{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13876/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13876","id":"gutenberg_13876","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13876","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Polynesia -- Fiction"],"text":"THE GREAT TABOO\n\nby\n\nGRANT ALLEN\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nI desire to express my profound indebtedness, for the central\nmythological idea embodied in this tale, to Mr. J.G. Frazer's admirable\nand epoch-making work, \"The Golden Bough,\" whose main contention I have\nendeavored incidentally to popularize in my present story. I wish also to\nexpress my obligations in other ways to Mr. Andrew Lang's \"Myth, Ritual,\nand Religion,\" Mr. H.O. Forbes's \"Naturalist's Wanderings,\" and Mr.\nJulian Thomas's \"Cannibals and Convicts.\" If I have omitted to mention\nany other author to whom I may have owed incidental hints, it will be\nsome consolation to me to reflect that I shall at least have afforded an\nopportunity for legitimate sport to the amateurs of the new and popular\nBritish pastime of badger-baiting or plagiary-hunting. It may also save\ncritics some moments' search if I say at once that, after careful\nconsideration, I have been unable to discover any moral whatsoever in\nthis humble narrative. I venture to believe that in so enlightened an age\nthe majority of my readers will never miss it.\n\nG.A.\n\nTHE NOOK, DORKING, October, 1890.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nIN MID PACIFIC.\n\n\n\"Man overboard!\"\n\nIt rang in Felix Thurstan's ears like the sound of a bell. He gazed about\nhim in dismay, wondering what had happened.\n\nThe first intimation he received of the accident was that sudden sharp\ncry from the bo'sun's mate. Almost before he had fully taken it in, in\nall its meaning, another voice, farther aft, took up the cry once more in\nan altered form: \"A lady! a lady! Somebody overboard! Great heavens, it\nis _her_! It's Miss Ellis! Miss Ellis!\"\n\nNext instant Felix found himself, he knew not how, struggling in a wild\ngrapple with the dark, black water. A woman was clinging to him--clinging\nfor dear life. But he couldn't have told you himself that minute how it\nall took place. He was too stunned and dazzled.\n\nHe looked around him on the seething sea in a sudden awakening, as it\nwere, to life and consciousness. All about, the great water stretched\ndark and tumultuous. White breakers surged over him. Far ahead the\nsteamer's lights gleamed red and green in long lines upon the ocean. At\nfirst they ran fast; then they slackened somewhat. She was surely slowing\nnow; they must be reversing engines and trying to stop her. They would\nput out a boat. But what hope, what chance of rescue by night, in such a\nwild waste of waves as that? And Muriel Ellis was clinging to him for\ndear life all the while, with the despairing clutch of a half-drowned\nwoman!\n\nThe people on the Australasian, for their part, knew better what had\noccurred. There was bustle and confusion enough on deck and on the\ncaptain's bridge, to be sure: \"Man overboard!\"--three sharp rings at the\nengine bell:--\"Stop her short!--reverse engines!--lower the gig!--look\nsharp, there, all of you!\" Passengers hurried up breathless at the first\nalarm to know what was the matter. Sailors loosened and lowered the boat\nfrom the davits with extraordinary quickness. Officers stood by, giving\norders in monosyllables with practised calm. All was hurry and turmoil,\nyet with a marvellous sense of order and prompt obedience as well. But,\nat any rate, the people on deck hadn't the swift swirl of the boisterous\nwater, the hampering wet clothes, the pervading consciousness of personal\ndanger, to make their brains reel, like Felix Thurstan's. They could ask\none another with comparative composure what had happened on board; they\ncould listen without terror to the story of the accident.\n\nIt was the thirteenth day out from Sydney, and the Australasian was\nrapidly nearing the equator. Toward evening the wind had freshened, and\nthe sea was running high against her weather side. But it was a fine\nstarlit night, though the moon had not yet risen; and as the brief\ntropical twilight faded away by quick degrees in the west, the fringe of\ncocoanut palms on the reef that bounded the little island of Boupari\nshowed out for a minute or two in dark relief, some miles to leeward,\nagainst the pale pink horizon. In spite of the heavy sea, many passengers\nlingered late on deck that night to see the last of that coral-girt\nshore, which was to be their final glimpse of land till they reached\nHonolulu, _en route_ for San Francisco.\n\nBit by bit, however, the cocoanut palms, silhouetted with their graceful\nwaving arms for a few brief minutes in black against the glowing\nbackground, merged slowly into the sky or sank below the horizon. All\ngrew dark. One by one, as the trees disappeared, the passengers dropped\noff for whist in the saloon, or retired to the uneasy solitude of their\nown state-rooms. At last only two or three men were left smoking and\nchatting near the top of the companion ladder; while at the stern of the\nship Muriel Ellis looked over toward the retreating island, and talked\nwith a certain timid maidenly frankness to Felix Thurstan.\n\nThere's nowhere on earth for getting really to know people in a very\nshort time like the deck of a great Atlantic or Pacific liner. You're\nthrown together so much, and all day long, that you see more of your\nfellow-passengers' inner life and nature in a few brief weeks than you\nwould ever be likely to see in a long twelvemonth of ordinary town or\ncountry acquaintanceship. And Muriel Ellis had seen a great deal in those\nthirteen days of Felix Thurstan; enough to make sure in her own heart\nthat she really liked him--well--so much that she looked up with a pretty\nblush of self-consciousness every time he approached and lifted his hat\nto her. Muriel was an English rector's daughter, from a country village\nin Somersetshire; and she was now on her way back from a long year's\nvisit, to recruit her health, to an aunt in Paramatta. She was travelling\nunder the escort of an amiable old chaperon whom the aunt in question had\npicked up for her before leaving Sydney; but, as the amiable old\nchaperon, being but an indifferent sailor, spent most of her time in her\nown berth, closely attended by the obliging stewardess, Muriel had found\nher chaperonage interfere very little with opportunities of talk with\nthat nice Mr. Thurstan. And now, as the last glow of sunset died out in\nthe western sky, and the last palm-tree faded away against the colder\ngreen darkness of the tropical night, Muriel was leaning over the\nbulwarks in confidential mood, and watching the big waves advance or\nrecede, and talking the sort of talk that such an hour seems to favor\nwith the handsome young civil servant who stood on guard, as it were,\nbeside her. For Felix Thurstan held a government appointment at Levuka,\nin Fiji, and was now on his way home, on leave of absence after six\nyears' service in that new-made colony.\n\n\"How delightful it would be to live on an island like that!\" Muriel\nmurmured, half to herself, as she gazed out wistfully in the direction of\nthe disappearing coral reef. \"With those beautiful palms waving always\nover one's head, and that delicious evening air blowing cool through\ntheir branches! It looks such a Paradise!\"\n\nFelix smiled and glanced down at her, as he steadied himself with one\nhand against the bulwark, while the ship rolled over into the trough of\nthe sea heavily. \"Well, I don't know about that, Miss Ellis,\" he answered\nwith a doubtful air, eying her close as he spoke with eyes of evident\nadmiration. \"One might be happy anywhere, of course--in suitable society;\nbut if you'd lived as long among cocoanuts in Fiji as I have, I dare say\nthe poetry of these calm palm-grove islands would be a little less real\nto you. Remember, though they look so beautiful and dreamy against the\nsky like that, at sunset especially (that was a heavy one, that time;\nI'm really afraid we must go down to the cabin soon; she'll be shipping\nseas before long if we stop on deck much later--and yet, it's so\ndelightful stopping up here till the dusk comes on, isn't it?)--well,\nremember, I was saying, though they look so beautiful and dreamy and\npoetical--'Summer isles of Eden lying in dark purple spheres of sea,' and\nall that sort of thing--these islands are inhabited by the fiercest and\nmost bloodthirsty cannibals known to travellers.\"\n\n\"Cannibals!\" Muriel repeated, looking up at him in surprise. \"You don't\nmean to say that islands like these, standing right in the very track of\nEuropean steamers, are still heathen and cannibal?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, yes,\" Felix replied, holding his hand out as he spoke to catch\nhis companion's arm gently, and steady her against the wave that was just\ngoing to strike the stern: \"Excuse me; just so; the sea's rising fast,\nisn't it?--Oh, dear, yes; of course they are; they're all heathen and\ncannibals. You couldn't imagine to yourself the horrible bloodthirsty\nrites that may this very minute be taking place upon that idyllic-looking\nisland, under the soft waving branches of those whispering palm-trees.\nWhy, I knew a man in the Marquesas myself--a hideous old native, as ugly\nas you can fancy him--who was supposed to be a god, an incarnate god, and\nwas worshipped accordingly with profound devotion by all the other\nislanders. You can't picture to yourself how awful their worship was. I\ndaren't even repeat it to you; it was too, too horrible. He lived in a\nhut by himself among the deepest forest, and human victims used to be\nbrought--well, there, it's too loathsome! Why, see; there's a great light\non the island now; a big bonfire or something; don't you make it out? You\ncan tell it by the red glare in the sky overhead.\" He paused a moment;\nthen he added more slowly, \"I shouldn't be surprised if at this very\nmoment, while we're standing here in such perfect security on the deck of\na Christian English vessel, some unspeakable and unthinkable heathen orgy\nmayn't be going on over there beside that sacrificial fire; and if some\npoor trembling native girl isn't being led just now, with blows and\ncurses and awful savage ceremonies, her hands bound behind her back--Oh,\nlook out, Miss Ellis!\"\n\nHe was only just in time to utter the warning words. He was only just in\ntime to put one hand on each side of her slender waist, and hold her\ntight so, when the big wave which he saw coming struck full tilt against\nthe vessel's flank, and broke in one white drenching sheet of foam\nagainst her stern and quarter-deck.\n\nThe suddenness of the assault took Felix's breath away. For the first few\nseconds he was only aware that a heavy sea had been shipped, and had wet\nhim through and through with its unexpected deluge. A moment later, he\nwas dimly conscious that his companion had slipped from his grasp, and\nwas nowhere visible. The violence of the shock, and the slimy nature of\nthe sea water, had made him relax his hold without knowing it, in the\ntumult of the moment, and had at the same time caused Muriel to glide\nimperceptibly through his fingers, as he had often known an ill-caught\ncricket-ball do in his school-days. Then he saw he was on his hands and\nknees on the deck. The wave had knocked him down, and dashed him against\nthe bulwark on the leeward side. As he picked himself up, wet, bruised,\nand shaken, he looked about for Muriel. A terrible dread seized upon his\nsoul at once. Impossible! Impossible! she couldn't have been washed\noverboard!\n\nAnd even as he gazed about, and held his bruised elbow in his hand, and\nwondered to himself what it could all mean, that sudden loud cry arose\nbeside him from the quarter-deck, \"Man overboard! Man overboard!\"\nfollowed a moment later by the answering cry, from the men who were\nsmoking under the lee of the companion, \"A lady! a lady! It's Miss Ellis!\nMiss Ellis!\"\n\nHe didn't take it all in. He didn't reflect. He didn't even know he was\nactually doing it. But he did it, all the same, with the simple,\nstraightforward, instinctive sense of duty which makes civilized man act\naright, all unconsciously, in any moment of supreme danger and\ndifficulty. Leaping on to the taffrail without one instant's delay, and\nsteadying himself for an indivisible fraction of time with his hand on\nthe rope ladder, he peered out into the darkness with keen eyes for a\nglimpse of Muriel Ellis's head above the fierce black water; and espying\nit for one second, as she came up on a white crest, he plunged in before\nthe vessel had time to roll back to windward, and struck boldly out in\nthe direction where he saw that helpless object dashed about like a cork\non the surface of the ocean.\n\nOnly those who have known such accidents at sea can possibly picture to\nthemselves the instantaneous haste with which all that followed took\nplace upon that bustling quarter-deck. Almost at the first cry of \"Man\noverboard!\" the captain's bell rang sharp and quick, as if by magic, with\nthree peremptory little calls in the engine-room below. The Australasian\nwas going at full speed, but in a marvellously short time, as it seemed\nto all on board, the great ship had slowed down to a perfect standstill,\nand then had reversed her engines, so that she lay, just nose to the\nwind, awaiting further orders. In the meantime, almost as soon as the\nwords were out of the bo'sun's lips, a sailor amidships had rushed to the\nsafety belts hung up by the companion ladder, and had flung half a dozen\nof them, one after another, with hasty but well-aimed throws, far, far\nastern, in the direction where Felix had disappeared into the black\nwater. The belts were painted white, and they showed for a few seconds,\nas they fell, like bright specks on the surface of the darkling sea; then\nthey sunk slowly behind as the big ship, still not quite stopped,\nploughed her way ahead with gigantic force into the great abyss of\ndarkness in front of her.\n\nIt seemed but a minute, too, to the watchers on board, before a party of\nsailors, summoned by the whistle with that marvellous readiness to meet\nany emergency which long experience of sudden danger has rendered\nhabitual among seafaring men, had lowered the boat, and taken their seats\non the thwarts, and seized their oars, and were getting under way on\ntheir hopeless quest of search, through the dim black night, for those\ntwo belated souls alone in the midst of the angry Pacific.\n\nIt seemed but a minute or two, I say, to the watchers on board; but oh,\nwhat an eternity of time to Felix Thurstan, struggling there with his\nlive burden in the seething water!\n\nHe had dashed into the ocean, which was dark, but warm with tropical\nheat, and had succeeded, in spite of the heavy seas then running, in\nreaching Muriel, who clung to him now with all the fierce clinging of\ndespair, and impeded his movement through that swirling water. More than\nthat, he saw the white life-belts that the sailors flung toward him; they\nwere well and aptly flung, in the inspiration of the moment, to allow for\nthe sea itself carrying them on the crest of its waves toward the two\ndrowning creatures. Felix saw them distinctly, and making a great lunge\nas they passed, in spite of Muriel's struggles, which sadly hampered his\nmovements, he managed to clutch at no less than three before the great\nbillow, rolling on, carried them off on its top forever away from him.\nTwo of these he slipped hastily over Muriel's shoulders; the other he\nput, as best he might, round his own waist; and then, for the first time,\nstill clinging close to his companion's arm, and buffeted about wildly by\nthat running sea, he was able to look about him in alarm for a moment,\nand realize more or less what had actually happened.\n\nBy this time the Australasian was a quarter of a mile away in front of\nthem, and her lights were beginning to become stationary as she slowly\nslowed and reversed engines. Then, from the summit of a great wave, Felix\nwas dimly aware of a boat being lowered--for he saw a separate light\ngleaming across the sea--a search was being made in the black night,\nalas, how hopelessly! The light hovered about for many, many minutes,\nrevealed to him now here, now there, searching in vain to find him, as\nwave after wave raised him time and again on its irresistible summit. The\nmen in the boat were doing their best, no doubt; but what chance of\nfinding any one on a dark night like that, in an angry sea, and with no\nclue to guide them toward the two struggling castaways? Current and wind\nhad things all their own way. As a matter of fact, the light never came\nnear the castaways at all; and after half an hour's ineffectual search,\nwhich seemed to Felix a whole long lifetime, it returned slowly toward\nthe steamer from which it came--and left those two alone on the dark\nPacific.\n\n\"There wasn't a chance of picking 'em up,\" the captain said, with\nphilosophic calm, as the men clambered on board again, and the\nAustralasian got under way once more for the port of Honolulu. \"I knew\nthere wasn't a chance; but in common humanity one was bound to make some\nshow of trying to save 'em. He was a brave fellow to go after her, though\nit was no good of course. He couldn't even find her, at night, and with\nsuch a sea as that running.\"\n\nAnd even as he spoke, Felix Thurstan, rising once more on the crest of a\nmuch smaller billow--for somehow the waves were getting incredibly\nsmaller as he drifted on to leeward--felt his heart sink within him as he\nobserved to his dismay that the Australasian must be steaming ahead once\nmore, by the movement of her lights, and that they two were indeed\nabandoned to their fate on the open surface of that vast and trackless\nocean.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE TEMPLE OF THE DEITY.\n\n\nWhile these things were happening on the sea close by, a very different\nscene indeed was being enacted meanwhile, beneath those waving palms, on\nthe island of Boupari. It was strange, to be sure, as Felix Thurstan had\nsaid, that such unspeakable heathen orgies should be taking place within\nsight of a passing Christian English steamer. But if only he had known or\nreflected to what sort of land he was trying now to struggle ashore with\nMuriel, he might well have doubted whether it were not better to let her\nperish where she was, in the pure clear ocean, rather than to submit an\nEnglish girl to the possibility of undergoing such horrible heathen rites\nand ceremonies.\n\nFor on the island of Boupari it was high feast with the worshippers of\ntheir god that night. The sun had turned on the Tropic of Capricorn at\nnoon, and was making his way northward, toward the equator once more;\nand his votaries, as was their wont, had all come forth to do him honor\nin due season, and to pay their respects, in the inmost and sacredest\ngrove on the island, to his incarnate representative, the living spirit\nof trees and fruits and vegetation, the very high god, the divine\nTu-Kila-Kila!\n\nEarly in the evening, as soon as the sun's rim had disappeared beneath\nthe ocean, a strange noise boomed forth from the central shrine of\nBoupari. Those who heard it clapped their hands to their ears and ran\nhastily forward. It was a noise like distant rumbling thunder, or the\nwhir of some great English mill or factory; and at its sound every woman\non the island threw herself on the ground prostrate, with her face in the\ndust, and waited there reverently till the audible voice of the god had\nonce more subsided. For no woman knew how that sound was produced. Only\nthe grown men, initiated into the mysteries of the shrine when they came\nof age at the tattooing ceremony, were aware that the strange, buzzing,\nwhirring noise was nothing more or less than the cry of the bull-roarer.\n\nA bull-roarer, as many English schoolboys know, is merely a piece of\noblong wood, pointed at either end, and fastened by a leather thong at\none corner. But when whirled round the head by practised priestly hands,\nit produces a low rumbling noise like the wheels of a distant carriage,\ngrowing gradually louder and clearer, from moment to moment, till at last\nit waxes itself into a frightful din, or bursts into perfect peals of\nimitation thunder. Then it decreases again once more, as gradually as it\nrose, becoming fainter and ever fainter, like thunder as it recedes, till\nthe horrible bellowing, as of supernatural bulls, dies away in the end,\nby slow degrees, into low and soft and imperceptible murmurs.\n\nBut when the savage hears the distant humming of the bull-roarer, at\nwhatever distance, he knows that the mysteries of his god are in full\nswing, and he hurries forward in haste, leaving his work or his pleasure,\nand running, naked as he stands, to take his share in the worship, lest\nthe anger of heaven should burst forth in devouring flames to consume\nhim. But the women, knowing themselves unworthy to face the dread\npresence of the high god in his wrath, rush wildly from the spot, and,\nflinging themselves down at full length, with their mouths to the dust,\nwait patiently till the voice of their deity is no longer audible.\n\nAnd as the bull-roarer on Boupari rang out with wild echoes from the\ncoral caverns in the central grove that evening, Tu-Kila-Kila, their god,\nrose slowly from his place, and stood out from his hut, a deity revealed,\nbefore his reverential worshippers.\n\nAs he rose, a hushed whisper ran wave-like through the dense throng of\ndusky forms that bent low, like corn beneath the wind, before him,\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila rises! He rises to speak! Hush! for the voice of the mighty\nman-god!\"\n\nThe god, looking around him superciliously with a cynical air of\ncontempt, stood forward with a firm and elastic step before his silent\nworshippers. He was a stalwart savage, in the very prime of life, tall,\nlithe, and active. His figure was that of a man well used to command;\nbut his face, though handsome, was visibly marked by every external sign\nof cruelty, lust, and extreme bloodthirstiness. One might have said,\nmerely to look at him, he was a being debased by all forms of brutal and\nhateful self-indulgence. A baleful light burned in his keen gray eyes.\nHis lips were thick, full, purple, and wistful.\n\n\"My people may look upon me,\" he said, in a strangely affable\nvoice, standing forward and smiling with a curious half-cruel,\nhalf-compassionate smile upon his awe-struck followers. \"On every day\nof the sun's course but this, none save the ministers dedicated to the\nservice of Tu-Kila-Kila dare gaze unhurt upon his sacred person. If\nany other did, the light from his holy eyes would wither them up, and\nthe glow of his glorious countenance would scorch them to ashes.\" He\nraised his two hands, palm outward, in front of him. \"So all the year\nround,\" he went on, \"Tu-Kila-Kila, who loves his people, and sends\nthem the earlier and the later rain in the wet season, and makes their\nyams and their taro grow, and causes his sun to shine upon them\nfreely--all the year round Tu-Kila-Kila, your god, sits shut up in his\nown house among the skeletons of those whom he has killed and eaten, or\nwalks in his walled paddock, where his bread-fruit ripens and his\nplantains spring--himself, and the ministers that his tribesmen have\ngiven him.\"\n\nAt the sound of their mystic deity's voice the savages, bending lower\nstill till their foreheads touched the ground, repeated in chorus, to the\nclapping of hands, like some solemn litany: \"Tu-Kila-Kila speaks true.\nOur lord is merciful. He sends down his showers upon our crops and\nfields. He causes his sun to shine brightly over us. He makes our pigs\nand our slaves bring forth their increase. Tu-Kila-Kila is good. His\npeople praise him.\"\n\nThe god took another step forward, the divine mantle of red feathers\nglowing in the sunset on his dusky shoulders, and smiled once more that\nhateful gracious smile of his. He was standing near the open door of his\nwattled hut, overshadowed by the huge spreading arms of a gigantic\nbanyan-tree. Through the open door of the hut it was possible to catch\njust a passing glimpse of an awful sight within. On the beams of the\nhouse, and on the boughs of the trees behind it, human skeletons, half\ncovered with dry flesh, hung in ghastly array, their skulls turned\ndownward. They were the skeletons of the victims Tu-Kila-Kila, their\nprince, had slain and eaten; they were the trophies of the cannibal\nman-god's hateful prowess.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila raised his right hand erect and spoke again. \"I am a great\ngod,\" he said, slowly. \"I am very powerful. I make the sun to shine, and\nthe yams to grow. I am the spirit of plants. Without me there would be\nnothing for you all to eat or drink in Boupari. If I were to grow old and\ndie, the sun would fade away in the heavens overhead; the bread-fruit\ntrees would wither and cease to bear on earth; all fruits would come to\nan end and die at once; all rivers would stop forthwith from running.\"\n\nHis worshippers bowed down in acquiescence with awestruck faces. \"It is\ntrue,\" they answered, in the same slow sing-song of assent as before.\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila is the greatest of gods. We owe to him everything. We hang\nupon his favor.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila started back, laughed, and showed his pearly white teeth.\nThey were beautiful and regular, like the teeth of a tiger, a strong\nyoung tiger. \"But I need more sacrifices than all the other gods,\" he\nwent on, melodiously, like one who plays with consummate skill upon some\ndifficult instrument. \"I am greedy; I am thirsty; I am a hungry god. You\nmust not stint me. I claim more human victims than all the other gods\nbeside. If you want your crops to grow, and your rivers to run, the\nfields to yield you game, and the sea fish--this is what I ask: give me\nvictims, victims! That is our compact. Tu-Kila-Kila calls you.\"\n\nThe men bowed down once more and repeated humbly, \"You shall have victims\nas you will, great god; only give us yam and taro and bread-fruit, and\ncause not your bright light, the sun, to grow dark in heaven over us.\"\n\n\"Cut yourselves,\" Tu-Kila-Kila cried, in a peremptory voice, clapping his\nhands thrice. \"I am thirsting for blood. I want your free-will offering.\"\n\nAs he spoke, every man, as by a set ritual, took from a little skin\nwallet at his side a sharp flake of coral-stone, and, drawing it\ndeliberately across his breast in a deep red gash, caused the blood to\nflow out freely over his chest and long grass waistband. Then, having\ndone so, they never strove for a moment to stanch the wound, but let\nthe red drops fall as they would on to the dust at their feet, without\nseeming even to be conscious at all of the fact that they were flowing.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila smiled once more, a ghastly self-satisfied smile of\nunquestioned power. \"It is well,\" he went on. \"My people love me. They\nknow my strength, how I can wither them up. They give me their blood to\ndrink freely. So I will be merciful to them. I will make my sun shine and\nmy rain drop from heaven. And instead of taking _all_, I will choose one\nvictim.\" He paused, and glanced along their line significantly.\n\n\"Choose, Tu-Kila-Kila,\" the men answered, without a moment's hesitation.\n\"We are all your meat. Choose which one you will take of us.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila walked with a leisurely tread down the lines and surveyed\nthe men critically. They were all drawn up in rows, one behind the other,\naccording to tribes and families; and the god walked along each row,\nexamining them with a curious and interested eye, as a farmer examines\nsheep fit for the market. Now and then, he felt a leg or an arm with his\nfinger and thumb, and hesitated a second. It was an important matter,\nthis choosing a victim. As he passed, a close observer might have noted\nthat each man trembled visibly while the god's eye was upon him, and\nlooked after him askance with a terrified sidelong gaze as he passed on\nto his neighbor. But not one savage gave any overt sign or token of his\nterror or his reluctance. On the contrary, as Tu-Kila-Kila passed along\nthe line with lazy, cruel deliberateness, the men kept chanting aloud\nwithout one tremor in their voices, \"We are all your meat. Choose which\none you will take of us.\"\n\nOn a sudden, Tu-Kila-Kila turned sharply round, and, darting a rapid\nglance toward a row he had already passed several minutes before, he\nexclaimed, with an air of unexpected inspiration, \"Tu-Kila-Kila has\nchosen. He takes Maloa.\"\n\nThe man upon whose shoulder the god laid his heavy hand as he spoke stood\nforth from the crowd without a moment's hesitation. If anger or fear was\nin his heart at all, it could not be detected in his voice or his\nfeatures. He bowed his head with seeming satisfaction, and answered\nhumbly, \"What Tu-Kila-Kila says must need be done. This is a great honor.