Unexpected Incident
p. 27 · Read in the full issue
ON the night of July 26, in Apia, Wes tern Samoa, the men of the NZ warship, Hawea, were warmly entertained, in the Tivoli Theatre, by hospitable Samoans. Quite late in the evening, some of the guests were enjoying a lavish supper, spread on the stage; others were dancing. Two old Samoans — one with spectacles, one without—were chatting amicably in one corner.
Suddenly, a sharp disturbance attracted general attention. The surprised guests beheld the bespectacled Samoan being fiercely assaulted by a well-known Samoan leader. He bit the dust; and, before he could rise, the Samoan gentle man hurled himself upon his other, un spectacled, countryman.
Spectators intervened and the riotous chieftain was suppressed and led away.
As the happy party broke up, the old Samoan was searching vociferously for his glasses. They were found a dozen feet from where he had fallen —evidence of the fury of the mysterious attack.
The bluejackets thought it was a new, highly acceptable form of entertainment arranged for their benefit; but their em barrassed hosts still are wondering what impelled the big Samoan aristocrat to make that demonstration.