The Yakima herald. [volume] (North Yakima, W.T. [Wash.]) 1889-1914, 1907-04-24
The Signal Flag
By ISABEL STRONG.
In Sunset Magazine


The flag staff over the signal sta
ton rose like slim mast above the
green tops Of the cocoanut trees,
holding aloft a small round ball that
would open out, at the pull of rope,
into three little flags when the first
puff of smoke appeared above the
horizon. For it was steamer day
In Apia; the day when the monthly
mail arrived from America, bring
ing news of the outside world to the
little island capital.
They were stirring early at the
Mission. Ever since early dawn ca
ger eyes had peeped at the signal
star for news of the steamer that
would bring letters from the children
at school. The servants of the con-
sulates, English, German and Amer
fcan, were early on the lookout, each
hoping to be the first messenger Of
good tidings.
The traders, opening their shops
along the Beach road, glanced first
at the signal station, for punctual
arrival of the mail steamer was a
good thing for business.
Little groups of natives appeared
on the road, pretty brown girls and
young men with flowers in their hair
and wreaths about their necks, car
rying strings of seashells and bright
colored seeds, model canoes and tor
toise-shell rings, to sell to the pas
sengers. These, too, looked often
at the flag staff and then, settling
themselves under the shade of the
hau trees, passed the time in sing
ing and laughter.
The sailors, on the three smart
warships riding at anchor in the open
roadstead. kept sharp eye out for
the signal, for they were hungry for
news of the outside world.
Fatalalia had been up while it
was still dark, straining her eyes to
see the three little flags. Her house,
built in the beautiful native fashion,
like huge bee hive, was in immacu-
late order. Even the pebbles on the
door had been laid evenly before the
clean, fragrant mats were spread.
The tall pole that supported the roof
was twined with ferns and hibiscus
flowers, and wreaths of frangipanni
hung in festoons about the caves.
For five years Fata ALA had waited
for this day, or, as she counted it,
ten seasons of the palolo fishing.
Long, uneventful years of changeless
summer; and every month, when the
ball on the signal staff broke out into
flags, she had said to herself "some
day that ship will bring my son back
to me-"
They had taken her boy Siosi
away from her, sending him to school
in the cold country far over the hor-
lion. That was the penalty Samo-
an girl had to pay for marrying a
white man. She had loved her hus-
band, and mourned his death, think
ing that her cup of sorrow was filled
to the brim; but when the American
consul came to her in her bereave-
ment and explained that it was the
Captains orders that their son Siosi
her boy-was to be taken from
her, she felt as though she would die
of despair. She could not under
stand the consuls talk of will,
and an Education" and the "du-
ties of an American Citizen" though
Yandall. the interpreter, explained
for hours. She only knew that the
core Of her heart was wrenched from
her bosom.
There never was such a boy as
Siosi. He talked to her in Samoan
always. and yet he could speak the
foreign stutter she had never mas