\nHe is a mighty god. We poor men must obey him. We are proud to be taken\nup and made one with divinity.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila raised in his hand a large stone axe of some polished green\nmaterial, closely resembling jade, which lay on a block by the door, and\ntried its edge with his finger, in an abstracted manner. \"Bind him!\" he\nsaid, quietly, turning round to his votaries. And the men, each glad to\nhave escaped his own fate, bound their comrade willingly with green ropes\nof plantain fibre.\n\n\"Crown him with flowers!\" Tu-Kila-Kila said; and a female attendant,\nabsolved from the terror of the bull-roarer by the god's command, brought\nforward a great garland of crimson hibiscus, which she flung around the\nvictim's neck and shoulders.\n\n\"Lay his head on the sacred stone block of our fathers,\" Tu-Kila-Kila\nwent on, in an easy tone of command, waving his hand gracefully. And the\nmen, moving forward, laid their comrade, face downward, on a huge flat\nblock of polished greenstone, which lay like an altar in front of the\nhut with the mouldering skeletons.\n\n\"It is well,\" Tu-Kila-Kila murmured once more, half aloud. \"You have\ngiven me the free-will offering. Now for the trespass! Where is the\nwoman who dared to approach too near the temple-home of the divine\nTu-Kila-Kila? Bring the criminal forward!\"\n\nThe men divided, and made a lane down their middle. Then one of them, a\nminister of the man-god's shrine, led up by the hand, all trembling and\nshrinking with supernatural terror in every muscle, a well-formed young\ngirl of eighteen or twenty. Her naked bronze limbs were shapely and\nlissome; but her eyes were swollen and red with tears, and her face\nstrongly distorted with awe for the man-god. When she stood at last\nbefore Tu-Kila-Kila's dreaded face, she flung herself on the ground in an\nagony of fear.\n\n\"Oh, mercy, great God!\" she cried, in a feeble voice. \"I have sinned, I\nhave sinned. Mercy, mercy!\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila smiled as before, a smile of imperial pride. No ray of pity\ngleamed from those steel-gray eyes. \"Does Tu-Kila-Kila show mercy?\" he\nasked, in a mocking voice. \"Does he pardon his suppliants? Does he\nforgive trespasses? Is he not a god, and must not his wrath be appeased?\nShe, being a woman, and not a wife sealed to Tu-Kila-Kila, has dared to\nlook from afar upon his sacred home. She has spied the mysteries.\nTherefore she must die. My people, bind her.\"\n\nIn a second, without more ado, while the poor trembling girl writhed and\ngroaned in her agony before their eyes, that mob of wild savages, let\nloose to torture and slay, fell upon her with hideous shouts, and bound\nher, as they had bound their comrade before, with coarse native ropes of\ntwisted plantain fibre.\n\n\"Lay her head on the stone,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, grimly. And his votaries\nobeyed him.\n\n\"Now light the sacred fire to make our feast, before I slay the victims,\"\nthe god said, in a gloating voice, running his finger again along the\nedge of his huge hatchet.\n\nAs he spoke, two men, holding in their hands hollow bamboos with coals of\nfire concealed within, which they kept aglow meanwhile by waving them up\nand down rapidly in the air, laid these primitive matches to the base of\na great pyramidal pile of wood and palm-leaves, ready prepared beforehand\nin the yard of the temple. In a second, the dry fuel, catching the sparks\ninstantly, blazed up to heaven with a wild outburst of flame. Great red\ntongues of fire licked up the mouldering mass of leaves and twigs, and\ncaught at once at the trunks of palm and li wood within. A huge\nconflagration reddened the sky at once like lightning. The effect was\nmagical. The glow transfigured the whole island for miles. It was, in\nfact, the blaze that Felix Thurstan had noted and remarked upon as he\nstood that evening on the silent deck of the Australasian.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila gazed at it with horrid childish glee. \"A fine fire!\" he\nsaid, gayly. \"A fire worthy of a god. It will serve me well. Tu-Kila-Kila\nwill have a good oven to roast his meal in.\"\n\nThen he turned toward the sea, and held up his hand once more for\nsilence. As he did so, an answering light upon its surface attracted his\neye for a moment's space. It was a bright red light, mixed with white and\ngreen ones; in point of fact, the Australasian was passing. Tu-Kila-Kila\npointed toward it solemnly with his plump, brown fore-finger. \"See,\" he\nsaid, drawing himself up and looking preternaturally wise; \"your god is\ngreat. I am sending some of this fire across the sea to where my sun has\nset, to aid and reinforce it. That is to keep up the fire of the sun,\nlest ever at any time it should fade and fail you. While Tu-Kila-Kila\nlives the sun will burn bright. If Tu-Kila-Kila were to die it would be\nnight forever.\"\n\nHis votaries, following their god's fore-finger as it pointed, all turned\nto look in the direction he indicated with blank surprise and\nastonishment. Such a sight had never met their eyes before, for the\nAustralasian was the very first steamer to take the eastward route,\nthrough the dangerous and tortuous Boupari Channel. So their awe and\nsurprise at the unwonted sight knew no bounds. Fire on the ocean!\nMiraculous light on the waves! Their god must, indeed, be a mighty deity\nif he could send flames like that careering over the sea! Surely the sun\nwas safe in the hands of a potentate who could thus visibly reinforce it\nwith red light, and white! In their astonishment and awe, they stood with\ntheir long hair falling down over their foreheads, and their hands held\nup to their eyes that they might gaze the farther across the dim, dark\nocean. The borrowed light of their bonfire was moving, slowly moving over\nthe watery sea. Fire and water were mixing and mingling on friendly\nterms. Impossible! Incredible! Marvellous! Miraculous! They prostrated\nthemselves in their terror at Tu-Kila-Kila's feet. \"Oh, great god,\" they\ncried, in awe-struck tones, \"your power is too vast! Spare us, spare us,\nspare us!\"\n\nAs for Tu-Kila-Kila himself, he was not astonished at all. Strange as it\nsounds to us, he really believed in his heart what he said. Profoundly\nconvinced of his own godhead, and abjectly superstitious as any of his\nown votaries, he absolutely accepted as a fact his own suggestion, that\nthe light he saw was the reflection of that his men had kindled. The\ninterpretation he had put upon it seemed to him a perfectly natural and\njust one. His worshippers, indeed, mere men that they were, might be\nterrified at the sight; but why should he, a god, take any special notice\nof it?\n\nHe accepted his own superiority as implicitly as our European nobles and\nrulers accept theirs. He had no doubts himself, and he considered those\nwho had little better than criminals.\n\nBy and by, a smaller light detached itself by slow degrees from the\ngreater ones. The others stood still, and halted in mid-ocean. The lesser\nlight made as if it would come in the direction of Boupari. In point of\nfact, the gig had put out in search of Felix and Muriel.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila interpreted the facts at once, however, in his own way.\n\"See,\" he said, pointing with his plump forefinger once more, and\nencouraging with his words his terrified followers, \"I am sending back a\nlight again from the sun to my island. I am doing my work well. I am\ntaking care of my people. Fear not for your future. In the light is yet\nanother victim. A man and a woman will come to Boupari from the sun, to\nmake up for the man and woman whom we eat in our feast to-night. Give me\nplenty of victims, and you will have plenty of yam. Make haste, then;\nkill, eat; let us feast Tu-Kila-Kila! To-morrow the man and woman I have\nsent from the sun will come ashore on the reef, and reach Boupari.\"\n\nAt the words, he stepped forward and raised that heavy tomahawk. With\none blow each he brained the two bound and defenceless victims on the\naltar-stone of his fathers. The rest, a European hand shrinks from\nrevealing. The orgy was too horrible even for description.\n\nAnd that was the land toward which, that moment, Felix Thurstan was\nstruggling, with all his might, to carry Muriel Ellis, from the myriad\nclasping arms of a comparatively gentle and merciful ocean!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nLAND; BUT WHAT LAND?\n\n\nAs the last glimmering lights of the Australasian died away to seaward,\nFelix Thurstan knew in his despair there was nothing for it now but to\nstrike out boldly, if he could, for the shore of the island.\n\nBy this time the breakers had subsided greatly. Not, indeed, that the sea\nitself was really going down. On the contrary, a brisk wind was rising\nsharper from the east, and the waves on the open Pacific were growing\neach moment higher and loppier. But the huge mountain of water that\nwashed Muriel Ellis overboard was not a regular ordinary wave; it was\nthat far more powerful and dangerous mass, a shoal-water breaker. The\nAustralasian had passed at that instant over a submerged coral-bar, quite\ndeep enough, indeed, to let her cross its top without the slightest\ndanger of grazing, but still raised so high toward the surface as to\nproduce a considerable constant ground-swell, which broke in windy\nweather into huge sheets of surf, like the one that had just struck and\nwashed over the Australasian, carrying Muriel with it. The very same\ncause that produced the breakers, however, bore Felix on their summit\nrapidly landward; and once he had got well beyond the region of the bar\nthat begot them, he found himself soon, to his intense relief, in\ncomparatively calm shoal water.\n\nMuriel Ellis, for her part, was faint with terror and with the\nbuffeting of the waves; but she still floated by his side, upheld by the\nlife-belts. He had been able, by immense efforts, to keep unseparated\nfrom her amid the rending surf of the breakers. Now that they found\nthemselves in easier waters for a while, Felix began to strike out\nvigorously through the darkness for the shore. Holding up his companion\nwith one hand, and swimming with all his might in the direction where a\nvague white line of surf, lit up by the red glare-of some fire far\ninland, made him suspect the nearest land to lie, he almost thought he\nhad succeeded at last, after a long hour of struggle, in feeling his\nfeet, after all, on a firm coral bottom.\n\nAt the very moment he did so, and touched the ground underneath, another\ngreat wave, curling resistlessly behind him, caught him up on its crest,\nwhirled him heavenward like a cork, and then dashed him down once more, a\npassive burden, on some soft and yielding substance, which he conjectured\nat once to be a beach of finely powdered coral fragments. As he touched\nthis beach for an instant, the undertow of that vast dashing breaker\nsucked him back with its ebb again, a helpless, breathless creature; and\nthen the succeeding wave rolled him over like a ball, upon the beach as\nbefore, in quick succession. Four times the back-current sucked him under\nwith its wild pull in the self-same way, and four times the return wave\nflung him up upon the beach again like a fragment of sea-weed. With\nfrantic efforts Felix tried at first to cling still to Muriel--to save\nher from the irresistible force of that roaring surf--to snatch her from\nthe open jaws of death by sheer struggling dint of thews and muscle. He\nmight as well have tried to stem Niagara. The great waves, curling\nirresistibly in huge curves landward, caught either of them up by turns\non their arched summits, and twisted them about remorselessly, raising\nthem now aloft on their foaming crest, beating them back now prone in\ntheir hollow trough, and flinging them fiercely at last with pitiless\nenergy against the soft beach of coral. If the beach had been hard, they\nmust infallibly have been ground to powder or beaten to jelly by the\ncolossal force of those gigantic blows. Fortunately it was yielding,\nsmooth, and clay-like, and received them almost as a layer of moist\nplaster of Paris might have done, or they would have stood no chance at\nall for their lives in that desperate battle with the blind and frantic\nforces of unrelenting nature.\n\nNo man who has not himself seen the surf break on one of these\nfar-southern coral shores can form any idea in his own mind of the terror\nand horror of the situation. The water, as it reaches the beach, rears\nitself aloft for a second into a huge upright wall, which, advancing\nslowly, curls over at last in a hollow circle, and pounds down upon the\nsand or reef with all the crushing force of some enormous sledge-hammer.\nBut after the fourth assault, Felix felt himself flung up high and dry by\nthe wave, as one may sometimes see a bit of light reed or pith flung up\nsome distance ahead by an advancing tide on the beach in England. In an\ninstant he steadied himself and staggered to his feet. Torn and bruised\nas he was by the pummelling of the billows, he looked eagerly into the\nwater in search of his companion. The next wave flung up Muriel, as the\nlast had flung himself. He bent over her with a panting heart as she lay\nthere, insensible, on the long white shore. Alive or dead? that was now\nthe question.\n\nRaising her hastily in his arms, with her clothes all clinging wet and\nclose about her, Felix carried her over the narrow strip of tidal beach,\nabove high-water level, and laid her gently down on a soft green bank of\nshort tropical herbage, close to the edge of the coral. Then he bent over\nher once more, and listened eagerly at her heart. It still beat with\nfaint pulses--beat--beat--beat. Felix throbbed with joy. She was alive!\nalive! He was not quite alone, then, on that unknown island!\n\nAnd strange as it seemed, it was only a little more than two short hours\nsince they had stood and looked out across the open sea over the bulwarks\nof the Australasian together!\n\nBut Felix had no time to moralize just then. The moment was clearly\none for action. Fortunately, he happened to carry three useful things\nin his pocket when he jumped overboard after Muriel. The first was a\npocket-knife; the second was a flask with a little whiskey in it; and the\nthird, perhaps the most important of all, a small metal box of wax vesta\nmatches. Pouring a little whiskey into the cup of the flask, he held it\neagerly to Muriel's lips. The fainting girl swallowed it automatically.\nThen Felix, stooping down, tried the matches against the box. They were\nunfortunately wet, but half an hour's exposure, he knew, on sun-warmed\nstones, in that hot, tropical air, would soon restore them again. So he\nopened the box and laid them carefully out on a flat white slab of coral.\nAfter that, he had time to consider exactly where they were, and what\ntheir chances in life, if any, might now amount to.\n\nPitch dark as it was, he had no difficulty in deciding at once by the\ngeneral look of things that they had reached a fringing reef, such as he\nwas already familiar with in the Marquesas and elsewhere. The reef was no\ndoubt circular, and it enclosed within itself a second or central island,\ndivided from it by a shallow lagoon of calm, still water. He walked some\nyards inland. From where he now stood, on the summit of the ridge, he\ncould look either way, and by the faint reflected light of the stars, or\nthe glare of the great pyre that burned on the central island, he could\nsee down on one side to the ocean, with its fierce white pounding surf,\nand on the other to the lagoon, reflecting the stars overhead, and\nmotionless as a mill-pond. Between them lay the low raised ridge of\ncoral, covered with tall stems of cocoanut palms, and interspersed here\nand there, as far as his eye could judge, with little rectangular clumps\nof plantain and taro.\n\nBut what alarmed Felix most was the fire that blazed so brightly to\nheaven on the central island; for he knew too well that meant--there were\n_men_ on the place; the land was inhabited.\n\nThe cocoanuts and taro told the same doubtful tale. From the way they\ngrew, even in that dim starlight, Felix recognized at once they had all\nbeen planted.\n\nStill, he didn't hesitate to do what he thought best for Muriel's relief\nfor all that. Collecting a few sticks and fragments of palm-branches from\nthe jungle about, he piled them into a heap, and waited patiently for his\nmatches to dry. As soon as they were ready--and the warmth of the stone\nmade them quickly inflammable--he struck a match on the box, and\nproceeded to light his fire by Muriel's side. As her clothes grew warmer,\nthe poor girl opened her eyes at last, and, gazing around her, exclaimed,\nin blank terror, \"Oh, Mr. Thurstan, where are we? What does all this\nmean? Where have we got to? On a desert island?\"\n\n\"No, _not_ on a desert island,\" Felix answered, shortly; \"I'm afraid it's\na great deal worse than that. To tell you the truth, I'm afraid it's\ninhabited.\"\n\nAt that moment, by the hot embers of the great sacrificial pyre on the\ncentral hill, two of the savage temple-attendants, calling their god's\nattention to a sudden blaze of flame upon the fringing reef, pointed with\ntheir dark forefingers and called out in surprise, \"See, see, a fire on\nthe barrier! A fire! A fire! What can it mean? There are no men of our\npeople over there to-night. Have war-canoes arrived? Has some enemy\nlanded?\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila leaned back, drained his cocoanut cup of intoxicating kava,\nand surveyed the unwonted apparition on the reef long and carefully. \"It\nis nothing,\" he said at last, in his most deliberate manner, stroking his\ncheeks and chin contentedly with that plump round hand of his. \"It is\nonly the victims; the new victims I promised you. Korong! Korong! They\nhave come ashore with their light from my home in the sun. They have\nbrought fire afresh--holy fire to Boupari.\"\n\nThree or four of the savages leaped up in fierce joy, and bowed before\nhim as he spoke, with eager faces. \"Oh, Tu-Kila-Kila!\" the eldest among\nthem said, making a profound reverence, \"shall we swim across to the reef\nand fetch them home to your house? Shall we take over our canoes and\nbring back your victims!\"\n\nThe god motioned them back with one outstretched palm. His eyes were\nflushed and his look lazy. \"Not to-night, my people,\" he said;\nreadjusting the garland of flowers round his neck, and giving a careless\nglance at the well-picked bones that a few hours before had been two\ntrembling fellow creatures. \"Tu-Kila-Kila has feasted his fill for this\nevening. Your god is full; his heart is happy. I have eaten human flesh;\nI have drunk of the juice of the kava. Am I not a great deity? Can I not\ndo as I will? I frown, and the heavens thunder; I gnash my teeth, and the\nearth trembles. What is it to me if fresh victims come, or if they come\nnot? Can I not make with a nod as many as I will of them?\" He took up two\nfresh finger-bones, clean gnawed of their flesh, and knocked them\ntogether in a wild tune, carelessly. \"If Tu-Kila-Kila chooses,\" he went\non, tapping his chest with conscious pride, \"he can knock these bones\ntogether--so--and bid them live again. Is it not I who cause women and\nbeasts to bring forth their young? Is it not I who give the turtles their\nincrease? And is it not a small thing to me, therefore, whether the sea\ntosses up my victims from my home in the sun, or whether it does not? Let\nus leave them alone on the reef for to-night; to-morrow we will send over\nour canoes to fetch them.\"\n\nIt was all pure brag, all pure guesswork; and yet, Tu-Kila-Kila himself\nprofoundly believed it.\n\nAs he spoke, the light from Felix's fire blazed out against the dark sky,\nstronger and clearer still; and through that cloudless tropical air the\nfigure of a man, standing for one moment between the flames and the\nlagoon, became distinctly visible to the keen and practised eyes of the\nsavages. \"I see them? I see them; I see the victims!\" the foremost\nworshipper exclaimed, rushing forward a little at the sight, and beside\nhimself with superstitious awe and surprise at Tu-Kila-Kila's presence.\n\"Surely our god is great! He knows all things! He brings us meat from\nthe setting sun, in ships of fire, in blazing canoes, across the golden\nroad of the sun-bathed ocean!\"\n\nAs for Tu-Kila-Kila himself, leaning on his elbow at ease, he gazed\nacross at the unexpected sight with very languid interest. He was a god,\nand he liked to see things conducted with proper decorum. This crowing\nand crying over a couple of spirits--mere ordinary spirits come ashore\nfrom the sun in a fiery boat--struck his godship as little short of\nchildish. \"Let them be,\" he answered, petulantly, crushing a blossom in\nhis hand. \"Let no man disturb them. They shall rest where they are till\nto-morrow morning. We have eaten; we have drunk; our soul is happy. The\nkava within us has made us like a god indeed. I shall give my ministers\ncharge that no harm happen to them.\"\n\nHe drew a whistle from his side and whistled once. There was a moment's\npause. Then Tu-Kila-Kila spoke in a loud voice again. \"The King of Fire!\"\nhe exclaimed, in tones of princely authority.\n\nFrom within the hut there came forth slowly a second stalwart savage, big\nbuilt and burly as the great god himself, clad in a long robe or cloak of\nyellow feathers, which shone bright with a strange metallic gleam in the\nruddy light of the huge pile of li-wood.\n\n\"The King of Fire is here, Tu-Kila-Kila,\" the lesser god made answer,\nbending his head slightly.\n\n\"Fire,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, like a monarch giving orders to his attendant\nminister, \"if any man touch the newcomers on the reef before I cause my\nsun to rise to-morrow morning, scorch up his flesh with your flame, and\nconsume his bones to ash and cinder. If any woman go near them before\nTu-Kila-Kila bids, let her be rolled in palm-leaves, and smeared with\noil, and light her up for a torch on a dark night to lighten our temple.\"\n\nThe King of Fire bent his head in assent. \"It is as Tu-Kila-Kila wills,\"\nhe answered, submissively.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila whistled again, this time twice. \"The King of Water!\" he\nexclaimed, in the same loud tone of command as before.\n\nAt the words, a man of about forty, tall and sinewy, clad in a short cape\nof white albatross feathers, and with a girdle of nautilus shells\ninterspersed with red coral tied around his waist, came forth to the\nsummons.\n\n\"The King of Water is here,\" he said, bending his head, but not his knee,\nbefore the greater deity.\n\n\"Water,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, with half-tipsy solemnity, \"you are a god\ntoo. Your power is very great. But less than mine. Do, then, as I bid\nyou. If any man touch my spirits, whom I have brought from my home in the\nsun in a fiery ship, before I bid him to-morrow, overturn his canoe, and\ndrown him in lagoon or spring or ocean. If any woman go near them without\nTu-Kila-Kila's leave, bind her hand and foot with ropes of porpoise hide,\nand cast her out into the surf, and dash her with your waves, and pummel\nher to pieces.\"\n\nThe King of Water bent his head a second time. \"I am a great god,\" he\nanswered, \"before all others save you: but for you, Tu-Kila-Kila, I haste\nto do your bidding. If any man disobey you, my billows shall rise and\noverwhelm him in the sea. I am a great god. I claim each year many\ndrowned victims.\"\n\n\"But not so many as me,\" Tu-Kila-Kila interposed, his hand playing on his\nknife with a faint air of impatience.\n\n\"But not so many as you,\" the minor god added, in haste, as if to appease\nhis rising anger. \"Fire and Water ever speed to do your bidding.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila stood up, turned toward the distant flame, and waved his\nhands round and round three times before him. \"Let this be for you all a\ngreat taboo,\" he said, glancing once more toward his awe-struck\nfollowers. \"Now the mysteries are over. Tu-Kila-Kila will sleep. He has\neaten of human flesh. He has drunk of cocoanut rum and of new kava. He\nhas brought back his sun on its way in the heavens. He has sent it\nmessengers of fire to reinforce its strength. He has fetched from it\nmessengers in turn with fresh fire to Boupari, fire not lighted from any\nearthly flame; fire new, divine, scorching, unspeakable. To-morrow we\nwill talk with the spirits he has brought. To-night we will sleep. Now\nall go to your homes; and tell your women of this great taboo, lest they\nspeak to the spirits, and fall into the hands of Fire or of Water.\"\n\nThe savages dropped on their faces before the eye of their god and lay\nquite still. They made a path as it were from the pyre to the temple door\nwith their prostrate bodies. Tu-Kila-Kila, walking with unsteady steps\nover their half-naked forms, turned to his hut in a drunken booze. He\nwalked over them with no more compunction or feeling than over so many\nlogs. Why should he not, indeed? For he was a god, and they were his\nmeat, his servants, his worshippers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE GUESTS OF HEAVEN.\n\n\nAll that night through--their first lonely night on the island of\nBoupari--Felix sat up by his flickering fire, wide awake, half expecting\nand dreading some treacherous attack of the unknown savages. From time to\ntime he kept adding dry fuel to his smouldering pile; and he never ceased\nto keep a keen eye both on the lagoon and the reef, in case an assault\nshould be made upon them suddenly by land or water. He knew the South\nSeas quite well enough already to have all the possibilities of\nmisfortune floating vividly before his eyes. He realized at once from his\nown previous experience the full loneliness and terror of their unarmed\ncondition.\n\nFor Boupari was one of those rare remote islets where the very rumor of\nour European civilization has hardly yet penetrated.\n\nAs for Muriel, though she was alarmed enough, of course, and intensely\nshaken by the sudden shock she had received, the whole surroundings were\ntoo wholly unlike any world she had ever yet known to enable her to take\nin at once the utter horror of the situation. She only knew they were\nalone, wet, bruised, and terribly battered; and the Australasian had gone\non, leaving them there to their fate on an unknown island. That, for the\nmoment, was more than enough for her of accumulated misfortune. She come\nto herself but slowly, and as her torn clothes dried by degrees before\nthe fire and the heat of the tropical night, she was so far from fully\nrealizing the dangers of their position that her first and principal fear\nfor the moment was lest she might take cold from her wet things drying\nupon her. She ate a little of the plantain that Felix picked for her; and\nat times, toward morning, she dozed off into an uneasy sleep, from pure\nfatigue and excess of weariness. As she slept, Felix, bending over her,\nwith the biggest blade of his knife open in case of attack, watched with\nprofound emotion the rise and fall of her bosom, and hesitated with\nhimself, if the worst should come to the worst, as to what he ought to do\nwith her.\n\nIt would be impossible to let a pure young English girl like that fall\nhelplessly into the hands of such bloodthirsty wretches as he knew the\nislanders were almost certain to be. Who could tell what nameless\nindignities, what incredible tortures they might wantonly inflict upon\nher innocent soul? Was it right of him to have let her come ashore at\nall? Ought he not rather to have allowed the more merciful sea to take\nher life easily, without the chance or possibility of such additional\nhorrors?\n\nAnd now--as she slept--so calm and pure and maidenly--what was his\nduty that minute, just there to her? He felt the blade of his knife\nwith his finger cautiously, and almost doubted. If only she could tell\nwhat things might be in store for her, would she not, herself, prefer\ndeath, an honorable death, at the friendly hands of a tenderhearted\nfellow-countryman, to the unspeakable insults of these man-eating\nPolynesians? If only he had the courage to release her by one blow, as\nshe lay there, from the coming ill! But he hadn't; he hadn't. Even on\nboard the Australasian he had been vaguely aware that he was getting very\nfond of that pretty little Miss Ellis. And now that he sat there, after\nthat desperate struggle for life with the pounding waves, mounting guard\nover her through the livelong night, his own heart told him plainly, in\ntones he could not disobey, he loved her too well to dare what he thought\nbest in the end for her.