached the bank above. Here she paused for breath. A low, deep, appealing voice was calling, “Stay, Fanua; stay!" More frightened than ever at this mysterious summons-for there was no human being in sight— she sped away through the thicket, believing herself to be pursued by a demon, and never stopped running until she had reached the outskirts of her own village.

Asi lay on his mat groaning and complaining, when Fanua, who had tarried outside long enough to regain her wits, came into the hut. Her two brothers were sitting around a kava bowl, in company with some friends, still talking of their battles, and from time to time bidding the old man drink. Asi shook his head, and with a gesture of despair cried, "Give me food, not drink." Fanua did what she could to comfort him, but only in a half-hearted way,