large is but a hair's-breadth.




CHAPTER II--THE ELEMENTS OF DISCORD: FOREIGN


The huge majority of Samoans, like other God-fearing folk in other
countries, are perfectly content with their own manners. And upon one
condition, it is plain they might enjoy themselves far beyond the average
of man. Seated in islands very rich in food, the idleness of the many
idle would scarce matter; and the provinces might continue to bestow
their names among rival pretenders, and fall into war and enjoy that a
while, and drop into peace and enjoy that, in a manner highly to be
envied. But the condition--that they should be let alone--is now no
longer possible. More than a hundred years ago, and following closely on
the heels of Cook, an irregular invasion of adventurers began to swarm
about the isles of the Pacific. The seven sleepers of Polynesia stand,
still but half aroused, in the midst of the century of competition. And
the island races, comparable to a shopful of crockery launched upon the
stream of time, now fall to make their desperate voyage among pots of
brass and adamant.

Apia, the port and mart, is the seat of the political sickness of Samoa.
At the foot of a peaked, woody mountain, the coast makes a deep indent,
roughly semicircular. In front the barrier reef is broken by the fresh
water of the streams; if the swell be from the north, it enters almost
without diminution; and the war-ships roll dizzily at their moorings, and
along the fringing coral which follows the configuration of the beach,