\n\nStill, even so, he was brave enough to feel he must never let the very\nworst of all befall her. He bethought him, in his doubt and agony, of how\nhis uncle, Major Thurstan, during the great Indian mutiny, had held his\nlonely bungalow, with his wife and daughter by his side, for three long\nhours against a howling mob of native insurgents; and how, when further\nresistance was hopeless, and that great black wave of angry humanity\nburst in upon them at last, the brave soldier had drawn his revolver,\nshot his wife and daughter with unerring aim, to prevent their falling\nalive into the hands of the natives, and then blown his own brains out\nwith his last remaining cartridge. As his uncle had done at Jhansi,\nthirty years before, so he himself would do on that nameless Pacific\nisland--for he didn't know even now on what shore he had landed. If the\nsavages bore down upon them with hostile intent, and threatened Muriel,\nhe would plunge his knife first into that innocent woman's heart; and\nthen bury it deep in his own, and die beside her.\n\nSo the long night wore on--Muriel pillowed on loose cocoanut husk, dozing\nnow and again, and waking with a start to gaze round about her wildly,\nand realize once more in what plight she found herself; Felix crouching\nby her feet, and keeping watch with eager eyes and ears on every side for\nthe least sign of a noiseless, naked footfall through the tangled growth\nof that dense tropical under-bush. Time after time he clapped his hand to\nhis ear, shell-wise, and listened and peered, with knitted brow,\nsuspecting some sudden swoop from an ambush in the jungle of creepers\nbehind the little plantain patch. Time after time he grasped his knife\nhard, and puckered his eyebrows resolutely, and stood still with bated\nbreath for a fierce, wild leap upon his fancied assailant. But the night\nwore away by degrees, a minute at a time, and no man came; and dawn began\nto brighten the sea-line to eastward.\n\nAs the day dawned, Felix could see more clearly exactly where he was, and\nin what surroundings. Without, the ocean broke in huge curling billows on\nthe shallow beach of the fringing reef with such stupendous force that\nFelix wondered how they could ever have lived through its pounding surf\nand its fiercely retreating undertow. Within, the lagoon spread its calm\nlake-like surface away to the white coral shore of the central atoll.\nBetween these two waters, the greater and the less, a waving palisade of\ntall-stemmed palm-trees rose on a narrow ribbon of circular land that\nformed the fringing reef. All night through he had felt, with a strange\neerie misgiving, the very foundations of the land thrill under his feet\nat every dull thud or boom of the surf on its restraining barrier. Now\nthat he could see that thin belt of shore in its actual shape and size,\nhe was not astonished at this constant shock; what surprised him rather\nwas the fact that such a speck of land could hold its own at all against\nthe ceaseless cannonade of that seemingly irresistible ocean.\n\nHe stood up, hatless, in his battered tweed suit, and surveyed the scene\nof their present and future adventures. It took but a glance to show him\nthat the whole ground-plan of the island was entirely circular. In the\nmidst of all rose the central atoll itself, a tiny mountain-peak, just\nprojecting with its hills and gorges to a few hundred feet above the\nsurface of the ocean. Outside it came the lagoon, with its placid ring of\nglassy water surrounding the circular island, and separated from the sea\nby an equally circular belt of fringing reef, covered thick with waving\nstems of picturesque cocoanut. It was on the reef they had landed, and\nfrom it they now looked across the calm lagoon with doubtful eyes toward\nthe central island.\n\nAs soon as the sun rose, their doubts were quickly resolved into fears\nor certainties. Scarcely had its rim begun to show itself distinctly\nabove the eastern horizon, when a great bustle and confusion was\nnoticeable at once on the opposite shore. Brown-skinned savages were\ncollecting in eager groups by a white patch of beach, and putting out\nrude but well-manned canoes into the calm waters of the lagoon. At sight\nof their naked arms and bustling gestures, Muriel's heart sank suddenly\nwithin her. \"Oh, Mr. Thurstan,\" she cried, clinging to his arm in her\nterror, \"what does it all mean? Are they going to hurt us? Are these\nsavages coming over? Are they coming to kill us?\"\n\nFelix grasped his trusty knife hard in his right hand, and swallowed a\ngroan, as he looked tenderly down upon her. \"Muriel,\" he said, forgetting\nin the excitement of the moment the little conventionalities and\ncourtesies of civilized life, \"if they are, trust me, you never shall\nfall alive into their cruel hands. Sooner than that--\" he held up the\nknife significantly, with its open blade before her.\n\nThe poor girl clung to him harder still, with a ghastly shudder. \"Oh,\nit's terrible, terrible,\" she cried, turning deadly pale. Then, after a\nshort pause, she added, \"But I would rather have it so. Do as you say. I\ncould bear it from you. Promise me _that_, rather than that those\ncreatures should kill me.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" Felix answered, clasping her hand hard, and paused, with the\nknife ever ready in his right, awaiting the approach of the half-naked\nsavages.\n\nThe boats glided fast across the lagoon, propelled by the paddles of the\nstalwart Polynesians who manned them, and crowded to the water's edge\nwith groups of grinning and shouting warriors. They were dressed in\naprons of drac\u00e6na leaves only, with necklets and armlets of sharks'\nteeth and cowrie shells. A dozen canoes at least were making toward the\nreef at full speed, all bristling with spears and alive with noisy and\nboisterous savages. Muriel shrank back terror-stricken at the sight, as\nthey drew nearer and nearer. But Felix, holding his breath hard, grew\nsomewhat less nervous as the men approached the reef. He had seen enough\nof Polynesian life before now to feel sure these people were not upon the\nwar-path. Whatever their ultimate intentions toward the castaways might\nbe, their immediate object seemed friendly and good-humored. The boats,\nthough large, were not regular war-canoes; the men, instead of\nbrandishing their spears, and lunging out with them over the edge in\nthreatening attitudes, held them erect in their hands at rest, like\nstandards; they were laughing and talking, not crying their war-cry. As\nthey drew near the shore, one big canoe shot suddenly a length or so\nahead of the rest; and its leader, standing on the grotesque carved\nfigure that adorned its prow, held up both his hands open and empty\nbefore him, in sign of peace, while at the same time he shouted out a\nword or two three times in his own language, to reassure the castaways.\n\nFelix's eye glanced cautiously from boat to boat. \"He says, 'We are\nfriends,'\" the young man remarked in an undertone to his terrified\ncompanion. \"I can understand his dialect. Thank Heaven, it's very close\nto Fijian. I shall be able at least to palaver to these men. I don't\nthink they mean just now to harm us. I believe we can trust them, at any\nrate for the present.\"\n\nThe poor girl drew back, in still greater awe and alarm than ever. \"Oh,\nare they going to land here?\" she cried, still clinging closer with both\nhands to her one friend and protector.\n\n\"Try not to look so frightened!\" Felix exclaimed, with a warning glance.\n\"Remember, much depends upon it; savages judge you greatly by what\ndemeanor you happen to assume. If you're frightened, they know their\npower; if they see you're resolute, they suspect you have some\nsupernatural means of protection. Try to meet them frankly, as if you\nwere not afraid of them.\" Then, advancing slowly to the water's edge, he\ncalled out aloud, in a strong, clear voice, a few words which Muriel\ndidn't understand, but which were really the Fijian for \"We also are\nfriendly. Our medicine is good. We mean no magic. We come to you from\nacross the great water. We desire your peace. Receive us and protect us!\"\n\nAt the sound of words which he could readily understand, and which\ndiffered but little, indeed, from his own language, the leader on the\nforemost canoe, who seemed by his manner to be a great chief, turned\nround to his followers and cried out in tones of superstitious awe,\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila spoke well. These are, indeed, what he told us. Korong!\nKorong! They are spirits who have come to us from the disk of the sun, to\nbring us light and pure, fresh fire. Stay back there, all of you. You are\nnot holy enough to approach. I and my crew, who are sanctified by the\nmysteries, we alone will go forward to meet them.\"\n\nAs he spoke, a sudden idea, suggested by his words, struck Felix's mind.\nSuperstition is the great lever by which to move the savage intelligence.\nGathering up a few dry leaves and fragments of stick on the shore, he\nlaid them together in a pile, and awaited in silence the arrival of the\nforemost islanders. The first canoe advanced slowly and cautiously, the\nmen in it eying these proceedings with evident suspicion; the rest hung\nback, with their spears in array, and their hands just ready to use them\nwith effect should occasion demand it.\n\nThe leader of the first canoe, coming close to the shore, jumped out upon\nthe reef in shallow water. Half a dozen of his followers jumped after him\nwithout hesitation, and brandished their weapons round their heads as\nthey advanced, in savage unison. But Felix, pretending hardly to notice\nthese hostile demonstrations, stepped boldly up toward his little pile\nwith great deliberation, though trembling inwardly, and proceeded before\ntheir eyes to take a match from his box, which he displayed\nostentatiously, all glittering in the sun, to the foremost savage. The\nleader stood by and watched him close with eyes of silent wonder. Then\nFelix, kneeling down, struck the match on the box, and applied it, as it\nlighted, to the dry leaves beside him.\n\nA chorus of astonishment burst unanimously from the delighted natives as\nthe dry leaves leaped all at once into a tongue of flame, and the little\npile caught quickly from the fire in the vesta.\n\nThe leader looked hard at the two white faces, and then at the fire on\nthe beach, with evident approbation. \"It is as Tu-Kila-Kila said,\" he\nexclaimed at last with profound awe. \"They are spirits from the sun, and\nthey carry with them pure fire in shining boxes.\"\n\nThen, advancing a pace and pointing toward the canoe, he motioned Felix\nand Muriel to take their seats within it with native savage politeness.\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila has sent for you,\" he said, in his grandest aristocratic\nair, \"for your chief is a gentleman. He wishes to receive you. He saw\nyour message-fire on the reef last night, and he knew you had come. He\nhas made you a very great Taboo. He has put you under protection of Fire\nand Water.\"\n\nThe people in the boats, with one accord, shouted out in wild chorus, as\nif to confirm his words, \"Taboo! Taboo! Tu-Kila-Kila has said it! Taboo!\nTaboo! Ware Fire! Ware Water!\"\n\nThough the dialect in which they spoke differed somewhat from that in use\nin Fiji, Felix could still make out with care almost every word of what\nthe chief had said to him; and the universal Polynesian expression,\n\"Taboo,\" in particular, somewhat reassured him as to their friendly\nintentions. Among remote heathen islanders like these, he felt sure, the\nvery word itself was far too sacred to be taken in vain. They would\nrespect its inviolability. He turned round to Muriel. \"We must go with\nthem,\" he said, shortly. \"It's our one chance left of life now. Don't be\ntoo terrified; there is still some hope. They say somebody they call\nTu-Kila-Kila has tabooed us. No one will dare to hurt us against so great\na Taboo; for Tu-Kila-Kila is evidently some very important king or chief.\nYou must step into the boat. It can't be avoided. If any harm is\nthreatened, be sure I won't forget my promise.\"\n\nMuriel shrank back in alarm, and clung still to his arm now as\nnaturally as she would have clung to a brother's. \"Oh, Mr. Thurstan,\"\nshe cried--\"Felix, I don't know what to say; I _can't_ go with them.\"\n\nFelix put his arm gently round her girlish waist, and half lifted her\ninto the boat in spite of her reluctance. \"You must,\" he said, with great\nfirmness. \"You must do as I say. I will watch over you, and take care of\nyou. If the worst comes, I have always my knife, and I won't forget. Now,\nfriend,\" he went on, in Fijian, turning round to the chief, as he took\nhis seat in the canoe fearlessly among all those dusky, half-clad\nfigures, \"we are ready to start. We do not fear. We wish to go. Take\nus to Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\nAnd all the savages around, shouting in their surprise and awe, exclaimed\nonce more in concert, \"Tu-Kila-Kila is great. We will take them, as he\nbids us, forthwith to heaven.\"\n\n\"What do they say?\" Muriel cried, clinging close to the white man's side\nin her speechless terror. \"Do you understand their language?\"\n\n\"Well, I can't quite make it out,\" Felix answered, much puzzled; \"that is\nto say, not every word of it. They say they'll take us somewhere, I don't\nquite know where; but in Fijian, the word would certainly mean to\nheaven.\"\n\nMuriel shuddered visibly. \"You don't think,\" she said, with a tremulous\ntongue, \"they mean to kill us?\"\n\n\"No, I don't _think_ so,\" Felix replied, not over-confidently. \"They said\nwe were Taboo. But with savages like these, of course, one can never in\nany case be quite certain.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nENROLLED IN OLYMPUS.\n\n\nThey rowed across the lagoon, a mysterious procession, almost in\nsilence--the canoe with the two Europeans going first, the others\nfollowing at a slight distance--and landed at last on the brink of the\ncentral island.\n\nSeveral of the Boupari people leaped ashore at once; then they helped\nFelix and Muriel from the frail bark with almost deferential care, and\nled the way before them up a steep white path, that zigzagged through the\nforest toward the centre of the island. As they went, a band of natives\npreceded them in regular line of march, shouting \"Taboo, taboo!\" at short\nintervals, especially as they neared any group of fan-palm cottages. The\nwomen whom they met fell on their knees at once, till the strange\nprocession had passed them by; the men only bowed their heads thrice, and\nmade a rapid movement on their breasts with their fingers, which reminded\nMuriel at once of the sign of the cross in Catholic countries.\n\nSo on they wended their way in silence through the deep tropical jungle,\nalong a pathway just wide enough for three to walk abreast, till they\nemerged suddenly upon a large cleared space, in whose midst grew a great\nbanyan-tree, with arms that dropped and rooted themselves like buttresses\nin the soil beneath. Under the banyan-tree a raised platform stood upon\nposts of bamboo. The platform was covered with fine network in yellow and\nred; and two little stools occupied the middle, as if placed there on\npurpose and waiting for their occupants.\n\nThe man who had headed the first canoe turned round to Felix and motioned\nhim forward. \"This is Heaven,\" he said glibly, in his own tongue.\n\"Spirits, ascend it!\"\n\nFelix, much wondering what the ceremony could mean, mounted the platform\nwithout a word, in obedience to the chief's command, closely followed by\nMuriel, who dared not leave him for a second.\n\n\"Bring water!\" the chief said, shortly, in a voice of authority to one\nof his followers.\n\nThe man handed up a calabash with a little water in it. The chief took\nthe rude vessel from his hands in a reverential manner, and poured a few\ndrops of the contents on Felix's head; the water trickled down over his\nhair and forehead. Involuntarily, Felix shook his head a little at the\nunexpected wetting, and scattered the drops right and left on his neck\nand shoulders. The chief watched this performance attentively with\nprofound satisfaction. Then he turned to his attendants.\n\n\"The spirit shakes his head,\" he said, with a deeply convinced air. \"All\nis well. Heaven has chosen him. Korong! Korong! He is accepted for his\npurpose. It is well! It is well! Let us try the other one.\"\n\nHe raised the calabash once more, and poured a few drops in like manner\non Muriel's dark hair. The poor girl, trembling in every limb, shook her\nhead also in the same unintentional fashion. The chief regarded her with\nstill more complacent eyes.\n\n\"It is well,\" he observed once more to his companions, smiling. \"She,\ntoo, gives the sign of acceptance. Korong! Korong! Heaven is well pleased\nwith both. See how her body trembles!\"\n\nAt that moment a girl came forward with a little basket of fruits. The\nchief chose a banana with care from the basket, peeled it with his dusky\nhands, broke it slowly in two, and handed one half very solemnly to\nFelix.\n\n\"Eat, King of the Rain,\" he said, as he presented it. \"The offering of\nHeaven.\"\n\nFelix ate it at once, thinking it best under the circumstances not to\ndemur at all to anything his strange hosts might choose to impose upon\nhim.\n\nThe chief handed the other half just as solemnly to Muriel. \"Eat, Queen\nof the Clouds,\" he said, as he placed it in her fingers. \"The offering of\nHeaven.\"\n\nMuriel hesitated. She didn't know what his words meant, and it seemed to\nher rather the offering of a very dirty and unwashed savage. The chief\neyed her hard. \"For God's sake eat it, my child; he tells you to eat it!\"\nFelix exclaimed in haste. Muriel lifted it to her lips and swallowed it\ndown with difficulty. The man's dusky hands didn't inspire confidence.\n\nBut the chief seemed relieved when he had seen her swallow it. \"All is\nwell done,\" he said, turning again to his followers. \"We have obeyed the\nwords of Tu-Kila-Kila, and his orders that he gave us. We have offered\nthe strangers, the spirits from the sun, as a free gift to Heaven, and\nHeaven has accepted them. We have given them fruits, the fruits of the\nearth, and they have duly eaten them. Korong! Korong! The King of the\nRain and the Queen of the Clouds have indeed come among us. They are\ntruly gods. We will take them now, as he bid us, to Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"What have they done to us?\" Muriel asked aside, in a terrified undertone\nof Felix.\n\n\"I can't quite make out,\" Felix answered in the selfsame voice. \"They\ncall us the King of the Rain and the Queen of the Clouds in their own\nlanguage. I think they imagine we've come from the sun and that we're a\nsort of spirits.\"\n\nAt the sound of these words the girl who held the basket of fruits gave a\nsudden start. It almost seemed to Muriel as if she understood them. But\nwhen Muriel looked again she gave no further sign. She merely held her\npeace, and tried to appear wholly undisconcerted.\n\nThe chief beckoned them down from the platform with a wave of his hand.\nThey rose and followed him. As they rose the people around them bowed low\nto the ground. Felix could see they were bowing to Muriel and himself,\nnot merely to the chief. A doubt flitted strangely across his mind for a\nmoment. What could it all mean? Did they take the two strangers, then,\nfor supernatural beings? Had they enrolled them as gods? If so, it might\nserve as some little protection for them.\n\nThe procession formed again, three and three, three and three, in solemn\nsilence. Then the chief walked in front of them with measured steps, and\nFelix and Muriel followed behind, wondering. As they went, the cry rose\nlouder and louder than before, \"Taboo! Taboo!\" People who met them fell\non their faces at once, as the chief cried out in a loud tone, \"The King\nof the Rain! The Queen of the Clouds! Korong! Korong! They are coming!\nThey are coming!\"\n\nAt last they reached a second cleared space, standing in a large garden\nof manilla, loquat, poncians, and hibiscus-trees. It was entered by a\ngate, a tall gate of bamboo posts. At the gate all the followers fell\nback to right and left, awe-struck. Only the chief went calmly on. He\nbeckoned to Felix and Muriel to follow him.\n\nThey entered, half terrified. Felix still grasped his open knife in his\nhand, ready to strike at any moment that might be necessary. The chief\nled them forward toward a very large tree near the centre of the garden.\nAt the foot of the tree stood a hut, somewhat bigger and better built\nthan any they had yet seen; and in front of the trunk a stalwart savage,\nvery powerfully built, but with a sinister look in his cruel and lustful\neye, was pacing up and down, like a sentinel on guard, a long spear in\nhis right hand, and a tomahawk in his left, held close by his side, all\nready for action. As he prowled up and down he seemed to be peering\nwarily about him on every side, as if each instant he expected to be set\nupon by an enemy. But as the chief approached, the people without set up\nonce more the cry of \"Taboo! Taboo!\" and the stalwart savage by the tree,\nlaying down his spear and letting his tomahawk fall free, dropped in a\nsecond the air of watchful alarm, and advanced with some courtesy to\ngreet the new-comers.\n\n\"We have found them, Tu-Kila-Kila,\" the chief said, presenting them to\nthe god with a graceful wave of his hand. \"We have found the spirits that\nyou brought from the sun, with the fire in their hands, and the light in\nboxes. We have taken them to Heaven. Heaven has accepted them. We have\noffered them fruit, and they have eaten the banana. The King of the\nRain--the Queen of the Clouds! Korong! Receive them!\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila glanced at them with an approving glance, strangely\ncompounded of pleasure and terror. \"They are plump,\" he said shortly.\n\"They are indeed Korong. My sun has sent me an acceptable present.\"\n\n\"What is your will that we should do with them?\" the chief asked in a\ndeeply deferential tone.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila looked hard at Muriel--such a hateful look that the knife\ntrembled irresolute for a second in Felix's hand. \"Give them two fresh\nhuts,\" he said, in a lordly way. \"Give them divine platters. Give them\nall that they need. Make everything right for them.\"\n\nThe chief bowed, and retired with an awed air from the presence. Exactly\nas he passed a certain line on the ground, marked white with a row of\ncoral-sand, Tu-Kila-Kila seized his spear and his tomahawk once more, and\nmounted guard, as before, at the foot of the great tree where they had\nseen him pacing. An instantaneous change seemed to Muriel to come over\nhis demeanor at that moment. While he spoke with the chief she noticed\nhe looked all cruelty, lust, and hateful self-indulgence. Now that he\npaced up and down warily in front of that sacred floor, peering around\nhim with keen suspicion, he seemed rather the personification of\nwatchfulness, fear, and a certain slavish bodily terror. Especially, she\nobserved, he cast upon Felix, as he went, a glance of angry hate; and yet\nhe did not attempt to hurt or molest him in any way, defenceless as they\nboth were before those numerous savages.\n\nAs they emerged from the enclosure, the girl with the fruit basket stood\nnear the gate, looking outward from the wall, her face turned away from\nthe awful home of Tu-Kila-Kila. At the moment when Muriel passed, to her\nimmense astonishment the girl spoke to her. \"Don't be afraid, missy,\" she\nsaid in English, in a rather low voice, without obtrusively approaching\nthem. \"Boupari man not going to hurt you. Me going to be your servant. Me\nname Mali. Me very good girl. Me take plenty care of you.\"\n\nThe unexpected sound of her own language, in the midst of so much\nunmitigated savagery, took Muriel fairly by surprise. She looked hard at\nthe girl, but thought it wisest to answer nothing. This particular young\nwoman, indeed, was just as dark, and to all appearance just as much of a\nsavage, as any of the rest of them. But she could speak English, at any\nrate! And she said she was to be Muriel's servant!\n\nThe chief led them back to the shore, talking volubly all the way in\nPolynesia to Felix. His dialect differed so much from the Fijian that\nwhen he spoke first Felix could hardly follow him. But he gathered\nvaguely, nevertheless, that they were to be well housed and fed for the\npresent at the public expense; and even that something which the chief\nclearly regarded as a very great honor was in store for them in the\nfuture. Whatever these people's particular superstition might be, it\nseemed pretty evident at least that it told in the strangers' favor.\nFelix almost began to hope they might manage to live there pretty\ntolerably for the next two or three weeks, and perhaps to signal in time\nto some passing Australian liner.\n\nThe rest of that wonderful eventful day was wholly occupied with\npractical details. Before long, two adjacent huts were found for them,\nnear the shore of the lagoon; and Felix noticed with pleasure, not only\nthat the huts themselves were new and clean, but also that the chief took\ngreat care to place round both of them a single circular line of white\ncoral-sand, like the one he had noticed at Tu-Kila-Kila's palace-temple.\nHe felt sure this white line made the space within taboo. No native would\ndare without leave to cross it.\n\nWhen the line was well marked out round the two huts together, the chief\nwent away for a while, leaving the Europeans within their broad white\ncircle, guarded by an angry-looking band of natives with long spears at\nrest, all pointed inward. The natives themselves stood well without the\nring, but the points of their spears almost reached the line, and it was\nclear they would not for the present permit the Europeans to leave the\ncharmed circle.\n\nPresently, the chief returned again, followed by two other natives in\nofficial costumes. One of them was a tall and handsome young man, dressed\nin a long robe or cloak of yellow feathers. The other was stouter, and\nperhaps forty or thereabouts; he wore a short cape of white albatross\nplumes, with a girdle of shells at his waist, interspersed with red\ncoral.\n\n\"The King of Fire will make Taboo,\" the chief said, solemnly.\n\nThe young man with the cloak of yellow feathers stepped forward and\nspoke, toeing the line with his left foot, and brandishing a lighted\nstick in his right hand. \"Taboo! Taboo! Taboo!\" he cried aloud, with\nemphasis. \"If any man dare to transgress this line without leave, I burn\nhim to ashes. If any woman, I scorch her to a cinder. Taboo to the King\nof the Rain and the Queen of the Clouds. Taboo! Taboo! Taboo! Korong! I\nsay it.\"\n\nHe stepped back into the ranks with an air of duty performed. The chief\nlooked about him curiously a moment. \"The King of Water will make Taboo,\"\nhe repeated after a pause, in the same deep tone of profound conviction.\n\nThe stouter man in the short white cape stepped forward in his turn. He\ntoed the line with his naked left foot; in his brown right hand he\ncarried a calabash of water. \"Taboo! Taboo! Taboo!\" he exclaimed aloud,\npouring out the water upon the ground symbolically. \"If any man dare to\ntransgress this line without leave, I drown him in his canoe. If any\nwoman, I drag her alive into the spring as she fetches water. Taboo to\nthe King of the Rain and the Queen of the Clouds. Taboo! Taboo! Taboo!\nKorong! I say it.\"\n\n\"What does it all mean?\" Muriel whispered, terrified.\n\nFelix explained to her, as far as he could, in a few hurried sentences.\n\"There's only one word in it I don't understand,\" he added, hastily, \"and\nthat's Korong. It doesn't occur in Fiji. They keep saying we're Korong,\nwhatever that may mean; and evidently they attach some very great\nimportance to it.\"\n\n\"Let the Shadows come forward,\" the chief said, looking up with an air of\ndignity.\n\nA good-looking young man, and the girl who said her name was Mali,\nstepped forth from the crowd, and fell on their knees before him.\n\nThe chief laid his hand on the young man's shoulder and raised him up.\n\"The Shadow of the King of the Rain,\" he cried, turning him three times\nround. \"Follow him in all his incomings and his outgoings, and serve\nhim faithfully! Taboo! Taboo! Pass within the sacred circle!\"\n\nHe clapped his hands. The young man crossed the line with a sort of\nreverent reluctance, and took his place within the ring, close up to\nFelix.\n\nThe chief laid his hand on Mali's shoulder. \"The Shadow of the Queen of\nthe Clouds,\" he said, turning her three times round. \"Follow her in all\nher incomings and outgoings, and serve her faithfully. Taboo! Taboo!\nPass within the sacred circle!\"\n\nThen he waved both hands to Felix. \"Go where you will now,\" he said.\n\"Your Shadow will follow you. You are free as the rain that drops where\nit will. You are as free as the clouds that roam through heaven. No man\nwill hinder you.\"\n\nAnd in a moment the spearmen dropped their spears in concert, the crowd\nfell back, and the villagers dispersed as if by magic, to their own\nhouses.\n\nBut Felix and Muriel were left alone beside their huts, guarded only in\nsilence by their two mystic Shadows.