He was
asked "in the most polite manner," says the same account--"in the most
delicate manner in the world," a reader of Marryat might be tempted to
amend the phrase,--to strike his flag in his own capital; and on his
"refusal to accede to this request," Dr. Stuebel appeared himself with
ten men and an officer from the cruiser _Albatross_; a sailor climbed
into the tree and brought down the flag of Samoa, which was carefully
folded, and sent, "in the most polite manner," to its owner. The consuls
of England and the States were there (the excellent gentlemen!) to
protest. Last, and yet more explicit, the German commodore who visited
the be-titled Tamasese, addressed the king--we may surely say the late
king--as "the High Chief Malietoa."
Had he no party, then? At that time, it is probable, he might have
called some five-sevenths of Samoa to his standard. And yet he sat
there, helpless monarch, like a fowl trussed for roasting. The blame
lies with himself, because he was a helpless creature; it lies also with
England and the States. Their agents on the spot preached peace (where
there was no peace, and no pretence of it) with eloquence and iteration.
Secretary Bayard seems to have felt a call to join personally in the
solemn farce, and was at the expense of a telegram in which he assured
the sinking monarch it was "for the higher interests of Samoa" he should
do nothing.
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