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nFIRST DAYS IN BOUPARI.\n\n\nThroughout that day the natives brought them, from time to time, numerous\npresents of yam, bananas, and bread-fruit, neatly arranged in little\npalm-leaf baskets. A few of them brought eggs as well, and one offering\neven included a live chicken. But the people who brought them, and who\nwere mostly young girls just entering upon womanhood, did not venture to\ncross the white line of coral-sand that surrounded the huts; they laid\ndown their presents, with many salaams, on the ground outside, and then\nwaited with a half-startled, half-reverent air for one or other of the\ntwo Shadows to come out and fetch them. As soon as the baskets were\ncarried well within the marked line, the young girls exhibited every sign\nof pleasure, and calling aloud, \"Korong! Korong!\"--that mysterious\nPolynesian word of whose import Felix was ignorant--they retired once\nmore by tortuous paths through the surrounding jungle.\n\n\"Why do they bring us presents?\" Felix asked at last of his Shadow, after\nthis curious pantomime had been performed some three or four times. \"Are\nthey always going to keep us in such plenty?\"\n\nThe Shadow looked back at him with an air of considerable surprise. \"They\nbring presents, of course,\" he said, in his own tongue, \"because they are\nbadly in want of rain. We have had much drought of late in Boupari; we\nneed water from heaven. The banana-bushes wither; the flowers on the\nbread-fruit tree do not swell to breadfruit; the yams are thirsty.\nTherefore the fathers send their daughters with presents, maidens of the\nvillages, all marriageable girls, to ask for rainfall. But they will\nalways provide for you, and also for the Queen, however you behave; for\nyou are both Korong. Tu-Kila-Kila has said so, and Heaven has accepted\nyou.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by Korong?\" Felix asked, with some trepidation.\n\nThe Shadow merely looked back at him with a sort of blank surprise that\nanybody should be ignorant of so simple a conception. \"Why, Korong is\nKorong,\" he answered, aghast. \"You are Korong yourself. The Queen of the\nClouds is Korong, too. You are both Korong; that is why they all treat\nyou with such respect and reverence.\"\n\nAnd that was as much as Felix could elicit by his subtlest questions from\nhis taciturn Shadow.\n\nIn fact, it was clear that in the open, at least, the Shadow was averse\nto being observed in familiar conversation with Felix. During the heat of\nthe day, however, when they sat alone within the hut, he was much more\ncommunicative. Then he launched forth pretty freely into talk about the\nisland and its life, which would no doubt have largely enlightened Felix,\nhad it not been for two drawbacks to their means of inter-communication.\nIn the first place, the Boupari dialect, though agreeing in all\nessentials with the Polynesian of Fiji, nevertheless contained a great\nmany words and colloquial expressions unknown to the Fijians; this being\nparticularly the case, as Felix soon remarked, in the whole vocabulary of\nreligious rites and ceremonies. And in the second place, the Shadow was\nso rigidly bound by his own narrow and insular set of ideas, that he\ncouldn't understand the difficulty Felix felt in throwing himself into\nthem. Over and over again, when Felix asked him to explain some word or\ncustom, he would repeat, with na\u00efve impatience, \"Why, Korong is Korong,\"\nor \"Tula is just Tula; even a child must surely know what Tula is; much\nmore yourself, who are indeed Korong, and who have come from the sun to\nbring fresh fire to us.\"\n\nIn the adjoining hut, Muriel, who was now beginning in some small degree\nto get rid of her most pressing fear for the immediate future, and whom\nthe obvious reality of the taboo had reassured for the moment, sat with\nMali, her own particular Shadow, unravelling the mystery of the girl's\nknowledge of English.\n\nMali, indeed, like the other Shadow, showed every disposition to indulge\nin abundant conversation, as soon as she found herself well within the\nhut, alone with her mistress, and secluded from the prying eyes of all\nthe other islanders.\n\n\"Don't you be afraid, missy,\" she said, with genuine kindliness in her\ntone, as soon as the gifts of yam and bread-fruit had all been duly\nhoused and garnered. \"No harm come to you. You Korong, you know. You very\ngreat Taboo. Tu-Kila-Kila send King of Fire and King of Water to make\ntaboo over you, so nobody hurt you.\"\n\nMuriel burst into tears at the sound of her own language from those dusky\nlips, and exclaimed through her sobs, clinging to the girl's hand for\ncomfort as she spoke, \"Why, how did you ever come to speak English?--tell\nme.\"\n\nMali looked up at her with a half-astonished air. \"Oh, I servant in\nQueensland, of course, missy,\" she answered, with great composure. \"Labor\nvessel come to my island, far away, four, five years ago, steal boy,\nsteal woman. My papa just kill my mamma, because he angry with her, so no\nwant daughters. So my papa sell me and my sister for plenty rum, plenty\ntobacco, to gentlemen in labor vessel. Gentlemen in labor vessel take\nJani and me away, away, to Queensland. Big sea; long voyage. We stop\nthere three yam--three years--do service; then great chief in Queensland\nsend us back to my island. My island too faraway; gentleman on ship not\nfind it out; so he land us in little boat on Boupari. Boupari people make\ntemple slave of us.\" And that was all; to her quite a commonplace,\neveryday history.\n\n\"I see,\" Muriel cried. \"Then you've been for three years in Australia!\nAnd there you learned English. Why, what did you do there?\"\n\nMali looked back at her with the same matter-of-fact air of composure as\nbefore. \"Oh, me nurse at first,\" she said, shortly. \"Then after, me\nhousemaid, live three year in gentleman's house, good gentleman that buy\nme. Take care of little girl; clean rooms; do everything. Me know how to\nmake English lady quite comfortable. Me tell that to chief; that make him\nsay, 'Mali, you be Queenie's Shadow.'\"\n\nTo Muriel in her loneliness even such companionship as that was indeed a\nconsolation. \"Oh, I'm so glad you told him,\" she cried. \"If we have to\nstop here long, before a ship takes us off, it'll be so nice to have you\nhere all the time with me. You won't go away from me ever, will you?\nYou'll always stop with me!\"\n\nThe girl's surprise showed more profoundly than ever. \"Me can't go\naway,\" she answered, with emphasis. \"Me your Shadow. That great Taboo.\nTu-Kila-Kila great god. If me go away, Tu-Kila-Kila kill me and eat me.\"\n\nMuriel started back in horror. \"But, Mali,\" she said, looking hard at the\ngirl's pleasant brown face, \"if you were three years in Australia, you're\na Christian, surely!\"\n\nThe girl nodded her head in passive acquiescence. \"Me Christian in\nAustralia,\" she answered. \"Of course me Christian. All folks make\nChristian when him go to Queensland. That what for me call Mali, and my\nsister Jani. We have other names on my own island; but when we go to\nQueensland, gentleman baptize us, call us Mali and Jani. Me Methodist in\nQueensland. Methodist very good. But Methodist god no live in Boupari.\nNot any good be Methodist here any longer. Tu-Kila-Kila god here. Him\nvery powerful.\"\n\n\"What! Not that dreadful creature that they took us to see this morning!\"\nMuriel exclaimed, in horror. \"Oh, Mali, you can't mean to say they think\nhe's a _god_, that awful man there!\"\n\nMali nodded her assent with profound conviction. \"Yes, yes; him god,\" she\nrepeated, confidently. \"Him very powerful. My sister Jani go too near him\ntemple, against taboo--because her not belong-a Tu-Kila-Kila temple; and\nlast night, when it great feast, plenty men catch Jani, and tie him up in\nrope; and Tu-Kila-Kila kill him, and plenty Boupari men help Tu-Kila-Kila\neat up Jani.\"\n\nShe said it in the same simple, matter-of-fact way as she had said that\nshe was a nurse for three years in Queensland. To her it was a common\nincident of everyday life. Such accidents _will_ happen, if you break\ntaboo and go too near forbidden temples.\n\nBut Muriel drew back, and let the pleasant-looking brown girl's hand drop\nsuddenly. \"You can't mean it,\" she cried. \"You can't mean he's a god!\nSuch a wicked man as that! Oh, his very look's too horrible.\"\n\nMali drew back in her turn with a somewhat terrified air, and peeped\nsuspiciously around her, as if to make sure whether any one was\nlistening. \"Oh, hush,\" she said, anxiously. \"Don't must talk like that.\nIf Tu-Kila-Kila hear, him scorch us up to ashes. Him very great god!\nHim good! Him powerful!\"\n\n\"How can he be good if he does such awful things?\" Muriel exclaimed,\nenergetically.\n\nMali peered around her once more with terrified eyes in the same uneasy\nway. \"Take care,\" she said again. \"Him god! Him powerful! Him can do no\nwrong. Him King of the Trees! Him King of Heaven! On Boupari island,\nMethodist god not much; no god so great like Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"But a _man_ can't be a god!\" Muriel exclaimed, contemptuously. \"He's\nnothing but a man! a savage! A cannibal!\"\n\nMali looked back at her in wondering surprise. \"Not in Queensland,\" she\nanswered, calmly--to her, all the world naturally divided itself into\nQueensland and Polynesia--\"no god in Queensland. Governor, him very great\nchief; but him no god like Tu-Kila-Kila. Methodist god in sky, him only\ngod that live in Queensland. But no use worship Methodist god over here\nin Boupari. Him no live here. Tu-Kila-Kila live here. All god here make\nout of man. Live in man. Korong! What for you say a man can't be a god!\nYou god yourself! White gentleman there, god! Korong, Korong. Chief put\nyou in Heaven, so make you a god. People pray to you now. People bring\nyou presents.\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say,\" Muriel cried, \"they bring me these things\nbecause they think me a goddess?\"\n\nMali nodded a grave assent. \"Same like people give money in church in\nQueensland,\" she answered, promptly. \"Ask you make rain, make plenty\ncrop, make bread-fruit grow, make banana, make plantain. You Korong now.\nWhile your time last, Queenie, people give you plenty of present.\"\n\n\"While my time last?\" Muriel repeated, with a curious sense of discomfort\ncreeping over her slowly.\n\nThe girl nodded an easy assent. \"Yes, while your time last,\" she\nanswered, laying a small bundle of palm-leaves at Muriel's back by way of\na cushion. \"For now you Korong. By and by, Korong pass to somebody else.\nThis year, you Korong. So people worship you.\"\n\nBut nothing that Muriel could say would induce the girl further to\nexplain her meaning. She shook her head and looked very wise. \"When a god\ncome into somebody,\" she said, nodding toward Muriel in a mysterious way,\n\"then him god himself; him Korong. When the god go away from him, him\nKorong no longer; somebody else Korong. Queenie Korong now; so people\nworship him. While him time last, people plenty kind to him.\"\n\nThe day passed away, and night came on. As it approached, heavy clouds\ndrifted up from eastward. Mali busied herself with laying out a rough bed\nin the hut for Muriel, and making her a pillow of soft moss and the\ncurious lichen-like material that hangs parasitic from the trees, and is\ncommonly known as \"old man's beard.\" As both Mali and Felix assured her\nconfidently no harm would come to her within so strict a Taboo, Muriel,\nworn out with fatigue and terror, lay down at last and slept soundly on\nthis native substitute for a bedstead. She slept without dreaming, while\nMali lay at her feet, ready at a moment's call. It was all so strange;\nand yet she was too utterly wearied to do otherwise than sleep, in spite\nof her strange and terrible surroundings.\n\nFelix slept, too, for some hours, but woke with a start in the night. It\nwas raining heavily. He could hear the loud patter of a fierce tropical\nshower on the roof of his hut. His Shadow, at his feet, slept still\nunmoved; but when Felix rose on his elbow, the Shadow rose on a sudden,\ntoo, and confronted him curiously. The young man heard the rain; then he\nbowed down his face with an awed air, not visible, but audible, in the\nstill darkness. \"It has come!\" he said, with superstitious terror. \"It\nhas come at last! my lord has brought it!\"\n\nAfter that, Felix lay awake for some hours, hearing the rain on the roof,\nand puzzled in his own head by a half-uncertain memory. What was it in\nhis school reading that that ceremony with the water indefinitely\nreminded him of? Wasn't there some Greek or Roman superstition about\nshaking your head when water was poured upon it? What could that\nsuperstition be, and what light might it cast on that mysterious\nceremony? He wished he could remember; but it was so long since he'd read\nit, and he never cared much at school for Greek or Roman antiquities.\n\nSuddenly, in a lull of the rain, the whole context at once came back with\na rush to him. He remembered now he had read it, some time or other, in\nsome classical dictionary. It was a custom connected with Greek\nsacrifices. The officiating priest poured water or wine on the head of\nthe sheep, bullock, or other victim. If the victim shook its head and\nknocked off the drops, that was a sign that it was fit for the sacrifice,\nand that the god accepted it. If the victim trembled visibly, that was a\nmost favorable omen. If it stood quite still and didn't move its neck,\nthen the god rejected it as unfit for his purpose. Couldn't _that_ be the\nmeaning of the ceremony performed on Muriel and himself in \"Heaven\" that\nmorning? Were they merely intended as human sacrifices? Were they to be\nkept meanwhile and, as it were, fed up for the slaughter? It was too\nhorrible to believe; yet it almost looked like it.\n\nHe wished he knew the meaning of that strange word, \"Korong.\" Clearly, it\ncontained the true key to the mystery.\n\nAnyhow, he had always his trusty knife. If the worst came to the\nworst--those wretches should never harm his spotless Muriel.\n\nFor he loved her to-night; he would watch over and protect her. He would\nsave her at least from the deadliest of insults.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nINTERCHANGE OF CIVILITIES.\n\n\nAll night long, without intermission, the heavy tropical rain descended\nin torrents; at sunrise it ceased, and a bright blue vault of sky stood\nin a spotless dome over the island of Boupari.\n\nAs soon as the sun was well risen, and the rain had ceased, one shy\nnative girl after another came straggling up timidly to the white line\nthat marked the taboo round Felix and Muriel's huts. They came with more\nbaskets of fruit and eggs. Humbly saluting three times as they drew near,\nthey laid down their gifts modestly just outside the line, with many loud\nejaculations of praise and gratitude to the gods in their own language.\n\n\"What do they say?\" Muriel asked, in a dazed and frightened way, looking\nout of the hut door, and turning in wonder to Mali.\n\n\"They say, 'Thank you, Queenie, for rain and fruits,'\" Mali answered,\nunconcerned, bustling about in the hut. \"Missy want to wash him face and\nhands this morning? Lady always wash every day over yonder in\nQueensland.\"\n\nMuriel nodded assent. It was all so strange to her. But Mali went to the\ndoor and beckoned carelessly to one of the native girls just outside, who\ndrew near the line at the summons, with a somewhat frightened air,\nputting one finger to her mouth in coyly uncertain savage fashion.\n\n\"Fetch me water from the spring!\" Mali said, authoritatively, in\nPolynesian. Without a moment's delay the girl darted off at the top of\nher speed, and soon returned with a large calabash full of fresh cool\nwater, which she lay down respectfully by the taboo line, not daring to\ncross it.\n\n\"Why didn't you get it yourself?\" Muriel asked of her Shadow, rather\nrelieved than otherwise that Mali hadn't left her. It was something in\nthese dire straits to have somebody always near who could at least speak\na little English.\n\nMali started back in surprise. \"Oh, that would never do,\" she answered,\ncatching a colloquial phrase she had often heard long before in\nQueensland. \"Me missy's Shadow. That great Taboo. If me go away out of\nmissy's sight, very big sin--very big danger. Man-a-Boupari catch me and\nkill me like Jani, for no me stop and wait all the time on missy.\"\n\nIt was clear that human life was held very cheap on the island of\nBoupari.\n\nMuriel made her scanty toilet in the hut as well as she was able, with\nthe calabash and water, aided by a rough shell comb which Mali had\nprovided for her. Then she breakfasted, not ill, off eggs and fruit,\nwhich Mali cooked with some rude native skill over the open-air fire\nwithout in the precincts.\n\nAfter breakfast, Felix came in to inquire how she had passed the night in\nher new quarters. Already Muriel felt how odd was the contrast between\nthe quiet politeness of his manner as an English gentleman and the\nstrange savage surroundings in which they both now found themselves.\nCivilization is an attribute of communities; we necessarily leave it\nbehind when we find ourselves isolated among barbarians or savages. But\nculture is a purely personal and individual possession; we carry it with\nus wherever we go; and no circumstances of life can ever deprive us of\nit.\n\nAs they sat there talking, with a deep and abiding sense of awe at the\nchange (Muriel more conscious than ever now of how deep was her interest\nin Felix Thurstan, who represented for her all that was dearest and best\nin England), a curious noise, as of a discordant drum or tom-tom, beaten\nin a sort of recurrent tune, was heard toward the hills; and at its very\nfirst sound both the Shadows, flinging themselves upon their faces with\nevery sign of terror, endeavored to hide themselves under the native mats\nwith which the bare little hut was roughly carpeted.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" Felix cried, in English, to Mali; for Muriel had\nalready explained to him how the girl had picked up some knowledge of our\ntongue in Queensland.\n\nMali trembled in every limb, so that she could hardly speak.\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila come,\" she answered, all breathless. \"No blackfellow look\nat him. Burn blackfellow up. You and Missy Korong. All right for you. Go\nout to meet him!\"\n\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila is coming,\" the young man-Shadow said, in Polynesian,\nalmost in the same breath, and no less tremulously. \"We dare not look\nupon his face lest he burn us to ashes. He is a very great Taboo. His\nface is fire. But you two are gods. Step forth to receive him.\"\n\nFelix took Muriel's hand in his, somewhat trembling himself, and led her\nforth on to the open space in front of the huts to meet the man-god. She\nfollowed him like a child. She was woman enough for that. She had\nimplicit trust in him.\n\nAs they emerged, a strange procession met their eyes unawares, coming\ndown the zig-zag path that led from the hills to the shore of the lagoon,\nwhere their huts were situated. At its head marched two men--tall,\nstraight, and supple--wearing huge feather masks over their faces, and\nbeating tom-toms, decorated with long strings of shiny cowries. After\nthem, in order, came a sort of hollow square of chiefs or warriors,\nsurrounding with fan-palms a central object all shrouded from the view\nwith the utmost precaution. This central object was covered with a huge\nregal umbrella, from whose edge hung rows of small nautilus and other\nshells, so as to form a kind of screen, like the Japanese porti\u00e8res now\nso common in English doorways. Two supporters held it up, one on either\nside, in long cloaks of feathers. Under the umbrella, a man seemed to\nmove; and as he approached, the natives, to right and left, fled\nprecipitately to their huts, snatching up their naked little ones from\nthe ground as they went, and crying aloud, \"Taboo, Taboo! He comes! he\ncomes. Tu-Kila-Kila! Tu-Kila-Kila!\"\n\nThe procession wound slowly on, unheeding these common creatures, till it\nreached the huts. Then the chiefs who formed the hollow square fell back\none by one, and the man under the umbrella, with his two supporters, came\nforward boldly. Felix noticed that they crossed without scruple the thick\nwhite line of sand which all the other natives so carefully respected.\nThe man within the umbrella drew aside the curtain of hanging nautilus\nshells. His face was covered with a thin mask of paper mulberry bark; but\nFelix knew he was the self-same person whom they had seen the day before\nin the central temple.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila's air was more insolent and arrogant than even before. He\nwas clearly in high spirits. \"You have done well, O King of the Rain,\" he\nsaid, turning gayly to Felix; \"and you too, O Queen of the Clouds; you\nhave done right bravely. We have all acquitted ourselves as our people\nwould wish. We have made our showers to descend abundantly from heaven;\nwe have caused the crops to grow; we have wetted the plantain bushes.\nSee; Tu-Kila-Kila, who is so great a god, has come from his own home on\nthe hills to greet you.\"\n\n\"It has certainly rained in the night,\" Felix answered, dryly.\n\nBut Tu-Kila-Kila was not to be put off thus. Adjusting his thin mask or\nveil of bark, so as to hide his face more thoroughly from the inferior\ngod, he turned round once more to the chiefs, who even so hardly dared to\nlook openly upon him. Then he struck an attitude. The man was clearly\nbursting with spiritual pride. He knew himself to be a god, and was\nfilled with the insolence of his supernatural power. \"See, my people,\" he\ncried, holding up his hands, palm outward, in his accustomed god-like\nway; \"I am indeed a great deity--Lord of Heaven, Lord of Earth, Life of\nthe World, Master of Time, Measurer of the Sun's Course, Spirit of\nGrowth, Creator of the Harvest, Master of Mortals, Bestower of Breath\nupon Men, Chief Pillar of Heaven!\"\n\nThe warriors bowed down before their bloated master with unquestioning\nassent. \"Giver of Life to all the host of the gods,\" they cried, \"you are\nindeed a mighty one. Weigher of the equipoise of Heaven and Earth, we\nacknowledge your might; we give you thanks eternally.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila swelled with visible importance. \"Did I not tell you, my\nmeat,\" he exclaimed, \"I would bring you new gods, great spirits from the\nsun, fetchers of fire from my bright home in the heavens? And have they\nnot come? Are they not here to-day? Have they not brought the precious\ngift of fresh fire with them?\"\n\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila speaks true,\" the chiefs echoed, submissively, with bent\nheads.\n\n\"Did I not make one of them King of the Rain?\" Tu-Kila-Kila asked once\nmore, stretching one hand toward the sky with theatrical magnificence.\n\"Did I not declare the other Queen of the Clouds in Heaven? And have I\nnot caused them to bring down showers this night upon our crops? Has not\nthe dry earth drunk? Am I not the great god, the Saviour of Boupari?\"\n\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila says well,\" the chiefs responded, once more, in unanimous\nchorus.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila struck another attitude with childish self-satisfaction.\n\"I go into the hut to speak with my ministers,\" he said, grandiloquently.\n\"Fire and Water, wait you here outside while I enter and speak with my\nfriends from the sun, whom I have brought for the salvation of the crops\nto Boupari.\"\n\nThe King of Fire and the King of Water, supporting the umbrella, bowed\nassent to his words. Tu-Kila-Kila motioned Felix and Muriel into the\nnearest hut. It was the one where the two Shadows lay crouching in terror\namong the native mats. As the god tried to enter, the two cowering\nwretches set up a loud shout, \"Taboo! Taboo! Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!\"\nTu-Kila-Kila retreated with a contemptuous smile. \"I want to see you\nalone,\" he said, in Polynesian, to Felix. \"Is the other hut empty? If\nnot, go in and cut their throats who sit there, and make the place a\nsolitude for Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"There is no one in the hut,\" Felix answered, with a nod, concealing his\ndisgust at the command as far as he was able.\n\n\"That is well,\" Tu-Kila-Kila answered, and walked into it carelessly.\nFelix followed him close and deemed it best to make Muriel enter also.\n\nAs soon-as they were alone, Tu-Kila-Kila's manner altered greatly. \"Come,\nnow,\" he said, quite genially, yet with a curious under-current of hate\nin his steely gray eye; \"we three are all gods. We who are in heaven need\nhave no secrets from one another. Tell me the truth; did you really come\nto us direct from the sun, or are you sailing gods, dropped from a great\ncanoe belonging to the warriors who seek laborers for the white men in\nthe distant country?\"\n\nFelix told him briefly, in as few words as possible, the story of their\narrival.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila listened with lively interest, then he said, very\ndecisively, with great bravado, \"It was _I_ who made the big wave wash\nyour sister overboard. I sent it to your ship. I wanted a Korong just now\nin Boupari. It was _I_ who brought you.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" Felix said, simply, not thinking it worth while to\ncontradict him further. \"It was a purely natural accident.\"\n\n\"Well, tell me,\" the savage god went on once more, eying him close and\nsharp, \"they say you have brought fresh fire from the sun with you, and\nthat you know how to make it burst out like lightning at will. My people\nhave seen it. They tell me the wonder. I wish to see it too. We are all\ngods here; we need have no secrets. Only, I didn't want to let those\ncommon people outside see I asked you to show me. Make fire leap forth. I\ndesire to behold it.\"\n\nFelix took out the match-box from his pocket, and struck a vesta\ncarefully. Tu-Kila-Kila looked on with profound interest. \"It is\nwonderful,\" he said, taking the vesta in his own hand as it burned, and\nexamining it closely. \"I have heard of this before, but I have never seen\nit. You are indeed gods, you white men, you sailors of the sea.\" He\nglanced at Muriel. \"And the woman, too,\" he said, with a horrible leer,\n\"the woman is pretty.\"\n\nFelix took the measure of his man at once. He opened his knife, and held\nit up threateningly. \"See here, fellow,\" he said, in a low, slow tone,\nbut with great decision, \"if you dare to speak or look like that at that\nlady--god or no god, I'll drive this knife straight up to the handle in\nyour heart, though your people kill me for it afterward ten thousand\ntimes over. I am not afraid of you. These savages may be afraid, and may\nthink you are a god; but if you are, then I am a god ten thousand times\nstronger than you. One more word--one more look like that, I say--and\nI plunge this knife remorselessly into you.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila drew back, and smiled benignly. Stalwart ruffian as he was,\nand absolute master of his own people's lives, he was yet afraid in a way\nof the strange new-comer. Vague stories of the men with white faces--the\n\"sailing gods\"--had reached him from time to time; and though only twice\nwithin his memory had European boats landed on his island, he yet knew\nenough of the race to know that they were at least very powerful\ndeities--more powerful with their weapons than even he was. Besides, a\nman who could draw down fire from heaven with a piece of wax and a little\nmetal box might surely wither him to ashes, if he would, as he stood\nbefore him. The very fact that Felix bearded him thus openly to his face\nastonished and somewhat terrified the superstitious savage. Everybody\nelse on the island was afraid of him; then certainly a man who was not\nafraid must be the possessor of some most efficacious and magical\nmedicine. His one fear now was lest his followers should hear and\ndiscover his discomfiture. He peered about him cautiously, with that\ncareful gleam shining bright in his eye; then he said with a leer, in a\nvery low voice, \"We two need not quarrel. We are both of us gods. Neither\nof us is the stronger. We are equal, that's all. Let us live like\nbrothers, not like enemies, on the island.\"\n\n\"I don't want to be your brother,\" Felix answered, unable to conceal his\nloathing any more. \"I hate and detest you.\"\n\n\"What does he say?\" Muriel asked, in an agony of fear at the savage's\nblack looks. \"Is he going to kill us?\"\n\n\"No,\" Felix answered, boldly. \"I think he's afraid of us. He's going to\ndo nothing. You needn't fear him.\"\n\n\"Can she not speak?\" the savage asked, pointing with his finger somewhat\nrudely toward Muriel. \"Has she no voice but this, the chatter of birds?\nDoes she not know the human language?\"\n\n\"She can speak,\" Felix replied, placing himself like a shield between\nMuriel and the astonished savage. \"She can speak the language of the\npeople of our distant country--a beautiful language which is as far\nsuperior to the speech of the brown men of Polynesia as the sun in the\nheavens is superior to the light of a candlenut. But she can't speak the\nwretched tongue of you Boupari cannibals. I thank Heaven she can't, for\nit saves her from understanding the hateful things your people would say\nof her. Now go! I have seen already enough of you. I am not afraid.\nRemember, I am as powerful a god as you. I need not fear. You cannot hurt\nme.\"\n\nA baleful light gleamed in the cannibal's eye. But he thought it best to\ntemporize. Powerful as he was on his island, there was one thing yet more\npowerful by far than he; and that was Taboo--the custom and superstition\nhanded down from his ancestors, These strangers were Korong; he dare not\ntouch them, except in the way and manner and time appointed by custom. If\nhe did, god as he was, his people themselves would turn and rend him. He\nwas a god, but he was bound on every side by the strictest taboos. He\ndare not himself offer violence to Felix.\n\nSo he turned with a smile and bided his time. He knew it would come. He\ncould afford to laugh. Then, going to the door, he said, with his grand\naffable manner to his chiefs around, \"I have spoken with the gods, my\nministers, within. They have kissed my hands. My rain has fallen. All is\nwell in the land. Arise, let us go away hence to my temple.\"\n\nThe savages put themselves in marching order at once. \"It is the voice of\na god,\" they said, reverently. \"Let us take back Tu-Kila-Kila to his\ntemple home. Let us escort the lord of the divine umbrella. Wherever he\nis, there trees and plants put forth green leaves and flourish. At his\nbidding flowers bloom and springs of water rise up in fountains. His\npresence diffuses heavenly blessings.\"\n\n\"I think,\" Felix said, turning to poor, terrified Muriel, \"I've sent the\nwretch away with a bee in his bonnet.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE CUSTOMS OF BOUPARI.\n\n\nHuman nature cannot always keep on the full stretch of excitement. It was\nwonderful to both Felix and Muriel how soon they settled down into a\nquiet routine of life on the island of Boupari. A week passed away--two\nweeks--three weeks--and the chances of release seemed to grow slenderer\nand slenderer. All they could do now was to wait for the stray accident\nof a passing ship, and then try, if possible, to signal it, or to put out\nto it in a canoe, if the natives would allow them.\n\nMeanwhile, their lives for the moment seemed fairly safe. Though for the\nfirst few days they lived in constant alarm, this feeling, after a time,\ngave way to one of comparative security. The strange institution of Taboo\nprotected them more efficiently in their wattled huts than the whole\npolice force of London could have done in a Belgravian mansion. There\nthieves break through and steal, in spite of bolts and bars and\nmetropolitan constables; but at Boupari no native, however daring or\nhowever wicked, would ever venture to transgress the narrow line of white\ncoral sand which protected the castaways like an intangible wall from all\nouter interference. Within this impalpable ring-fence they were\nabsolutely safe from all rude intrusion, save that of the two Shadows,\nwho waited upon them, day and night, with unfailing willingness.\n\nIn other respects, considering the circumstances, their life was an easy\none. The natives brought them freely of their simple store--yam, taro,\nbread-fruit, and cocoanut, with plenty of fish, crabs, and lobsters, as\nwell as eggs by the basketful, and even sometimes chickens. They required\nno pay beyond a nod and a smile, and went away happy at those slender\nrecognitions. Felix discovered, in fact, that they had got into a region\nwhere the arid generalizations of political economy do not apply; where\nAdam Smith is unread, and Mill neglected; where the medium of exchange is\nan unknown quantity, and where supply and demand readjust themselves\ncontinuously by simpler and more generous principles than the familiar\nEuropean one of \"the higgling of the market.\"\n\nThe people, too, though utter savages, were not in their own way\naltogether unpleasing. It was their customs and superstitions, rather\nthan themselves, that were so cruel and horrible. Personally, they seemed\nfor the most part simple-minded and good natured creatures. At first,\nindeed, Muriel was afraid to venture for a step beyond the precincts of\ntheir own huts; and it was long before she could make up her mind to go\nalone through the jungle paths with Mali, unaccompanied by Felix. But by\ndegrees she learned that she could walk by herself (of course, with the\ninevitable Shadow ever by her side) over the whole island, and meet\neverywhere with nothing from men, women, and children but the utmost\nrespect and gracious courtesy. The young lads, as she passed, would stand\naside from the path, with downcast eyes, and let her go by with all the\npoliteness of chivalrous English gentlemen. The old men would raise their\neyes, but cross their hands on their breasts, and stand motionless for a\nfew minutes till she got almost out of sight. The women would bring their\npretty brown babies for the fair English lady to admire or to pat on the\nhead; and when Muriel now and again stooped down to caress some fat\nlittle naked child, lolling in the dust outside the hut, with true\ntropical laziness, the mothers would run up at the sight with delight and\njoy, and throw themselves down in ecstacies of gratitude for the notice\nshe had taken of their favored little ones. \"The gods of Heaven,\" they\nwould say, with every sign of pleasure, \"have looked graciously upon our\nUnaloa.\"\n\nAt first Felix and Muriel were mainly struck with the politeness and\ndeference which the natives displayed toward them. But after a time Felix\nat least began to observe, behind it all, that a certain amount of\naffection, and even of something like commiseration as well, seemed to be\nmingled with the respect and reverence showered upon them by their hosts.\nThe women, especially, were often evidently touched by Muriel's innocence\nand beauty. As she walked past their huts with her light, girlish tread,\nthey would come forth shyly, bowing many times as they approached, and\noffer her a long spray of the flowering hibiscus, or a pretty garland of\ncrimson ti-leaves, saying at the same time, many times over, in their own\ntongue, \"Receive it, Korong; receive it, Queen of the Clouds! You are\ngood. You are kind. You are a daughter of the Sun. We are glad you have\ncome to us.\"\n\nA young girl soon makes herself at home anywhere; and Muriel, protected\nalike by her native innocence and by the invisible cloak of Polynesian\ntaboo, quickly learned to understand and to sympathize with these poor\ndusky mothers. One morning, some weeks after their arrival, she passed\ndown the main street of the village, accompanied by Felix and their two\nattendants, and reached the _marae_--the open forum or place of public\nassembly--which stood in its midst; a circular platform, surrounded by\nbread-fruit trees, under whose broad, cool shade the people were sitting\nin little groups and talking together. They were dressed in the regular\nold-time festive costume of Polynesia; for Boupari, being a small and\nremote island, too insignificant to be visited by European ships,\nretained still all its aboriginal heathen manners and customs. The sight\nwas, indeed, a curious and picturesque one. The girls, large-limbed,\nsoft-skinned, and with delicately rounded figures, sat on the ground,\nlaughing and talking, with their knees crossed under them; their wrists\nwere encinctured with girdles of dark-red drac\u00e6na leaves, their swelling\nbosoms half concealed, half accentuated by hanging necklets of flowers.\nTheir beautiful brown arms and shoulders were bare throughout; their\nlong, black hair was gracefully twined and knotted with bright scarlet\nflowers. The men, strong and stalwart, sat behind on short stools or\nlounged on the buttressed roots of the bread-fruit trees, clad like the\nwomen in narrow waist-belts of the long red drac\u00e6na leaves, with necklets\nof sharks' teeth, pendent chain of pearly shells, a warrior's cap on\ntheir well-shaped heads, and an armlet of native beans, arranged below\nthe shoulder, around their powerful arms. Altogether, it was a striking\nand beautiful picture. Muriel, now almost released from her early sense\nof fear, stood still to look at it.\n\nThe men and girls were laughing and chatting merrily together. Most of\nthem were engaged in holding up before them fine mats; and a row of\nmulberry cloth, spread along on the ground, led to a hut near one side of\nthe _marae_. Toward this the eyes of the spectators were turned. \"What is\nit, Mali?\" Muriel whispered, her woman's instinct leading her at once to\nexpect that something special was going on in the way of local\nfestivities.\n\nAnd Mali answered at once, with many nods and smiles, \"All right, Missy\nQueenie. Him a wedding, a marriage.\"\n\nThe words had hardly escaped her lips when a very pretty young girl,\nhalf smothered in flowers, and decked out in beads and fancy shells,\nemerged slowly from the hut, and took her way with stately tread along\nthe path carpeted with native cloth. She was girt round the waist with\nrich-colored mats, which formed a long train, like a court dress,\ntrailing on the ground five or six feet behind her.\n\n\"That's the bride, I suppose,\" Muriel whispered, now really\ninterested--for what woman on earth, wherever she may be, can resist\nthe seductive delights of a wedding?\n\n\"Yes, her a bride,\" Mali answered; \"and ladies what follow, them her\nbridesmaids.\"\n\nAt the word, six other girls, similarly dressed, though without the\ntrain, and demure as nuns, emerged from the hut in slow order, two and\ntwo, behind her.\n\nMuriel and Felix moved forward with natural curiosity toward the scene.\nThe natives, now ranged in a row along the path, with mats turned inward,\nmade way for them gladly. All seem pleased that Heaven should thus\nauspiciously honor the occasion; and the bride herself, as well as the\nbridegroom, who, decked in shells and teeth, advanced from the opposite\nside along the path to meet her, looked up with grateful smiles at the\ntwo Europeans. Muriel, in return, smiled her most gracious and girlish\nrecognition. As the bride drew near, she couldn't refrain from bending\nforward a little to look at the girl's really graceful costume. As she\ndid so, the skirt of her own European dress brushed for a second against\nthe bride's train, trailed carelessly many yards on the ground behind\nher.\n\nAlmost before they could know what had happened, a wild commotion arose,\nas if by magic, in the crowd around them. Loud cries of \"Taboo! Taboo!\"\nmixed with inarticulate screams, burst on every side from the assembled\nnatives. In the twinkling of an eye they were surrounded by an angry,\nthreatening throng, who didn't dare to draw near, but, standing a yard or\ntwo off, drew stone knives freely and shook their fists, scowling, in the\nstrangers' faces. The change was appalling in its electric suddenness.\nMuriel drew back horrified, in an agony of alarm. \"Oh, what have I done!\"\nshe cried, piteously, clinging to Felix for support. \"Why on earth are\nthey angry with us?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Felix answered, taken aback himself. \"I can't say exactly\nin what you've transgressed. But you must, unconsciously, in some way\nhave offended their prejudices. I hope it's not much. At any rate they're\nclearly afraid to touch us.\"\n\n\"Missy Queenie break taboo,\" Mali explained at once, with Polynesian\nfrankness. \"That make people angry. So him want to kill you. Missy\nQueenie touch bride with end of her dress. Korong may smile on\nbride--that very good luck; but Korong taboo; no must touch him.\"\n\nThe crowd gathered around them, still very threatening in attitude, yet\nclearly afraid to approach within arm's-length of the strangers. Muriel\nwas much frightened at their noise and at their frantic gestures. \"Come\naway,\" she cried, catching Felix by the arm once more. \"Oh, what are they\ngoing to do to us? Will they kill us for this? I'm so horribly afraid!\nOh, why did I ever do it!\"\n\nThe poor little bride, meanwhile, left alone on the carpet, and unnoticed\nby everybody, sank suddenly down on the mats where she stood, buried her\nface in her hands, and began to sob as if her heart would break.\nEvidently, something very untoward of some sort had happened to the dusky\nlady on her wedding morning.\n\nThe final touch was too much for poor Muriel's overwrought nerves. She,\ntoo, gave way in a tempest of sobs, and, subsiding on one of the native\nstools hard by, burst into tears herself with half-hysterical violence.\n\nInstantly, as she did so, the whole assembly seemed to change its mind\nagain as if by contagious magic. A loud shout of \"She cries; the Queen of\nthe Clouds cries!\" went up from all the assembled mob to heaven. \"It is a\ngood omen,\" Toko, the Shadow, whispered in Polynesian to Felix, seeing\nhis puzzled look. \"We shall have plenty of rain now; the clouds will\nbreak; our crops will flourish.\" Almost before she understood it, Muriel\nwas surrounded by an eager and friendly crowd, still afraid to draw near,\nbut evidently anxious to see and to comfort and console her. Many of the\nwomen eagerly held forward their native mats, which Mali took from them,\nand, pressing them for a second against Muriel's eyes, handed them back\nwith just a suspicion of wet tears left glistening in the corner. The\nhappy recipients leaped and shouted with joy. \"No more drought!\" they\ncried merrily, with loud shouts and gesticulations. \"The Queen of the\nClouds is good: she will weep well from heaven upon my yam and taro\nplots!\"\n\nMuriel looked up, all dazed, and saw, to her intense surprise, the crowd\nwas now nothing but affection and sympathy. Slowly they gathered in\ncloser and closer, till they almost touched the hem of her robe; then the\nmen stood by respectfully, laying their fingers on whatever she had\nwetted with her tears, while the women and girls took her hand in theirs\nand pressed it sympathetically. Mali explained their meaning with ready\ninterpretation. \"No cry too much, them say,\" she observed, nodding her\nhead sagely. \"Not good for Missy Queenie to cry too much. Them say, kind\nlady, be comforted.\"\n\nThere was genuine good-nature in the way they consoled her; and Felix was\ntouched by the tenderness of those savage hearts; but the additional\nexplanation, given him in Polynesian by his own Shadow, tended somewhat\nto detract from the disinterestedness of their sympathy. \"They say, 'It\nis good for the Queen of the Clouds to weep,'\" Toko said, with frank\nbluntness; \"'but not too much--for fear the rain should wash away all our\nyam and taro plants.'\"\n\nBy this time the little bride had roused herself from her stupor, and,\nsmiling away as if nothing had happened, said a few words in a very low\nvoice to Felix's Shadow. The Shadow turned most respectfully to his\nmaster, and, touching his sleeve-link, which was of bright gold, said, in\na very doubtful voice, \"She asks you, oh king, will you allow her, just\nfor to-day, to wear this ornament?\"\n\nFelix unbuttoned the shining bauble at once, and was about to hand it to\nthe bride with polite gallantry. \"She may wear it forever, for the matter\nof that, if she likes,\" he said, good-humoredly. \"I make her a present\nof it.\"\n\nBut the bride drew back as before in speechless terror, as he held out\nhis hand, and seemed just on the point of bursting out into tears again\nat this untoward incident. The Shadow intervened with fortunate\nperception of the cause of the misunderstanding. \"Korong must not touch\nor give anything to a bride,\" he said, quietly; \"not with his own hand.\nHe must not lay his finger on her; that would be unlucky. But he may hand\nit by his Shadow.\" Then he turned to his fellow-tribesmen. \"These gods,\"\nhe said, in an explanatory voice, like one bespeaking forgiveness,\n\"though they are divine, and Korong, and very powerful--see, they have\ncome from the sun, and they are but strangers in Boupari--they do not yet\nknow the ways of our island. They have not eaten of human flesh. They do\nnot understand Taboo. But they will soon be wiser. They mean very well,\nbut they do not know. Behold, he gives her this divine shining ornament\nfrom the sun as a present!\" And, taking it in his hand, he held it up for\na moment to public admiration. Then he passed on the trinket\nostentatiously to the bride, who, smiling and delighted, hung it low on\nher breast among her other decorations.\n\nThe whole party seemed so surprised and gratified at this proof of\ncondescension on the part of the divine stranger that they crowded round\nFelix once more, praising and thanking him volubly. Muriel, anxious to\nremove the bad impression she had created by touching the bride's dress,\nhastily withdrew her own little brooch and offered it in turn to the\nShadow as an additional present. But Toko, shaking his head vigorously,\npointed with his forefinger many times to Mali. \"Toko say him no can take\nit,\" Mali explained hastily, in her broken English. \"Him no your Shadow;\nme your Shadow; me do everything for you; me give it to the lady.\" And,\ntaking the brooch in her hand, she passed it over in turn amid loud cries\nof delight and shouts of approval.\n\nThereupon, the ceremony began all over again. They seemed by their\nintervention to have interrupted some set formula. At its close the women\ncrowded around Muriel and took her hand in theirs, kissing it many times\nover, with tears in their eyes, and betraying an immense amount of\ngenuine feeling. One phrase in Polynesian they repeated again and again;\na phrase that made Felix's cheek turn white, as he leaned over the poor\nEnglish girl with a profound emotion.\n\n\"What does it mean that they say?\" Muriel asked at last, perceiving it\nwas all one phrase, many times repeated.\n\nFelix was about to give some evasive explanation, when Mali interposed\nwith her simple, unthinking translation. \"Them say, Missy Queenie very\ngood and kind. Make them sad to think. Make them cry to see her. Make\nthem cry to see Missy Queenie Korong. Too good. Too pretty.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" Muriel exclaimed, drawing back with some faint presentiment of\nunspeakable horror.\n\nFelix tried to stop her; but the girl would not be stopped. \"Because,\nwhen Korong time up,\" she answered, blurting it out, \"Korong must--\"\n\nFelix clapped his hand to her mouth in wild haste, and silenced her. He\nknew the worst now. He had divined the truth. But Muriel, at least, must\nbe spared that knowledge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nSOWING THE WIND.\n\nVaguely and indefinitely one terrible truth had been forced by slow\ndegrees upon Felix's mind; whatever else Korong meant, it implied at\nleast some fearful doom in store, sooner or later, for the persons who\nbore it. How awful that doom might be, he could hardly imagine; but he\nmust devote himself henceforth to the task of discovering what its nature\nwas, and, if possible, of averting it.\n\nYet how to reconcile this impending terror with the other obvious facts\nof the situation? the fact that they were considered divine beings and\ntreated like gods; and the fact that the whole population seemed really\nto regard them with a devotion and kindliness closely bordering on\nreligious reverence? If Korongs were gods, why should the people want to\nkill them? If they meant to kill them, why pay them meanwhile such\nrespect and affection?\n\nOne point at least was now, however, quite clear to Felix. While the\nnatives, especially the women, displayed toward both of them in their\npersonal aspect a sort of regretful sympathy, he could not help noticing\nat the same time that the men, at any rate, regarded them also largely\nin an impersonal light, as a sort of generalized abstraction of the\npowers of nature--an embodied form of the rain and the weather. The\nislanders were anxious to keep their white guests well supplied, well\nfed, and in perfect health, not so much for the strangers' sakes as for\ntheir own advantage; they evidently considered that if anything went\nwrong with either of their two new gods, corresponding misfortunes might\nhappen to their crops and the produce of their bread-fruit groves. Some\nmysterious sympathy was held to subsist between the persons of the\ncastaways and the state of the weather. The natives effusively thanked\nthem after welcome rain, and looked askance at them, scowling, after long\ndry spells. It was for this, no doubt, that they took such pains to\nprovide them with attentive Shadows, and to gird round their movements\nwith taboos of excessive stringency. Nothing that the new-comers said or\ndid was indifferent, it seemed, to the welfare of the community; plenty\nand prosperity depended upon the passing state of Muriel's health, and\nfamine or drought might be brought about at any moment by the slightest\nimprudence in Felix's diet.\n\nHow stringent these taboos really were Felix learned by slow degrees\nalone to realize. From the very beginning he had observed, to be sure,\nthat they might only eat and drink the food provided for them; that they\nwere supplied with a clean and fresh-built hut, as well as with brand-new\ncocoanut cups, spoons, and platters; that no litter of any sort was\nallowed to accumulate near their enclosure; and that their Shadows never\nleft them, or went out of their sight, by day or by night, for a single\nmoment. Now, however, he began to perceive also that the Shadows were\nthere for that very purpose, to watch over them, as it were, like guards,\non behalf of the community; to see that they ate or drank no tabooed\nobject; to keep them from heedlessly transgressing any unwritten law of\nthe creed of Boupari; and to be answerable for their good behavior\ngenerally. They were partly servants, it was true, and partly sureties;\nbut they were partly also keepers, and keepers who kept a close and\nconstant watch upon the persons of their prisoners. Once or twice Felix,\ngrowing tired for the moment of this continual surveillance, had tried to\ngive Toko the slip, and to stroll away from his hut, unattended, for a\nwalk through the island, in the early morning, before his Shadow had\nwaked; but on each such occasion he found to his surprise that, as he\nopened the hut door, the Shadow rose at once and confronted him angrily,\nwith an inquiring eye; and in time he perceived that a thin string was\nfastened to the bottom of the door, the other end of which was tied to\nthe Shadow's ankle; and this string could not be cut without letting fall\na sort of latch or bar which closed the door outside, only to be raised\nagain by some external person.\n\nClearly, it was intended that the Korong should have no chance of escape\nwithout the knowledge of the Shadow, who, as Felix afterward learned,\nwould have paid with his own body by a cruel death for the Korong's\ndisappearance.\n\nHe might as well have tried to escape his own shadow as to escape the one\nthe islanders had tacked on to him.\n\nAll Felix's energies were now devoted to the arduous task of discovering\nwhat Korong really meant, and what possibility he might have of saving\nMuriel from the mysterious fate that seemed to be held in store for them.\n\nOne evening, about six weeks after their arrival in the island, the young\nEnglishman was strolling by himself (after the sun sank low in heaven)\nalong a pretty tangled hill-side path, overhung with lianas and rope-like\ntropical creepers, while his faithful Shadow lingered a step or two\nbehind, keeping a sharp lookout meanwhile on all his movements.\n\nNear the top of a little crag of volcanic rock, in the center of the\nhills, he came suddenly upon a hut with a cleared space around it,\nsomewhat neater in appearance than any of the native cottages he had yet\nseen, and surrounded by a broad white belt of coral sand, exactly like\nthat which ringed round and protected their own enclosure. But what\nspecially attracted Felix's attention was the fact that the space outside\nthis circle had been cleared into a regular flower-garden, quite European\nin the definiteness and orderliness of its quaint arrangement.\n\n\"Why, who lives here?\" Felix asked in Polynesian, turning round in\nsurprise to his respectful Shadow.\n\nThe Shadow waved his hand vaguely in an expansive way toward the sky, as\nhe answered, with a certain air of awe, often observable in his speech\nwhen taboos were in question, \"The King of Birds. A very great god. He\nspeaks the bird language.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" Felix inquired, taken aback, wondering vaguely to himself\nwhether here, perchance, he might have lighted upon some stray and\nshipwrecked compatriot.\n\n\"He comes from the sun like yourselves,\" the Shadow answered, all\ndeference, but with obvious reserve. \"He is a very great god. I may not\nspeak much of him. But he is not Korong. He is greater than that, and\nless. He is Tula, the same as Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"Is he as powerful as Tu-Kila-Kila?\" Felix asked, with intense interest.\n\n\"Oh, no, he's not nearly so powerful as that,\" the Shadow answered, half\nterrified at the bare suggestion. \"No god in heaven or earth is like\nTu-Kila-Kila. This one is only king of the birds, which is a little\nprovince, while Tu-Kila-Kila is king of heaven and earth, of plants\nand animals, of gods and men, of all things created. At his nod the sky\nshakes and the rocks tremble. But still, this god is Tula, like\nTu-Kila-Kila. He is not for a year. He goes on forever, till some other\nsupplants him.\"\n\n\"You say he comes from the sun,\" Felix put in, devoured with curiosity.\n\"And he speaks the bird language? What do you mean by that? Does he speak\nlike the Queen of the Clouds and myself when we talk together?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, no,\" the Shadow answered, in a very confident tone. \"He\ndoesn't speak the least bit in the world like that. He speaks shriller\nand higher, and still more bird-like. It is chatter, chatter, chatter,\nlike the parrots in a tree; tirra, tirra, tirra; tarra, tarra, tarra; la,\nla, la; lo, lo, lo; lu, lu, lu; li la. And he sings to himself all the\ntime. He sings this way--\"\n\nAnd then the Shadow, with that wonderful power of accurate mimicry which\nis so strong in all natural human beings, began to trill out at once,\nwith a very good Parisian accent, a few lines from a well-known song in\n\"La Fille de Madame Angot:\"\n\n\"Quand on conspi-re,\n   Quand sans frayeur\n On pent se di-re\n   Conspirateur,\n Pour tout le mon-de\n   Il faut avoir\n Perruque blon-de\n   Et collet noir--\n Perruque blon-de\n   Et collet noir.\"\n\n\"That's how the King of the Birds sings,\" the Shadow said, as he\nfinished, throwing back his head, and laughing with all his might at his\nown imitation. \"So funny, isn't it? It's exactly like the song of the\npink-crested parrot.\"\n\n\"Why, Toko, it's French,\" Felix exclaimed, using the Fijian word for a\nFrenchman, which the Shadow, of course, on his remote island, had never\nbefore heard. \"How on earth did he come here?\"\n\n\"I can't tell you,\" Toko answered, waving his arms seaward. \"He came from\nthe sun, like yourselves. But not in a sun-boat. It had no fire. He came\nin a canoe, all by himself. And Mali says\"--here the Shadow lowered his\nvoice to a most mysterious whisper--\"he's a man-a-oui-oui.\"\n\nFelix quivered with excitement. \"Man-a-oui-oui\" is the universal name\nover semi-civilized Polynesia for a Frenchman. Felix seized upon it with\navidity. \"A man-a-oui-oui!\" he cried, delighted. \"How strange! How\nwonderful! I must go in at once to his hut and see him!\"\n\nHe had lifted his foot and was just going to cross the white line of\ncoral-sand, when his Shadow, catching him suddenly and stoutly round the\nwaist, pulled him back from the enclosure with every sign of horror,\nalarm, and astonishment. \"No, you can't go,\" he cried, grappling with him\nwith all his force, yet using him very tenderly for all that, as becomes\na god. \"Taboo! Taboo there!\"\n\n\"But I am a god myself,\" Felix cried, insisting upon his privileges. If\nyou have to submit to the disadvantages of taboo, you may as well claim\nits advantages as well. \"The King of Fire and the King of Water crossed\nmy taboo line. Why shouldn't I cross equally the King of the Birds',\nthen?\"\n\n\"So you might--as a rule,\" the Shadow answered with promptitude. \"You are\nboth gods. Your taboos do not cross. You may visit each other. You may\ntransgress one another's lines without danger of falling dead on the\nground as common men would do if they broke taboo-lines. But this is the\nMonth of Birds. The king is in retreat. No man may see him except his own\nShadow, the Little Cockatoo, who brings him his food and drink. Do you\nsee that hawk's head, stuck upon the post by the door at the side. That\nis his Special Taboo. He keeps it for this month. Even gods must respect\nthat sign, for a reason which it would be very bad medicine to mention.\nWhile the Month of Birds lasts, no man may look upon the king or hear\nhim. If they did, they would die, and the carrion birds would eat them.\nCome away. This is dangerous.\"\n\nScarcely were the words well out of his mouth when from the recesses of\nthe hut a rollicking French voice was heard, trilling out merrily:\n\n\"Quand on con-spi-re,\n   Quand, sans frayeur--\"\n\nWithout waiting for more, the Shadow seized Felix's arm in an agony of\nterror. \"Come away!\" he cried, hurriedly, \"come away! What will become\nof us? This is horrible, horrible! We have broken taboo. We have heard\nthe god's voice. The sky will fall on us. If his Shadow were to find it\nout and tell my people, my people would tear us limb from limb. Quick,\nquick! Hide away! Let us run fast through the forest before any man\ndiscover it.\"\n\nThe Shadow's voice rang deep with alarm. Felix felt he dare not trifle\nwith this superstition. Profound as was his curiosity about the\nmysterious Frenchman, he was compelled to bottle up his eagerness and\nanxiety for the moment, and patiently wait till the Month of Birds had\nrun its course, and taken its inconvenient taboo along with it. These\nlimitations were terrible. Yet he counted much upon the information the\nFrenchman could give him. The man had been some time on the island, it\nwas clear, and doubtless he understood its ways thoroughly; he might\ncast some light at last upon the Korong mystery.\n\nSo he went back through the woods with a heart somewhat lighter.\n\nNot far from their own huts he met Muriel and Mali.\n\nAs they walked home together, Felix told his companion in a very few\nwords the strange discovery about the Frenchman, and the impenetrable\ntaboo by which he was at present surrounded. Muriel drew a deep sigh.\n\"Oh, Felix,\" she said--for they were naturally by this time very much at\nhome with one another, \"did you ever know anything so dreadful as the\nmystery of these taboos? It seems as if we should never get really to the\nbottom of them. Mali's always springing some new one upon me. I don't\nbelieve we shall ever be able to leave the island--we're so hedged round\nwith taboos. Even if we were to see a ship to-day, I don't believe they'd\nallow us to signal it.\"\n\nThere was a red sunset; a lurid, tropical, red-and-green sunset. It boded\nmischief.\n\nThey were passing by some huts at the moment, and over the stockade of\none of them a tree was hanging with small yellow fruits, which Felix knew\nwell in Fiji as wholesome and agreeable. He broke off a small branch as\nhe passed; and offered a couple thoughtlessly to Muriel. She took them in\nher fingers, and tasted them gingerly. \"They're not so bad,\" she said,\ntaking another from the bough. \"They're very much like gooseberries.\"\n\nAt the same moment, Felix popped one into his own mouth, and swallowed it\nwithout thinking.\n\nAlmost before they knew what had happened, with the same extraordinary\nrapidity as in the case of the wedding, the people in the cottages ran\nout, with every sign of fear and apprehension, and, seizing the branch\nfrom Felix's hands, began upbraiding the two Shadows for their want\nof attention.\n\n\"We couldn't help it,\" Toko exclaimed, with every appearance of guilt and\nhorror on his face. \"They were much too sharp for us. Their hearts are\nblack. How could we two interfere? These gods are so quick! They had\npicked and eaten them before we ever saw them.\"\n\nOne of the men raised his hand with a threatening air--but against the\nShadow, not against the sacred person of Felix. \"He will be ill,\" he\nsaid, angrily, pointing toward the white man; \"and she will, too. Their\nhearts are indeed black. They have sown the seed of the wind. They have\nboth of them eaten of it. They will both be ill. You deserve to die! And\nwhat will come now to our trees and plantations?\"\n\nThe crowd gathered round them, cursing low and horribly. The two\nterrified Europeans slunk off to their huts, unaware of their exact\ncrime, and closely followed by a scowling but despondent mob of natives.\nAs they crossed their sacred boundary, Muriel cried, with a sudden\noutburst of tears, \"Oh, Felix, what on earth shall we ever do to get\nrid of this terrible, unendurable godship!\"\n\nThe natives without set up a great shout of horror. \"See, see! she\ncries!\" they exclaimed, in indescribable panic. \"She has eaten the\nstorm-fruit, and already she cries! Oh, clouds, restrain yourselves! Oh,\ngreat queen, mercy! Whatever will become of us and our poor huts\nand gardens!\"\n\nAnd for hours they crouched around, beating their breasts and shrieking.\n\nThat evening, Muriel sat up late in Felix's hut, with Mali by her side,\ntoo frightened to go back into her own alone before those angry people.\nAnd all the time, just beyond the barrier line, they could hear, above\nthe whistle of the wind around the hut, the droning voices of dozens of\nnatives, cowering low on the ground; they seemed to be going through some\nlitany or chant, as if to deprecate the result of this imprudent action.\n\n\"What are they doing outside?\" Felix asked of his Shadow at last, after a\npeculiarly long wail of misery.\n\nAnd the Shadow made answer, in very solemn tones, \"They are trying to\npropitiate your mightiness, and to avert the omen, lest the rain should\nfall, and the wind should blow, and the storm-cloud should burst over the\nisland to destroy them.\"\n\nThen Felix remembered suddenly of himself that the season when this\nstorm-fruit, or storm-apple, as they called it, was ripe in Fiji, was\nalso the season when the great Pacific cyclones most often swept over the\nland in full fury--storms unexampled on any other sea, like that famous\none which wrecked so many European men-of-war a few years since in the\nharbor of Samoa.\n\nAnd without, the wail came louder and clearer still! \"If you sow the\nbread-fruit seed, you will reap the breadfruit. If you sow the wind, you\nwill reap the whirlwind. They have eaten the storm-fruit. Oh, great king,\nsave us!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nREAPING THE WHIRLWIND.\n\n\nToward midnight Muriel began to doze lightly from pure fatigue.\n\n\"Put a pillow under her head, and let her sleep,\" Felix said in a\nwhisper. \"Poor child, it would be cruel to send her alone to-night into\nher own quarters.\"\n\nAnd Mali slipped a pillow of mulberry paper under her mistress's head,\nand laid it on her own lap, and bent down to watch her.\n\nBut outside, beyond the line, the natives murmured loud their discontent.\n\"The Queen of the Clouds stays in the King of the Rain's hut to-night,\"\nthey muttered, angrily. \"She will not listen to us. Before morning, be\nsure, the Tempest will be born of their meeting to destroy us.\"\n\nAbout two o'clock there came a lull in the wind, which had been rising\nsteadily ever since that lurid sunset. Felix looked out of the hut door.\nThe moon was full. It was almost as clear as day with the bright tropical\nmoonlight, silvery in the open, pale green in the shadow. The people were\nstill squatting in great rings round the hut, just outside the taboo\nline, and beating gongs, and sticks and human bones, to keep time to the\nlilt of their lugubrious litany.\n\nThe air felt unusually heavy and oppressive. Felix raised his eyes to the\nsky, and saw whisps of light cloud drifting in rapid flight over the\nscudding moon. Below, an ominous fog bank gathered steadily westward.\nThen one clap of thunder rent the sky. After it came a deadly silence.\nThe moon was veiled. All was dark as pitch. The natives themselves fell\non their faces and prayed with mute lips. Three minutes later, the\ncyclone had burst upon them in all its frenzy.\n\nSuch a hurricane Felix had never before experienced. Its energy was\nawful. Round the palm-trees the wind played a frantic and capricious\ndevil's dance. It pirouetted about the atoll in the mad glee of\nunconsciousness. Here and there it cleared lanes, hundreds of yards in\nlength, among the forest-trees and the cocoanut plantations. The noise of\nsnapping and falling trunks rang thick on the air. At times the cyclone\nwould swoop down from above upon the swaying stem of some tall and\nstately palm that bent like grass before the wind, break it off short\nwith a roar at the bottom, and lay it low at once upon the ground, with a\ncrash like thunder. In other places, little playful whirlwinds seemed to\ndescend from the sky in the very midst of the dense brushwood, where they\ncleared circular patches, strewn thick under foot with trunks and\nbranches in their titanic sport, and yet left unhurt all about the\nsurrounding forest. Then again a special cyclone of gigantic proportions\nwould advance, as it were, in a single column against one stem of a\nclump, whirl round it spirally like a lightning flash, and, deserting it\nfor another, leave it still standing, but turned and twisted like a screw\nby the irresistible force of its invisible fingers. The storm-god, said\nToko, was dancing with the palm-trees. The sight was awful. Such\ndestructive energy Felix had never even imagined before. No wonder the\nsavages all round beheld in it the personal wrath of some mighty spirit.\n\nFor in spite of the black clouds they could _see_ it all--both the\nEuropeans and the islanders. The intense darkness of the night was\nlighted up for them every minute by an almost incessant blaze of sheet\nand forked lightning. The roar of the thunder mingled with the roar of\nthe tempest, each in turn overtopping and drowning the other. The hut\nwhere Felix and Muriel sheltered themselves shook before the storm; the\nvery ground of the island trembled and quivered--like the timbers of a\ngreat ship before a mighty sea--at each onset of the breakers upon the\nsurrounding fringe-reef. And side by side with it all, to crown their\nmisery, wild torrents of rain, descending in waterspouts, as it seemed,\nor dashed in great sheets against the roof of their frail tenement,\npoured fitfully on with fierce tropical energy.\n\nIn the midst of the hut Muriel crouched and prayed with bloodless lips to\nHeaven. This was too, too terrible. It seemed incredible to her that on\ntop of all they had been called upon to suffer of fear and suspense at\nthe hands of the savages, the very dumb forces of nature themselves\nshould thus be stirred up to open war against them. Her faith in\nProvidence was sorely tried. Dumb forces, indeed! Why, they roared with\nmore terrible voices than any wild beast on earth could possibly compass.\nThe thunder and the wind were howling each other down in emulous din, and\nthe very hiss of the lightning could be distinctly heard, like some huge\nsnake, at times above the creaking and snapping of the trees before the\ngale in the surrounding forest.\n\nMuriel crouched there long, in the mute misery of utter despair. At her\nfeet Mali crouched too, as frightened as herself, but muttering aloud\nfrom time to time, in a reproachful voice, \"I tell Missy Queenie what\ngoing to happen. I warn her not. I tell her she must not eat that very\nbad storm-apple. But Missy Queenie no listen. Her take her own way, then\nstorm come down upon us.\"\n\nAnd Felix's Shadow, in his own tongue, exclaimed more than once in the\nself-same tone, half terror, half expostulation, \"See now what comes from\nbreaking taboo? You eat the storm-fruit. The storm-fruit suits ill with\nthe King of the Rain and the Queen of the Clouds. The heavens have broken\nloose. The sea has boiled. See what wind and what flood you are bringing\nupon us.\"\n\nBy and by, above even the fierce roar of the mingled thunder and cyclone,\na wild orgy of noise burst upon them all from without the hut. It was a\nsound as of numberless drums and tom-toms, all beaten in unison with the\nmad energy of fear; a hideous sound, suggestive of some hateful heathen\ndevil-worship. Muriel clapped her hands to her ears in horror. \"Oh,\nwhat's that?\" she cried to Felix, at this new addition to their endless\nalarms. \"Are the savages out there rising in a body? Have they come to\nmurder us?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Felix said, smoothing her hair with his hand, as a mother\nmight soothe her terrified child, \"perhaps they're angry with us for\nhaving caused this storm, as they think, by our foolish action. I believe\nthey all set it down to our having unluckily eaten that unfortunate\nfruit. I'll go out to the door myself and speak to them.\"\n\nMuriel clung to his arm with a passionate clinging.\n\n\"Oh, Felix,\" she cried, \"no! Don't leave me here alone. My darling, I\nlove you. You're all the world there is left to me now, Felix. Don't go\nout to those wretches and leave me here alone. They'll murder you!\nthey'll murder you! Don't go out, I implore you. If they mean to kill us,\nlet them kill us both together, in one another's arms. Oh, Felix, I am\nyours, and you are mine, my darling!\"\n\nIt was the first time either of them had acknowledged the fact; but\nthere, before the face of that awful convulsion of nature, all the little\ndeceptions and veils of life seemed rent asunder forever as by a flash of\nlightning. They stood face to face with each other's souls, and forgot\nall else in the agony of the moment. Felix clasped the trembling girl in\nhis arms like a lover. The two Shadows looked on and shook with silent\nterror. If the King of the Rain thus embraced the Queen of the Clouds\nbefore their very eyes, amid so awful a storm, what unspeakable effects\nmight not follow at once from it! But they had too much respect for those\nsupernatural creatures to attempt to interfere with their action at such\na moment. They accepted their masters almost as passively as they\naccepted the wind and the thunder, which they believed to arise from\nthem.\n\nFelix laid his poor Muriel tenderly down on the mud floor again. \"I\n_must_ go out, my child,\" he said. \"For the very love of _you_, I must\nplay the man, and find out what these savages mean by their drumming.\"\n\nHe crept to the door of the hut (for no man could walk upright before\nthat awful storm), and peered out into the darkness once more, awaiting\none of the frequent flashes of lightning. He had not long to wait. In a\nmoment the sky was all ablaze again from end to end, and continued so\nfor many seconds consecutively. By the light of the continuous zigzags\nof fire, Felix could see for himself that hundreds and hundreds of\nnatives--men, women, and children, naked, or nearly so, with their hair\nloose and wet about their cheeks--lay flat on their faces, many courses\ndeep, just outside the taboo line. The wind swept over them with\nextraordinary force, and the tropical rain descended in great floods upon\ntheir bare backs and shoulders. But the savages, as if entranced, seemed\nto take no heed of all these earthly things. They lay grovelling in the\nmud before some unseen power; and beating their tom-toms in unison, with\nbarbaric concord, they cried aloud once more as Felix appeared, in a\nweird litany that overtopped the tumultuous noise of the tempest, \"Oh,\nStorm-God, hear us! Oh, great spirit, deliver us! King of the Rain and\nQueen of the Clouds, befriend us! Be angry no more! Hide your wrath from\nyour people! Take away your hurricane, and we will bring you many gifts.\nEat no longer of the storm-apple--the seed of the wind--and we will feed\nyou with yam and turtle, and much choice bread-fruit. Great king, we are\nyours; you shall choose which you will of our children for your meat and\ndrink; you shall sup on our blood. But take your storm away; do not\nutterly drown and submerge our island!\"\n\nAs they spoke they crawled nearer and nearer, with gliding serpentine\nmotion, till their heads almost touched the white line of coral. But not\na man of them all went one inch beyond it. They stopped there and gazed\nat him. Felix signed to them with his hand, and pointed vaguely to the\nsky, as much as to say _he_ was not responsible. At the gesture the whole\nassembly burst into one loud shout of gratitude. \"He has heard us, he has\nheard us!\" they exclaimed, with a perfect wail of joy. \"He will not\nutterly destroy us. He will take away his storm. He will bring the sun\nand the moon back to us.\"\n\nFelix returned into the hut, somewhat reassured so far as the attitude of\nthe savages went. \"Don't be afraid of them, Muriel,\" he cried, taking her\npassionately once more in a tender embrace. \"They daren't cross the\ntaboo. They won't come near; they're too frightened themselves to dream\nof hurting us.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAFTER THE STORM.\n\n\nNext morning the day broke bright and calm, as if the tempest had been\nbut an evil dream of the night, now past forever. The birds sang loud;\nthe lizards came forth from their holes in the wall, and basked, green\nand gold, in the warm, dry sunshine. But though the sky overhead was blue\nand the air clear, as usually happen after these alarming tropical\ncyclones and rainstorms, the memorials of the great wind that had raged\nall night long among the forests of the island were neither few nor far\nbetween. Everywhere the ground was strewn with leaves and branches and\nhuge stems of cocoa-palms. All nature was draggled. Many of the trees\nwere stripped clean of their foliage, as completely as oaks in an English\nwinter; on others, big strands of twisted fibres marked the scars and\njoints where mighty boughs had been torn away by main force; while,\nelsewhere, bare stumps alone remained to mark the former presence of some\nnoble drac\u00e6na or some gigantic banyan. Bread-fruits and cocoanuts lay\ntossed in the wildest confusion on the ground; the banana and\nplantain-patches were beaten level with the soil or buried deep in the\nmud; many of the huts had given way entirely; abundant wreckage strewed\nevery corner of the island. It was an awful sight. Muriel shuddered to\nherself to see how much the two that night had passed through.\n\nWhat the outer fringing reef had suffered from the storm they hardly knew\nas yet; but from the door of the hut Felix could see for himself how even\nthe calm waters of the inner lagoon had been lashed into wild fury by the\nfierce swoop of the tempest. Round the entire atoll the solid\nconglomerate coral floor was scooped under, broken up, chewed fine by the\nwaves, or thrown in vast fragments on the beach of the island. By the\neastern shore, in particular, just opposite their hut, Felix observed a\nregular wall of many feet in height, piled up by the waves like the\nfamiliar Chesil Beach near his old home in Dorsetshire. It was the\nshelter of that temporary barrier alone, no doubt, that had preserved\ntheir huts last night from the full fury of the gale, and that had\nallowed the natives to congregate in such numbers prone on their faces in\nthe mud and rain, upon the unconsecrated ground outside their taboo-line.\n\nBut now not an islander was to be seen within ear-shot. All had gone away\nto look after their ruined huts or their beaten-down plantain-patches,\nleaving the cruel gods, who, as they thought, had wrought all the\nmischief out of pure wantonness, to repent at leisure the harm done\nduring the night to their obedient votaries.\n\nFelix was just about to cross the taboo-line and walk down to the shore\nto examine the barrier, when Toko, his Shadow, laying his hand on his\nshoulder with more genuine interest and affection than he had ever yet\nshown, exclaimed, with some horror, \"Oh, no! Not that! Don't dare to go\noutside! It would be very dangerous for you. If my people were to catch\nyou on profane soil just now, there's no saying what harm they might do\nto you.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" Felix exclaimed, in surprise. \"Last night, surely, they were\nall prayers and promises and vows and entreaties.\"\n\nThe young man nodded his head in acquiescence. \"Ah, yes; last night,\" he\nanswered. \"That was very well then. Vows were sore needed. The storm was\nraging, and you were within your taboo. How could they dare to touch you,\na mighty god of the tempest, at the very moment when you were rending\ntheir banyan-trees and snapping their cocoanut stems with your mighty\narms like so many little chicken-bones? Even Tu-Kila-Kila himself, I\nexpect, the very high god, lay frightened in his temple, cowering by his\ntree, annoyed at your wrath; he sent Fire and Water among the\nworshippers, no doubt, to offer up vows and to appease your anger.\"\n\nThen Felix remembered, as his Shadow spoke, that, as a matter of fact, he\nhad observed the men who usually wore the red and white feather cloaks\namong the motley crowd of grovelling natives who lay flat on their faces\nin the mud of the cleared space the night before, and prayed hard for\nmercy. Only they were not wearing their robes of office at the moment, in\naccordance with a well-known savage custom; they had come naked and in\ndisgrace, as befits all suppliants. They had left behind them the\ninsignia of their rank in their own shaken huts, and bowed down their\nbare backs to the rain and the lightning.\n\n\"Yes, I saw them among the other islanders,\" Felix answered,\nhalf-smiling, but prudently remaining within the taboo-line, as his\nShadow advised him.\n\nToko kept his hand still on his master's shoulder. \"Oh, king,\" he said,\nbeseechingly, and with great solemnity, \"I am doing wrong to warn you; I\nam breaking a very great Taboo. I don't know what harm may come to me for\ntelling you. Perhaps Tu-Kila-Kila will burn me to ashes with one glance\nof his eyes. He may know this minute what I'm saying here alone to you.\"\n\nIt is hard for a white man to meet scruples like this; but Felix was bold\nenough to answer outright: \"Tu-Kila-Kila knows nothing of the sort, and\ncan never find out. Take my word for it, Toko, nothing that you say to me\nwill ever reach Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\nThe Shadow looked at him doubtfully, and trembled as he spoke. \"I like\nyou, Korong,\" he said, with a genuinely truthful ring in his voice. \"You\nseem to me so kind and good--so different from other gods, who are very\ncruel. You never beat me. Nobody I ever served treated me as well or as\nkindly as you have done. And for _your_ sake I will even dare to break\ntaboo--if you're quite, quite sure Tu-Kila-Kila will never discover it.\"\n\n\"I'm quite sure,\" Felix answered, with perfect confidence. \"I know it for\ncertain. I swear a great oath to it.\"\n\n\"You swear by Tu-Kila-Kila himself?\" the young savage asked, anxiously.\n\n\"I swear by Tu-Kila-Kila himself,\" Felix replied at once. \"I swear,\nwithout doubt. He can never know it.\"\n\n\"That is a great Taboo,\" the Shadow went on, meditatively, stroking\nFelix's arm. \"A very great Taboo indeed. A terrible medicine. And you\nare a god; I can trust you. Well, then, you see, the secret is this:\nyou are Korong, but you are a stranger, and you don't understand the\nways of Boupari. If for three days after the end of this storm, which\nTu-Kila-Kila has sent Fire and Water to pray and vow against, you or the\nQueen of the Clouds show yourselves outside your own taboo-line--why,\nthen, the people are clear of sin; whoever takes you may rend you alive;\nthey will tear you limb from limb and cut you into pieces.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" Felix asked, aghast at this discovery. They seemed to live on a\nperpetual volcano in this wonderful island; and a volcano ever breaking\nout in fresh places. They could never get to the bottom of its horrible\nsuperstitions.\n\n\"Because you ate the storm-apple,\" the Shadow answered, confidently.\n\"That was very wrong. You brought the tempest upon us yourselves by your\nown trespass; therefore, by the custom of Boupari, which we learn in the\nmysteries, you become full Korong for the sacrifice at once. That makes\nthe term for you. The people will give you all your dues; then they will\nsay, 'We are free; we have bought you with a price; we have brought your\ncocoanuts. No sin attaches to us; we are righteous; we are righteous.'\nAnd then they will kill you, and Fire and Water will roast you and boil\nyou.\"\n\n\"But only if we go outside the taboo-line?\" Felix asked, anxiously.\n\n\"Only if you go outside the taboo-line,\" the Shadow replied, nodding a\nhasty assent. \"Inside it, till your term comes, even Tu-Kila-Kila\nhimself, the very high god, whose meat we all are, dare never hurt you.\"\n\n\"Till our term comes?\" Felix inquired, once more astonished and\nperplexed. \"What do you mean by that, my Shadow?\"\n\nBut the Shadow was either bound by some superstitious fear, or else\nincapable of putting himself into Felix's point of view. \"Why, till you\nare full Korong,\" he answered, like one who speaks of some familiar fact,\nas who should say, till you are forty years old, or, till your beard\ngrows white. \"Of course, by and by, you will be full Korong. I cannot\nhelp you then; but, till that time comes, I would like to do my best by\nyou. You have been very kind to me. I tell you much. More than this,\nit would not be lawful for me to mention.\"\n\nAnd that was the most that, by dexterous questioning, Felix could ever\nmanage to get out of his mysterious Shadow.\n\n\"At the end of three days we will be safe, though?\" he inquired at last,\nafter all other questions failed to produce an answer.\n\n\"Oh, yes, at the end of three days the storm will have blown over,\" the\nyoung man answered, easily. \"All will then be well. You may venture out\nonce more. The rain will have dried over all the island. Fire and Water\nwill have no more power over you.\"\n\nFelix went back to the hut to inform Muriel of this new peril thus\nsuddenly sprung upon them. Poor Muriel, now almost worn out with endless\nterrors, received it calmly. \"I'm growing accustomed to it all, Felix,\"\nshe answered, resignedly. \"If only I know that you will keep your\npromise, and never let me fall alive into these wretches' hands, I shall\nfeel quite safe. Oh, Felix, do you know when you took me in your arms\nlike that last night, in spite of everything, I felt positively happy.\"\n\nAbout ten o'clock they were suddenly roused by a sound of many natives,\ncoming in quick succession, single file, to the huts, and shouting aloud,\n\"Oh, King of the Rain, oh, Queen of the Clouds, come forth for our vows!\nReceive your presents!\"\n\nFelix went forth to the door to look. With a warning look in his eyes,\nhis Shadow followed him. The natives were now coming up by dozens at a\ntime, bringing with them, in great arm-loads, fallen cocoanuts and\nbreadfruits, and branches of bananas, and large draggled clusters of\nhalf-ripe plantains.\n\n\"Why, what are all these?\" Felix exclaimed in surprise.\n\nHis Shadow looked up at him, as if amused at the absurd simplicity of the\nquestion. \"These are yours, of course,\" he said; \"yours and the Queen's;\nthey are the windfalls you made. Did you not knock them all off the trees\nfor yourselves when you were coming down in such sheets from the sky last\nevening?\"\n\nFelix wrung his hands in positive despair. It was clear, indeed, that to\nthe minds of the natives there was no distinguishing personally between\nhimself and Muriel, and the rain or the cyclone.\n\n\"Will they bring them all in?\" he asked, gazing in alarm at the huge pile\nof fruits the natives were making outside the huts.\n\n\"Yes, all,\" the Shadow answered; \"they are vows; they are godsends; but\nif you like, you can give some of them back. If you give much back, of\ncourse it will make my people less angry with you.\"\n\nFelix advanced near the line, holding his hand up before him to command\nsilence. As he did so, he was absolutely appalled himself at the perfect\nstorm of execration and abuse which his appearance excited. The foremost\nnatives, brandishing their clubs and stone-tipped spears, or shaking\ntheir fists by the line, poured forth upon his devoted head at once all\nthe most frightful curses of the Polynesian vocabulary. \"Oh, evil god,\"\nthey cried aloud with angry faces, \"oh, wicked spirit! you have a bad\nheart. See what a wrong you have purposely done us. If your heart were\nnot bad, would you treat us like this? If you are indeed a god, come out\nacross the line, and let us try issues together. Don't skulk like a\ncoward in your hut and within your taboo, but come out and fight us. _We_\nare not afraid, who are only men. Why are _you_ afraid of us?\"\n\nFelix tried to speak once more, but the din drowned his voice. As he\npaused, the people set up their loud shouts again. \"Oh, you wicked god!\nYou eat the storm-apple! You have wrought us much harm. You have spoiled\nour harvest. How you came down in great sheets last night! It was\npitiful, pitiful! We would like to kill you. You might have taken our\nbread-fruits and our bananas, if you would; we give you them freely; they\nare yours; here, take them. We feed you well; we make you many offerings.\nBut why did you wish to have our huts also? Why did you beat down our\nyoung plantations and break our canoes against the beach of the island?\nThat shows a bad heart! You are an evil god! You dare not defend\nyourself. Come out and meet us.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nA POINT OF THEOLOGY.\n\n\nAt last, with great difficulty, Felix managed to secure a certain\nmomentary lull of silence. The natives, clustering round the line till\nthey almost touched it, listened with scowling brows, and brandished\nthreatening spears, tipped with points of stone or shark's teeth or\nturtle-bone, while he made his speech to them. From time to time, one or\nanother interrupted him, coaxing and wheedling him, as it were, to cross\nthe line; but Felix never heeded them. He was beginning to understand now\nhow to treat this strange people. He took no notice of their threats or\ntheir entreaties either.\n\nBy and by, partly by words and partly by gestures, he made them\nunderstand that they might take back and keep for themselves all the\ncocoanuts and bread-fruits they had brought as windfalls. At this the\npeople seemed a little appeased. \"His heart is not quite so bad as we\nthought,\" they murmured among themselves; \"but if he didn't want them,\nwhat did he mean? Why did he beat down our huts and our plantations?\"\n\nThen Felix tried to explain to them--a somewhat dangerous task--that\nneither he nor Muriel were really responsible for last night's storm; but\nat that the people, with one accord, raised a great loud shout of unmixed\nderision. \"He is a god,\" they cried, \"and yet he is ashamed of his own\nacts and deeds, afraid of what we, mere men, will do to him! Ha! ha! Take\ncare! These are lies that he tells. Listen to him! Hear him!\"\n\nMeanwhile, more and more natives kept coming up with windfalls of fruit,\nor with objects they had vowed in their terror to dedicate during the\nnight; and Felix all the time kept explaining at the top of his voice, to\nall as they came, that he wanted nothing, and that they could take all\nback again. This curiously inconsistent action seemed to puzzle the\nwondering natives strangely. Had he made the storm, then, they asked, and\neaten the storm-apple, for no use to himself, but out of pure\nperverseness? If he didn't even want the windfalls and the objects vowed\nto him, why had he beaten down their crops and broken their houses? They\nlooked at him meaningly; but they dared not cross that great line of\ntaboo. It was their own superstition alone, in that moment of danger,\nthat kept their hands off those defenceless white people.\n\nAt last a happy idea seemed to strike the crowd. \"What he wants is a\nchild?\" they cried, effusively. \"He thirsts for blood! Let us kill and\nroast him a proper victim!\"\n\nFelix's horror at this appalling proposition knew no bounds. \"If you do,\"\nhe cried, turning their own superstition against them in this last hour\nof need, \"I will raise up a storm worse even than last night's! You do it\nat your peril! I want no victim. The people of my country eat not of\nhuman flesh. It is a thing detestable, horrible, hateful to God and man.\nWith us, all human life alike is sacred. We spill no blood. If you dare\nto do as you say, I will raise such a storm over your heads to-night as\nwill submerge and drown the whole of your island.\"\n\nThe natives listened to him with profound interest. \"We must spill no\nblood!\" they repeated, looking aghast at one another. \"Hear what the King\nsays! We must not cut the victim's throat. We must bind a child with\ncords and roast it alive for him!\"\n\nFelix hardly knew what to do or say at this atrocious proposal. \"If you\nroast it alive,\" he cried, \"you deserve to be all scorched up with\nlightning. Take care what you do! Spare the child's life! I will have no\nvictim. Beware how you anger me!\"\n\nBut the savage no sooner says than he does. With him deliberation is\nunknown, and impulse everything. In a moment the natives had gathered in\na circle a little way off, and began drawing lots. Several children,\nseized hurriedly up among the crowd, were huddled like so many sheep in\nthe centre. Felix looked on from his enclosure, half petrified with\nhorror. The lot fell upon a pretty little girl of five years old. Without\none word of warning, without one sign of remorse, before Felix's very\neyes, they began to bind the struggling and terrified child just outside\nthe circle.\n\nThe white man could stand this horrid barbarity no longer. At the risk of\nhis life--at the risk of Muriel's--he must rush out to prevent them. They\nshould never dare to kill that helpless child before his very eyes. Come\nwhat might--though even Muriel should suffer for it--he felt he _must_\nrescue that trembling little creature. Drawing his trusty knife, and\nopening the big blade ostentatiously before their eyes, he made a sudden\ndart like a wild beast across the line, and pounced down upon the party\nthat guarded the victim.\n\nWas it a ruse to make him cross the line, alone, or did they really mean\nit? He hardly knew; but he had no time to debate the abstract question.\nBursting into their midst, he seized the child with a rush in his\ncircling arms, and tried to hurry back with it within the protecting\ntaboo-line.\n\nQuick as lightning he was surrounded and almost cut down by a furious and\nfrantic mob of half-naked savages. \"Kill him! Tear him to pieces!\" they\ncried in their rage. \"He has a bad heart! He destroyed our huts! He broke\ndown our plantations! Kill him, kill him, kill him!\"\n\nAs they closed in upon him, with spears and tomahawks and clubs, Felix\nsaw he had nothing left for it now but a hard fight for life to return to\nthe taboo-line. Holding the child in one arm, and striking wildly out\nwith his knife with the other, he tried to hack his way back by main\nforce to the shelter of the taboo-line in frantic lunges. The distance\nwas but a few feet, but the savages pressed round him, half frightened\nstill, yet gnashing their teeth and distorting their faces with anger.\n\"He has broken the Taboo,\" they cried in vehement tones. \"He has crossed\nthe line willingly. Kill him! Kill him! We are free from sin. We have\nbought him with a price--with many cocoanuts!\"\n\nAt the sound of the struggle going on so close outside, Muriel rushed in\nfrantic haste and terror from the hut. Her face was pale, but her\ndemeanor was resolute. Before Mali could stop her, she, too, had crossed\nthe sacred line of the coral mark, and had flung herself madly upon\nFelix's assailants, to cover his retreat with her own frail body.\n\n\"Hold off!\" she cried, in her horror, in English, but in accents even\nthose savages could read. \"You shall not touch him!\"\n\nWith a fierce effort Felix tore his way back, through the spears and\nclubs, toward the place of safety. The savages wounded him on the way\nmore than once with their jagged stone spear-tips, and blood flowed from\nhis breast and arms in profusion. But they didn't dare even so to touch\nMuriel. The sight of that pure white woman, rushing out in her weakness\nto protect her lover's life from attack, seemed to strike them with some\nfresh access of superstitious awe. One or two of themselves were wounded\nby Felix's knife, for they were unaccustomed to steel, though they had a\nfew blades made out of old European barrel-hoops. For a minute or two the\nconflict was sharp and hotly contested. Then at last Felix managed to\nfling the child across the line, to push Muriel with one hand at\narm's-length before him, and to rush himself within the sacred circle.\n\nNo sooner had he crossed it than the savages drew up around, undecided as\nyet, but in a threatening body. Rank behind rank, their loose hair in\ntheir eyes, they stood like wild beasts balked of their prey, and yelled\nat him. Some of them brandished their spears and their stone hatchets\nangrily in their victims' faces. Others contented themselves with howling\naloud as before, and piling curses afresh on the heads of the unpopular\nstorm-gods. \"Look at her,\" they cried, in their wrath, pointing their\nskinny brown fingers angrily at Muriel. \"See, she weeps even now. She\nwould flood us with her rain. She isn't satisfied with all the harm she\nhas poured down upon Boupari already. She wants to drown us.\"\n\nAnd then a little knot drew up close to the line of taboo itself, and\nbegan to discuss in loud and serious tones a pressing question of savage\ntheology and religious practice.\n\n\"They have crossed the line within the three days,\" some of the foremost\nwarriors exclaimed, in excited voices. \"They are no longer taboo. We can\ndo as we please with them. We may cross the line now ourselves if we\nwill, and tear them to pieces. Come on! Who follows? Korong! Korong! Let\nus rend them! Let us eat them!\"\n\nBut though they spoke so bravely they hung back themselves, fearful\nof passing that mysterious barrier. Others of the crowd answered them\nback, warmly: \"No, no; not so. Be careful what you do. Anger not the\ngods. Don't ruin Boupari. If the Taboo is not indeed broken, then how\ndare we break it? They are gods. Fear their vengeance. They are,\nindeed, terrible. See what happened to us when they merely ate of the\nstorm-apple! What might not happen if we were to break taboo without due\ncause and kill them?\"\n\nOne old, gray-bearded warrior, in particular, held his countrymen back.\n\"Mind how you trifle with gods,\" the old chief said, in a tone of solemn\nwarning. \"Mind how you provoke them. They are very mighty. When I was\nyoung, our people killed three sailing gods who came ashore in a small\ncanoe, built of thin split logs; and within a month an awful earthquake\ndevastated Boupari, and fire burst forth from a mouth in the ground, and\nthe people knew that the spirits of the sailing gods were very angry.\nWait, therefore, till Tu-Kila-Kila himself comes, and then ask of him,\nand of Fire and Water. As Tu-Kila-Kila bids you, that do you do. Is he\nnot our great god, the king of us all, and the guardian of the customs of\nthe island of Boupari?\"\n\n\"Is Tu-Kila-Kila coming?\" some of the warriors asked, with bated breath.\n\n\"How should he not come?\" the old chief asked, drawing himself up very\nerect. \"Know you not the mysteries? The rain has put out all the fires in\nBoupari. The King of Fire himself, even his hearth is cold. He tried his\nbest in the storm to keep his sacred embers still smouldering; but the\nKing of the Rain was stronger than he was, and put it out at last in\nspite of his endeavors. Be careful, therefore, how you deal with the King\nof the Rain, who comes down among lightnings, and is so very powerful.\"\n\n\"And Tu-Kila-Kila comes to fetch fresh fire?\" one of the nearest savages\nasked, with profound awe.\n\n\"He comes to fetch fresh fire, new fire from the sun,\" the old man\nanswered, with awe in his voice. \"These foreign gods, are they not\nstrangers from the sun? They have brought the divine seeds of fire,\ngrowing in a shining box that reflects the sunlight. They need no\nrubbing-sticks and no drill to kindle fresh flame. They touch the seed\non the box, and, lo, like a miracle, fire bursts forth from the wood\nspontaneous. Tu-Kila-Kila comes, to behold this miracle.\"\n\nThe warriors hung back with doubtful eyes for a moment. Then they spoke\nwith one accord, \"Tu-Kila-Kila shall decide. Tu-Kila-Kila! Tu-Kila-Kila!\nIf the great god says the Taboo holds good, we will not hurt or offend\nthe strangers. But if the great god says the Taboo is broken, and we are\nall without sin--then, Korong! Korong! we will kill them! We will eat\nthem!\"\n\nAs the two parties thus stood glaring at one another, across that narrow\nimaginary wall, another cry went up to heaven at the distant sound of a\npeculiar tom-tom. \"Tu-Kila-Kila comes!\" they shouted. \"Our great god\napproaches! Women, begone! Men, hide your eyes! Fly, fly from the\nbrightness of his face, which is as the sun in glory! Tu-Kila-Kila comes!\nFly far, all profane ones!\"\n\nAnd in a moment the women had disappeared into space, and the men lay\nflat on the moist ground with low groans of surprise, and hid their faces\nin their hands in abject terror.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nAS BETWEEN GODS.\n\n\nTu-Kila-Kila came up in his grandest panoply. The great umbrella, with\nthe hanging cords, rose high over his head; the King of Fire and the King\nof Water, in their robes of state, marched slowly by his side; a whole\ngroup of slaves and temple attendants, clapping hands in unison, followed\nobedient at his sacred heels. But as soon as he reached the open space in\nfront of the huts and began to speak, Felix could easily see, in spite of\nhis own agitation and the excitement of the moment, that the implacable\ngod himself was profoundly frightened. Last night's storm had, indeed,\nbeen terrible; but Tu-Kila-Kila mentally coupled it with Felix's attitude\ntoward himself at their last interview, and really believed in his own\nheart he had met, after all, with a stronger god, more powerful than\nhimself, who could make the clouds burst forth in fire and the earth\ntremble. The savage swaggered a good deal, to be sure, as is often the\nfashion with savages when frightened; but Felix could see between the\nlines, that he swaggered only on the familiar principle of whistling to\nkeep your courage up, and that in his heart of hearts he was most\nunspeakably terrified.\n\n\"You did not do well, O King of the Rain, last night,\" he said, after an\ninterchange of civilities, as becomes great gods. \"You have put out even\nthe sacred flame on the holy hearth of the King of Fire. You have a bad\nheart. Why do you use us so?\"\n\n\"Why do you let your people offer human sacrifices?\" Felix answered,\nboldly, taking advantage of his position. \"They are hateful in our sight,\nthese cannibal ways. While we remain on the island, no human life shall\nbe unjustly taken. Do you understand me?\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila drew back, and gazed around him suspiciously. In all his\nexperience no one had ever dared to address him like that. Assuredly, the\nstranger from the sun must be a very great god--how great, he hardly\ndared to himself to realize. He shrugged his shoulders. \"When we mighty\ndeities of the first order speak together, face to face,\" he said, with\nan uneasy air, \"it is not well that the mere common herd of men should\noverhear our profound deliberations. Let us go inside your hut. Let us\nconfer in private.\"\n\nThey entered the hut alone, Muriel still clinging to Felix's arm, in\nspeechless terror. Then Felix at once began to explain the situation. As\nhe spoke, a baleful light gleamed in Tu-Kila-Kila's eye. The great god\nremoved his mulberry-paper mask. He was evidently delighted at the turn\nthings had taken. If only he dared--but there; he dared not. \"Fire and\nWater would never allow it,\" he murmured softly to himself. \"They know\nthe taboos as well as I do.\" It was clear to Felix that the savage would\ngladly have sacrificed him if he dared, and that he made no bones about\nletting him know it; but the custom of the islanders bound him as tightly\nas it bound themselves, and he was afraid to transgress it.\n\n\"Now listen,\" Felix said, at last, after a long palaver, looking in the\nsavage's face with a resolute air: \"Tu-Kila-Kila, we are not afraid of\nyou. We are not afraid of all your people. I went out alone just now to\nrescue that child, and, as you see, I succeeded in rescuing it. Your\npeople have wounded me--look at the blood on my arms and chest--but I\ndon't mind for wounds. I mean you to do as I say, and to make your people\ndo so, too. Understand, the nation to which I belong is very powerful.\nYou have heard of the sailing gods who go over the sea in canoes of fire,\nas swift as the wind, and whose weapons are hollow tubes, that belch\nforth great bolts of lightning and thunder? Very well, I am one of them.\nIf ever you harm a hair of our heads, those sailing gods will before long\nsend one of their mighty fire-canoes, and bring to bear upon your island\ntheir thunder and lightning, and destroy your huts, and punish you for\nthe wrong you have ventured to do us. So now you know. Remember that you\nact exactly as I tell you.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila was evidently overawed by the white man's resolute voice and\nmanner. He had heard before of the sailing gods (as the Polynesians of\nthe old school still call the Europeans); and though but one or two stray\nindividuals among them had ever reached his remote island (mostly as\ncastaways), he was quite well enough acquainted with their might and\npower to be deeply impressed by Felix's exhortation. So he tried to\ntemporize. \"Very well,\" he made answer, with his jauntiest air, assuming\na tone of friendly good-fellowship toward his brother-god. \"I will bear\nit in mind. I will try to humor you. While your time lasts, no man shall\nhurt you. But if I promise you that, you must do a good turn for me\ninstead. You must come out before the people and give me a new fire from\nthe sun, that you carry in a shining box about with you. The King of Fire\nhas allowed his sacred flame to go out in deference to your flood; for\nlast night, you know, you came down heavily. Never in my life have I\nknown you come down heavier. The King of Fire acknowledges himself\nbeaten. So give us light now before the people, that they may know we are\ngods, and may fear to disobey us.\"\n\n\"Only on one condition,\" Felix answered, sternly; for he felt he had\nTu-Kila-Kila more or less in his power now, and that he could drive a\nbargain with him. Why, he wasn't sure; but he saw Tu-Kila-Kila attached a\nprofound importance to having the sacred fire relighted, as he thought,\ndirect from heaven.\n\n\"What condition is that?\" Tu-Kila-Kila asked, glancing about him\nsuspiciously.\n\n\"Why, that you give up in future human sacrifices.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila gave a start. Then he reflected for a moment. Evidently, the\ncondition seemed to him a very hard one. \"Do you want all the victims for\nyourself and her, then?\" he asked, with a casual nod aside toward Muriel.\n\nFelix drew back, with horror depicted on every line of his face. \"Heaven\nforbid!\" he answered, fervently. \"We want no bloodshed, no human victims.\nWe ask you to give up these horrid practices, because they shock and\nrevolt us. If you would have your fire lighted, you must promise us to\nput down cannibalism altogether henceforth in your island.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila hesitated. After all, it was only for a very short time that\nthese strangers could thus beard him. Their day would come soon. They\nwere but Korongs. Meanwhile, it was best, no doubt, to effect a\ncompromise. \"Agreed,\" he answered, slowly. \"I will put down human\nsacrifices--so long as you live among us. And I will tell the people your\ntaboo is not broken. All shall be done as you will in this matter. Now,\ncome out before the crowd and light the fire from Heaven.\"\n\n\"Remember,\" Felix repeated, \"if you break your word, my people will come\ndown upon you, sooner or later, in their mighty fire-canoes, and will\ntake vengeance for your crime, and destroy you utterly.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila smiled a cunning smile. \"I know all that,\" he answered. \"I\nam a god myself, not a fool, don't you see? You are a very great god,\ntoo; but I am the greater. No more of words between us two. It is as\nbetween gods. The fire! the fire!\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila replaced his mask. They proceeded from the hut to the open\nspace within the taboo-line. The people still lay all flat on their\nfaces. \"Fire and Water,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, in a commanding tone, \"come\nforward and screen me!\"\n\nThe King of Fire and the King of Water unrolled a large square of native\ncloth, which they held up as a screen on two poles in front of their\nsuperior deity. Tu-Kila-Kila sat down on the ground, hugging his knees,\nin the common squatting savage fashion, behind the veil thus readily\nformed for him. \"Taboo is removed,\" he said, in loud, clear tones. \"My\npeople may rise. The light will not burn them. They may look toward the\nplace where Tu-Kila-Kila's face is hidden from them.\"\n\nThe people all rose with one accord, and gazed straight before them.\n\n\"The King of Fire will bring dry sticks,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, in his\naccustomed regal manner.\n\nThe King of Fire, sticking one pole of the screen into the ground\nsecurely, brought forward a bundle of sun-dried sticks and leaves from a\nbasket beside him.\n\n\"The King of the Rain, who has put out all our hearths with his flood\nlast night, will relight them again with new fire, fresh flame from the\nsun, rays of our disk, divine, mystic, wonderful,\" Tu-Kila-Kila\nproclaimed, in his droning monotone.\n\nFelix advanced as he spoke to the pile, and struck a match before the\neyes of all the islanders. As they saw it light, and then set fire to the\nwood, a loud cry went up once more, \"Tu-Kila-Kila is great! His words are\ntrue! He has brought fire from the sun! His ways are wonderful!\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila, from his point of vantage behind the curtain, strove to\nimprove the occasion with a theological lesson. \"That is the way we have\nlearned from our divine ancestors,\" he said, slowly; \"the rule of the\ngods in our island of Boupari. Each god, as he grows old, reincarnates\nhimself visibly. Before he can grow feeble and die he immolates himself\nwillingly on his own altar; and a younger and a stronger than he receives\nhis spirit. Thus the gods are always young and always with you. Behold\nmyself, Tu-Kila-Kila! Am I not from old times? Am I not very ancient?\nHave I not passed through many bodies? Do I not spring ever fresh from my\nown ashes? Do I not eat perpetually the flesh of new victims? Even so\nwith fire. The flames of our island were becoming impure. The King of\nFire saw his cinders flickering. So I gave my word. The King of the Rain\ndescended in floods upon them. He put them all out. And now he rekindles\nthem. They burn up brighter and fresher than ever. They burn to cook my\nmeat, the limbs of my victims. Take heed that you do the King of the Rain\nno harm as long as he remains within his sacred circle. He is a very\ngreat god. He is fierce; he is cruel. His taboo is not broken. Beware!\nBeware! Disobey at your peril. I, Tu-Kila-Kila, have spoken.\"\n\nAs he spoke, it seemed to Felix that these strange mystic words about\neach god springing fresh from his own ashes must contain the solution of\nthat dread problem they were trying in vain to read. That, perhaps, was\nthe secret of Korong. If only they could ever manage to understand it!\n\nTu-Kila-Kila beat his tom-tom twice. In a second all the people fell flat\non their faces again. Tu-Kila-Kila rose; the kings of Fire and Water held\nthe umbrella over him. The attendants on either side clapped hands in\ntime to the sacred tom-tom. With proud, slow tread, the god retraced his\nsteps to his own palace-temple; and Muriel and Felix were left alone at\nlast in their dusty enclosure.\n\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila hates me,\" Felix said, later in the day, to his attentive\nShadow.\n\n\"Of course,\" the young man answered, with a tone of natural assent. \"To\nbe sure he hates you. How could he do otherwise? You are Korong. You may\nany day be his enemy.\"\n\n\"But he's afraid of me, too,\" Felix went on. \"He would have liked to let\nthe people tear me in pieces. Yet he dared not risk it. He seems to dread\noffending me.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" the Shadow replied, as readily as before. \"He is very much\nafraid of you. You are Korong. You may any day supplant him. He would\nlike to get rid of you, if he could see his way. But till your time comes\nhe dare not touch you.\"\n\n\"When will my time come?\" Felix asked, with that dim apprehension of some\nhorrible end coming over him yet again in all its vague weirdness.\n\nThe Shadow shook his head. \"That,\" he answered, \"it is not lawful for me\nso much as to mention. I tell you too far. You will know soon enough.\nWait, and be patient.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\"MR. THURSTAN, I PRESUME.\"\n\n\nNaturally enough, it was some time before Felix and Muriel could recover\nfrom the shock of their deadly peril. Yet, strange to say, the natives at\nthe end of three days seemed positively to have forgotten all about it.\nTheir loves and their hates were as shortlived as children's. As soon as\nthe period of seclusion was over, their attentions to the two strangers\nredoubled in intensity. They were evidently most anxious, after this\nbrief disagreement, to reassure the new gods, who came from the sun, of\ntheir gratitude and devotion. The men who had wounded Felix, in\nparticular, now came daily in the morning with exceptional gifts of fish,\nfruit, and flowers; they would bring a crab from the sea, or a joint of\nturtle-meat. \"Forgive us, O king,\" they cried, prostrating themselves\nhumbly. \"We did not mean to hurt you; we thought your time had really\ncome. You are a Korong. We would not offend you. Do not refuse us your\nshowers because of our sin. We are very penitent. We will do what you ask\nof us. Your look is poison. See, here is wood; here are leaves and fire;\nwe are but your meat; choose and cook which you will of us!\"\n\nIt was useless Felix's trying to explain to them that he wanted no\nvictims, and no propitiation. The more he protested, the more they\nbrought gifts. \"He is a very great god,\" they exclaimed. \"He wants\nnothing from us. What can we give him that will be an acceptable gift?\nShall we offer him ourselves, our wives, our children?\"\n\nAs for the women, when they saw how thoroughly frightened of them Muriel\nnow was, they couldn't find means to express their regret and devotion.\nMothers brought their little children, whom she had patted on the head,\nand offered them, just outside the line, as presents for her acceptance.\nThey explained to her Shadow that they never meant to hurt her, and that,\nif only she would venture without the line, as of old, all should be\nwell, and they would love and adore her. Mali translated to her mistress\nthese speeches and prayers. \"Them say, 'You come back, Queenie,'\" she\nexplained in her broken Queensland English. \"'Boupari women love you very\nmuch. Boupari women glad you come. You kind; you beautiful! All Boupari\nmen and women very much pleased with you and the gentleman, because you\ngive back him cocoanut and fruit that you pick in the storm, and because\nyou bring down fresh fire from heaven.'\"\n\nGradually, after several days, Felix's confidence was so far restored\nthat he ventured to stroll beyond the line again; and he found himself,\nindeed, most popular among the people. In various ways he picked up\ngradually the idea that the islanders generally disliked Tu-Kila-Kila,\nand liked himself; and that they somehow regarded him as Tu-Kila-Kila's\nnatural enemy. What it could all mean he did not yet understand, though\nsome inklings of an explanation occasionally occurred to him. Oh, how he\nlonged now for the Month of Birds to end, in order that he might pay his\nlong-deferred visit to the mysterious Frenchman, from whose voice his\nShadow had fled on that fateful evening with such sudden precipitancy.\nThe Frenchman, he judged, must have been long on the island, and could\nprobably give him some satisfactory solution of this abstruse problem.\n\nSo he was glad, indeed, when one evening, some weeks later, his Shadow,\nobserving the sky narrowly, remarked to him in a low voice, \"New moon\nto-morrow! The Month of Birds will then be up. In the morning you can go\nand see your brother god at the Abode of Birds without breaking taboo.\nThe Month of Turtles begins at sunrise. My family god is a turtle, so I\nknow the day for it.\"\n\nSo great was Felix's impatience to settle this question, that almost\nbefore the sun was up next day he had set forth from his hut, accompanied\nas usual by his faithful Shadow. Their way lay past Tu-Kila-Kila's\ntemple. As they went by the entrance with the bamboo posts, Felix\nhappened to glance aside through the gate to the sacred enclosure. Early\nas it was, Tu-Kila-Kila was afoot already; and, to Felix's great\nsurprise, was pacing up and down, with that stealthy, wary look upon his\ncunning face that Muriel had so particularly noted on the day of their\nfirst arrival. His spear stood in his hand, and his tomahawk hung by his\nleft side; he peered about him suspiciously, with a cautious glance, as\nhe walked round and round the sacred tree he guarded so continually.\nThere was something weird and awful in the sight of that savage god, thus\ncondemned by his own superstition and the custom of his people to tramp\nceaselessly up and down before the sacred banyan.\n\nAt sight of Felix, however, a sudden burst of frenzy seemed to possess at\nonce all Tu-Kila-Kila's limbs. He brandished his spear violently, and set\nhimself spasmodically in a posture of defence. His brow grew black, and\nhis eyes darted out eternal hate and suspicion. It was evident he\nexpected an instant attack, and was prepared with all his might and main\nto resist aggression. Yet he never offered to desert his post by the tree\nor to assume the offensive. Clearly, he was guarding the sacred grove\nitself with jealous care, and was as eager for its safety as for his own\nlife and honor.\n\nFelix passed on, wondering what it all could mean, and turned with an\ninquiring glance to his trembling Shadow. As for Toko, he had held his\nface averted meanwhile, lest he should behold the great god, and be\nscorched to a cinder; but in answer to Felix's mute inquiry he murmured\nlow: \"Was Tu-Kila-Kila there? Were all things right? Was he on guard at\nhis post by the tree already?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Felix replied, with that weird sense of mystery creeping over him\nnow more profoundly than ever. \"He was on guard by the tree and he looked\nat me angrily.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" the Shadow remarked, with a sigh of regret, \"he keeps watch well.\nIt will be hard work to assail him. No god in Boupari ever held his place\nso tight. Who wishes to take Tu-Kila-Kila's divinity must get up early.\"\n\nThey went on in silence to the little volcanic knoll near the centre of\nthe island. There, in the neat garden plot they had observed before, a\nman, in the last relics of a very tattered European costume, much covered\nwith a short cape of native cloth, was tending his flowers and singing to\nhimself merrily. His back was turned to them as they came up. Felix\npaused a moment, unseen, and caught the words the stranger was singing:\n\n\"Tr\u00e8s jolie,\n Peu polie,\n Poss\u00e9dant un gros magot;\n Fort en gueule,\n Pas b\u00e9gueule;\n Telle \u00e9tait--\"\n\nThe stranger looked up, and paused in the midst of his lines,\nopen-mouthed. For a moment he stood and stared astonished. Then, raising\nhis native cap with a graceful air, and bowing low, as he would have\nbowed to a lady on the Boulevard, he advanced to greet a brother European\nwith the familiar words, in good educated French, \"Monsieur, I salute\nyou!\"\n\nTo Felix, the sound of a civilized voice in the midst of so much strange\nand primitive barbarism, was like a sudden return to some forgotten\nworld, so deeply and profoundly did it move and impress him. He grasped\nthe sunburnt Frenchman's rugged hand in his. \"Who are you?\" he cried, in\nthe very best Parisian he could muster up on the spur of the moment. \"And\nhow did you come here?\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered, no less profoundly moved than\nhimself, \"this is, indeed, wonderful! Do I hear once more that beautiful\nlanguage spoken? Do I find myself once more in the presence of a\ncivilized person? What fortune! What happiness! Ah, it is glorious,\nglorious.\"\n\nFor some seconds they stood and looked at one another in silence,\ngrasping their hands hard again and again with intense emotion; then\nFelix repeated his question a second time: \"Who are you, monsieur? and\nwhere do you come from?\"\n\n\"Your name, surname, age, occupation?\" the Frenchman repeated, bursting\nforth at last into national levity. \"Ah, monsieur, what a joy to hear\nthose well-known inquiries in my ear once more. I hasten to gratify\nyour legitimate curiosity. Name: Peyron; Christian name: Jules; age:\nforty-one; occupation: convict, escaped from New Caledonia.\"\n\nUnder any other circumstances that last qualification might possibly have\nbeen held an undesirable one in a new acquaintance. But on the island of\nBoupari, among so many heathen cannibals, prejudices pale before\ncommunity of blood; even a New Caledonian convict is at least a Christian\nEuropean. Felix received the strange announcement without the faintest\nshock of surprise or disgust. He would gladly have shaken hands then and\nthere with M. Jules Peyron, indeed, had he introduced himself in even\nless equivocal language as a forger, a pickpocket, or an escaped\nhouse-breaker.\n\n\"And you, monsieur?\" the ex-convict inquired, politely.\n\nFelix told him in a few words the history of their accident and their\narrival on the island.\n\n\"_Comment_?\" the Frenchman exclaimed, with surprise and delight. \"A lady\nas well; a charming English lady! What an acquisition to the society of\nBoupari! _Quelle chance! Quel bonheur!_ Monsieur, you are welcome, and\nmademoiselle too! And in what quality do you live here? You are a god, I\nsee; otherwise you would not have dared to transgress my taboo, nor would\nthis young man--your Shadow, I suppose--have permitted you to do so. But\nwhich sort of god, pray? Korong--or Tula?\"\n\n\"They call me Korong,\" Felix answered, all tremulous, feeling himself now\non the very verge of solving this profound mystery.\n\n\"And mademoiselle as well?\" the Frenchman exclaimed, in a tone of dismay.\n\n\"And mademoiselle as well,\" Felix replied. \"At least, so I make out. We\nare both Korong. I have many times heard the natives call us so.\"\n\nHis new acquaintance seized his hand with every appearance of genuine\nalarm and regret. \"My poor friend,\" he exclaimed, with a horrified face,\n\"this is terrible, terrible! Tu-Kila-Kila is a very hard man. What can\nwe do to save your life and mademoiselle's! We are powerless! Powerless!\nI have only that much to say. I condole with you! I commiserate you!\"\n\n\"Why, what does Korong mean?\" Felix asked, with blanched lips. \"Is it\nthen something so very terrible?\"\n\n\"Terrible! Ah, terrible!\" the Frenchman answered, holding up his hands in\nhorror and alarm. \"I hardly know how we can avert your fate. Step within\nmy poor hut, or under the shade of my Tree of Liberty here, and I will\ntell you all the little I know about it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE SECRET OF KORONG.\n\n\n\"You have lived here long?\" Felix asked, with tremulous interest, as he\ntook a seat on the bench under the big tree, toward which his new host\npolitely motioned him. \"You know the people well, and all their\nsuperstitions?\"\n\n\"_H\u00e9las_, yes, monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered, with a sigh of regret.\n\"Eighteen years have I spent altogether in this beast of a Pacific; nine\nas a convict in New Caledonia, and nine more as a god here; and, believe\nme, I hardly know which is the harder post. Yours is the first White face\nI have ever seen since my arrival in this cursed island.\"\n\n\"And how did you come here?\" Felix asked, half breathless, for the very\nmagnitude of the stake at issue--no less a stake than Muriel's life--made\nhim hesitate to put point-blank the question he had most at heart for the\nmoment.\n\n\"Monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered, trying to cover his rags with\nhis native cape, \"that explains itself easily. I was a medical student\nin Paris in the days of the Commune. Ah! that beloved Paris--how far\naway it seems now from Boupari! Like all other students I was\nadvanced--Republican, Socialist--what you will--a political enthusiast.\nWhen the events took place--the events of '70--I espoused with\nall my heart the cause of the people. You know the rest. The\nbourgeoisie conquered. I was taken red-handed, as the Versaillais\nsaid--my pistol in my grasp--an open revolutionist. They tried me by\ncourt-martial--br'r'r--no delay--guilty, M. le President--hard labor to\nperpetuity. They sent me with that brave Louise Michel and so many other\ngood comrades of the cause to New Caledonia. There, nine years of convict\nlife was more than enough for me. One day I found a canoe on the shore--a\nlittle Kanaka canoe--you know the type--a mere shapeless dug-out. Hastily\nI loaded it with food--yam, taro, bread-fruit--I pushed it off into the\nsea--I embarked alone--I intrusted myself and all my fortunes to the Bon\nDieu and the wide Pacific. The Bon Dieu did not wholly justify my\nconfidence. It is a way he has--that inscrutable one. Six weeks I floated\nhither and thither before varying winds. At last one evening I reached\nthis island. I floated ashore. And, _enfin, me voil\u00e0_!\"\n\n\"Then you were a political prisoner only?\" Felix said, politely.\n\nM. Jules Peyron drew himself up with much dignity in his tattered\ncostume. \"Do I look like a card-sharper, monsieur?\" he asked simply, with\noffended honor.\n\nFelix hastened to reassure him of his perfect confidence. \"On the\ncontrary, monsieur,\" he said, \"the moment I heard you were a convict from\nNew Caledonia, I felt certain in my heart you could be nothing less than\none of those unfortunate and ill-treated Communards.\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" the Frenchman said, seizing his hand a second time, \"I\nperceive that I have to do with a man of honor and a man of feeling.\nWell, I landed on this island, and they made me a god. From that day to\nthis I have been anxious only to shuffle off my unwelcome divinity, and\nreturn as a mere man to the shores of Europe. Better be a valet in Paris,\nsay I, than a deity of the best in Polynesia. It is a monotonous\nexistence here--no society, no life--and the _cuisine_--bah, execrable!\nBut till the other day, when your steamer passed, I have scarcely even\nsighted a European ship. A boat came here once, worse luck, to put off\ntwo girls (who didn't belong to Boupari), returned indentured laborers\nfrom Queensland; but, unhappily, it was during my taboo--the Month of\nBirds, as my jailers call it--and though I tried to go down to it or to\nmake signals of distress, the natives stood round my hut with their\nspears in line, and prevented me by main force from signalling to them or\ncommunicating with them. Even the other day, I never heard of your\narrival till a fortnight had elapsed, for I had been sick with fever, the\nfever of the country, and as soon as my Shadow told me of your advent it\nwas my taboo again, and I was obliged to defer for myself the honor of\ncalling upon my new acquaintances. I am a god, of course, and can do\nwhat I like; but while my taboo is on, _ma foi_, monsieur, I can hardly\ncall my life my own, I assure you.\"\n\n\"But your taboo is up to-day,\" Felix said, \"so my Shadow tells me.\"\n\n\"Your Shadow is a well-informed young man,\" M. Peyron answered, with easy\nFrench sprightliness. \"As for my donkey of a valet, he never by any\nchance knows or tells me anything. I had just sent him out--the pig--to\nlearn, if possible, your nationality and name, and what hours you\npreferred, as I proposed later in the day to pay my respects to\nmademoiselle, your friend, if she would deign to receive me.\"\n\n\"Miss Ellis would be charmed, I'm sure,\" Felix replied, smiling in spite\nof himself at so much Parisian courtliness under so ragged an exterior.\n\"It is a great pleasure to us to find we are not really alone on this\nbarbarous island. But you were going to explain to me, I believe, the\nexact nature of this peril in which we both stand--the precise\ndistinction between Korong and Tula?\"\n\n\"Alas, monsieur,\" the Frenchman replied, drawing circles in the dust with\nhis stick with much discomposure, \"I can only tell you I have been trying\nto make out the secret of this distinction myself ever since the first\nday I came to the island; but so reticent are all the natives about it,\nand so deep is the taboo by which the mystery is guarded, that even now\nI, who am myself Tula, can tell you but very little with certainty on the\nsubject. All I can say for sure is this--that gods called Tula retain\ntheir godship in permanency for a very long time, although at the end\nsome violent fate, which I do not clearly understand, is destined to\nbefall them. That is my condition as King of the Birds--for no doubt\nthey have told you that I, Jules Peyron--Republican, Socialist,\nCommunist--have been elevated against my will to the honors of royalty.\nThat is my condition, and it matters but little to me, for I know not\nwhen the end may come; and we can but die once; how or where, what\nmatters? Meanwhile, I have my distractions, my little _agr\u00e9ments_--my\ngardens, my music, my birds, my native friends, my coquetries, my aviary.\nAs King of the Birds, I keep a small collection of my subjects in the\nliving form, not unworthy of a scientific eye. Monsieur is no\nornithologist? Ah, no, I thought not. Well, for me, it matters little; my\ntime is long. But for you and Mademoiselle, who are both Korong--\" He\npaused significantly.\n\n\"What happens, then, to those who are Korong?\" Felix asked, with a lump\nin his throat--not for himself, but for Muriel.\n\nThe Frenchman looked at him with a doubtful look. \"Monsieur,\" he said,\nafter a pause, \"I hardly know how to break the truth to you properly. You\nare new to the island, and do not yet understand these savages. It is so\nterrible a fate. So deadly. So certain. Compose your mind to hear the\nworst. And remember that the worst is very terrible.\"\n\nFelix's blood froze within him; but he answered bravely all the same, \"I\nthink I have guessed it myself already. The Korong are offered as human\nsacrifices to Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"That is nearly so,\" his new friend replied, with a solemn nod of his\nhead. \"Every Korong is bound to die when his time comes. Your time will\ndepend on the particular date when you were admitted to Heaven.\"\n\nFelix reflected a moment. \"It was on the 26th of last month,\" he\nanswered, shortly.\n\n\"Very well,\" M. Peyron replied, after a brief calculation. \"You have\njust six months in all to live from that date. They will offer you up by\nTu-Kila-Kila's hut the day the sun reaches the summer solstice.\"\n\n\"But why did they make us gods then?\" Felix interposed, with tremulous\nlips. \"Why treat us with such honors meanwhile, if they mean in the end\nto kill us?\"\n\nHe received his sentence of death with greater calmness than the\nFrenchman had expected. \"Monsieur,\" the older arrival answered, with a\nreflective air, \"there comes in the mystery. If we could solve that, we\ncould find out also the way of escape for you. For there _is_ a way of\nescape for every Korong: I know it well; I gather it from all the natives\nsay; it is a part of their mysteries; but what it may be, I have\nhitherto, in spite of all my efforts, failed to discover. All I _do_ know\nis this: Tu-Kila-Kila hates and dreads in his heart every Korong that is\nelevated to Heaven, and would do anything, if he dared, to get rid of him\nquietly. But he doesn't dare, because he is bound hand and foot himself,\ntoo, by taboos innumerable. Taboo is the real god and king of Boupari.\nAll the island alike bows down to it and worships it.\"\n\n\"Have you ever known Korongs killed?\" Felix asked once more, trembling.\n\n\"Yes, monsieur. Many of them, alas! And this is what happens. When the\nKorong's time is come, as these creatures say, either on the summer or\nwinter solstice, he is bound with native ropes, and carried up so\npinioned to Tu-Kila-Kila's temple. In the time before this man was\nTu-Kila-Kila, I remember--\"\n\n\"Stop,\" Felix cried. \"I don't understand. Has there then been more than\none Tu-Kila-Kila?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" the Frenchman answered. \"Certainly, many. And there the\nmystery comes in again. We have always among us one Tu-Kila-Kila or\nanother. He is a sort of pope, or grand lama, _voyez-vous?_ No sooner is\nthe last god dead than another god succeeds him and takes his name, or\nrather his title. This young man who now holds the place was known\noriginally as Lavita, the son of Sami. But what is more curious still,\nthe islanders always treat the new god as if he were precisely the\nself-same person as the old one. So far as I have been able to understand\ntheir theology, they believe in a sort of transmigration of souls. The\nsoul of the Tu-Kila-Kila who is just dead passes into and animates the\nbody of the Tu-Kila-Kila who succeeds to the office. Thus they speak as\nthough Tu-Kila-Kila were a continuous existence; and the god of the\nmoment, himself, will even often refer to events which occurred to him,\nas he says, a hundred years ago or more, but which he really knows, of\ncourse, only by the persistent tradition of the islanders. They are a\nvery curious people, these Bouparese. But what would you have? Among\nsavages, one expects things to be as among savages.\"\n\nFelix drew a quiet sigh. It was certain that on the island of Boupari\nthat expectation, at least, was never doomed to disappointment. \"And when\na Korong is taken to Tu-Kila-Kila's temple,\" he asked, continuing the\nsubject of most immediate interest, \"what happens next to him?\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered, \"I hardly know whether I do right or\nnot to say the truth to you. Each Korong is a god for one season only;\nwhen the year renews itself, as the savages believe, by a change of\nseason, then a new Korong must be chosen by Heaven to fill the place of\nthe old ones who are to be sacrificed. This they do in order that the\nseasons may be ever fresh and vigorous. Especially is that the case with\nthe two meteorological gods, so to speak, the King of the Rain and the\nQueen of the Clouds. Those, I understand, are the posts in their pantheon\nwhich you and the lady who accompanies you occupy.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" Felix answered, with profoundly painful interest. \"And\nwhat, then, becomes of the king and queen who are sacrificed?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" M. Peyron answered, dropping his voice still lower\ninto a sympathetic key. \"But steel your mind for the worst beforehand. It\nis sufficiently terrible. On the day of your arrival, this, I learn from\nmy Shadow, is just what happened. That night, Tu-Kila-Kila made his great\nfeast, and offered up the two chief human sacrifices of the year, the\nfree-will offering and the scapegoat of trespass. They keep then a\nfestival, which answers to our own New-Year's day in Europe. Next\nmorning, in accordance with custom, the King of the Rain and the Queen of\nthe Clouds were to be publicly slain, in order that a new and more\nvigorous king and queen should be chosen in their place, who might make\nthe crops grow better and the sky more clement. In the midst of this\nhorrid ceremony, you and mademoiselle, by pure chance, arrived. You were\nimmediately selected by Tu-Kila-Kila, for some reason of his own, which I\ndo not sufficiently understand, but which is, nevertheless, obvious to\nall the initiated, as the next representatives of the rain-giving gods.\nYou were presented to Heaven on their little platform raised about the\nground, and Heaven accepted you. Then you were envisaged with the\nattributes of divinity; the care of the rain and the clouds was made over\nto you; and immediately after, as soon as you were gone, the old king and\nqueen were laid on an altar near Tu-Kila-Kila's home, and slain with\ntomahawks. Their flesh was next hacked from their bodies with knives,\ncooked, and eaten; their bones were thrown into the sea, the mother of\nall waters, as the natives call it. And that is the fate, I fear the\ninevitable fate, that will befall you and mademoiselle at these wretches'\nhands about the commencement of a fresh season.\"\n\nFelix knew the worst now, and bent his head in silence. His worst fears\nwere confirmed; but, after all, even this knowledge was better than so\nmuch uncertainty.\n\nAnd now that he knew when \"his time was up,\" as the natives phrased it,\nhe would know when to redeem his promise to Muriel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nA VERY FAINT CLUE.\n\n\n\"But you hinted at some hope, some chance of escape,\" Felix cried at\nlast, looking up from the ground and mastering his emotion. \"What now is\nthat hope? Conceal nothing from me.\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered, shrugging his shoulders with an\nexpression of utter impotence, \"I have as good reasons for wishing to\nfind out all that as even you can have. _Your_ secret is _my_ secret;\nbut with all my pains and astuteness I have been unable to discover\nit. The natives are reticent, very reticent indeed, about all these\nmatters. They fear taboo; and they fear Tu-Kila-Kila. The women, to\nbe sure, in a moment of expansion, might possibly tell one; but, then,\nthe women, unfortunately, are not admitted to the mysteries. They know\nno more of all these things than we do. The most I have been able to\ngather for certain is this--that on the discovery of the secret depend\nTu-Kila-Kila's life and power. Every Boupari man knows this Great Taboo;\nit is communicated to him in the assembly of adults when he gets tattooed\nand reaches manhood. But no Boupari man ever communicates it to\nstrangers; and for that reason, perhaps, as I believe, Tu-Kila-Kila often\nchooses for Korong, as far as possible, those persons who are cast by\nchance upon the island. It has always been the custom, so far as I can\nmake out, to treat castaways or prisoners taken in war as gods, and then\nat the end of their term to kill them ruthlessly. This plan is popular\nwith the people at large, because it saves themselves from the dangerous\nhonors of deification; but it also serves Tu-Kila-Kila's purpose, because\nit usually elevates to Heaven those innocent persons who are unacquainted\nwith that fatal secret which is, as the natives say, Tu-Kila-Kila's\ndeath--his word of dismissal.\"\n\n\"Then if only we could find out this secret--\" Felix cried.\n\nHis new friend interrupted him. \"What hope is there of your finding\nit out, monsieur,\" he exclaimed, \"you, who have only a few months to\nlive--when I, who have spent nine long years of exile on the island, and\nseen two Tu-Kila-Kilas rise and fall, have been unable, with my utmost\npains, to discover it? _Tenez_; you have no idea yet of the superstitions\nof these people, or the difficulties that lie in the way of fathoming\nthem. Come this way to my aviary; I will show you something that will\nhelp you to realize the complexities of the situation.\"\n\nHe rose and led the way to another cleared space at the back of the hut,\nwhere several birds of gaudy plumage were fastened to perches on sticks\nby leathery lashes of dried shark's skin, tied just above their talons.\n\"I am the King of the Birds, monsieur, you must remember,\" the Frenchman\nsaid, fondling one of his screaming _prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_. \"These are a few of my\nsubjects. But I do not keep them for mere curiosity. Each of them is the\nSoul of the tribe to which it belongs. This, for example--my Cluseret--is\nthe Soul of all the gray parrots; that that you see yonder--Badinguet,\nI call him--is the Soul of the hawks; this, my Mimi, is the Soul of the\nlittle yellow-crested kingfisher. My task as King of the Birds is to keep\na representative of each of these always on hand; in which endeavor I\nam faithfully aided by the whole population of the island, who bring me\neggs and nests and young birds in abundance. If the Soul of the little\nyellow kingfisher now were to die, without a successor being found ready\nat once to receive and embody it, then the whole race of little yellow\nkingfishers would vanish altogether; and if I myself, the King of the\nBirds, who am, as it were, the Soul and life of all of them, were to die\nwithout a successor being at hand to receive my spirit, then all the race\nof birds, with one accord, would become extinct forthwith and forever.\"\n\nHe moved among his pets easily, like a king among his subjects. Most of\nthem seemed to know him and love his presence. Presently, he came to one\nvery old parrot, quite different from any Felix had ever seen on any\ntrees in the island; it was a parrot with a black crest and a red mark on\nits throat, half blind with age, and tottering on its pedestal. This\nsolemn old bird sat apart from all the others, nodding its head\noracularly in the sunlight, and blinking now and again with its white\neyelids in a curious senile fashion.\n\nThe Frenchman turned to Felix with an air of profound mystery. \"This\nbird,\" he said, solemnly stroking its head with his hand, while the\nparrot turned round to him and bit at his finger with half-doddering\naffection--\"this bird is the oldest of all my birds---is it not so,\nMethuselah?--and illustrates well in one of its aspects the superstition\nof these people. Yes, my friend, you are the last of a kind now otherwise\nextinct, are you not, _mon vieux?_ No, no, there--gently! Once upon a\ntime, the natives tell me, dozens of these parrots existed in the island;\nthey flocked among the trees, and were held very sacred; but they were\nhard to catch and difficult to keep, and the Kings of the Birds, my\npredecessors, failed to secure an heir and coadjutor to this one. So as\nthe Soul of the species, which you see here before you, grew old and\nfeeble, the whole of the race to which it belonged grew old and feeble\nwith it. One by one they withered away and died, till at last this\nsolitary specimen alone remained to vouch for the former existence of the\nrace in the island. Now, the islanders say, nothing but the Soul itself\nis left; and when the Soul dies, the red-throated parrots will be gone\nforever. One of my predecessors paid with his life in awful tortures for\nhis remissness in not providing for the succession to the soulship. I\ntell you these things in order that you may see whether they cast any\nlight for you upon your own position; and also because the oldest and\nwisest natives say that this parrot alone, among beasts or birds or\nuninitiated things, knows the secret on which depends the life of the\nTu-Kila-Kila for the time being.\"\n\n\"Can the parrot speak?\" Felix asked, with profound emotion.\n\n\"Monsieur, he can speak, and he speaks frequently. But not one word of\nall he says is comprehensible either to me or to any other living being.\nHis tongue is that of a forgotten nation. The islanders understand him no\nmore than I do. He has a very long sermon or poem, which he knows by\nheart, in some unknown language, and he repeats it often at full length\nfrom time to time, especially when he has eaten well and feels full and\nhappy. The oldest natives tell a romantic legend about this strange\nrecitation of the good Methuselah--I call him Methuselah because of his\ngreat age--but I do not really know whether their tale is true or purely\nfanciful. You never can trust these Polynesian traditions.\"\n\n\"What is the legend?\" Felix asked, with intense interest. \"In an island\nwhere we find ourselves so girt round by mystery within mystery, and\ntaboo within taboo, as this, every key is worth trying. It is well for us\nat least to learn everything we can about the ideas of the natives. Who\nknows what clue may supply us at last with the missing link, which will\nenable us to break through this intolerable servitude?\"\n\n\"Well, the story they tell us is this,\" the Frenchman replied,\n\"though I have gathered it only a hint at a time, from very old men, who\ndeclared at the same moment that some religious fear--of which they have\nmany--prevented them from telling me any further about it. It seems that\na long time ago--how many years ago nobody knows, only that it was in the\ntime of the thirty-ninth Tu-Kila-Kila, before the reign of Lavita, the\nson of Sami--a strange Korong was cast up upon this island by the waves\nof the sea, much as you and I have been in the present generation. By\naccident, says the story, or else, as others aver, through the\nindiscretion of a native woman who fell in love with him, and who worried\nthe taboo out of her husband, the stranger became acquainted with the\nsecret of Tu-Kila-Kila. As the natives themselves put it, he learned the\nDeath of the High God, and where in the world his Soul was hidden.\nThereupon, in some mysterious way or other, he became Tu-Kila-Kila\nhimself, and ruled as High God for ten years or more here on this island.\nNow, up to that time, the legend goes on, none but the men of the island\nknew the secret; they learned it as soon as they were initiated in the\ngreat mysteries, which occur before a boy is given a spear and admitted\nto the rank of complete manhood. But sometimes a woman was told the\nsecret wrongfully by her husband or her lover; and one such woman,\napparently, told the strange Korong, and so enabled him to become\nTu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"But where does the parrot come in?\" Felix asked, with still profounder\nexcitement than ever. Something within him seemed to tell him\ninstinctively he was now within touch of the special key that must sooner\nor later unlock the mystery.\n\n\"Well,\" the Frenchman went on, still stroking the parrot affectionately\nwith his hand, and smoothing down the feathers on its ruffled back, \"the\nstrange Tu-Kila-Kila, who thus ruled in the island, though he learned to\nspeak Polynesian well, had a language of his own, a language of the\nbirds, which no man on earth could ever talk with him. So, to beguile his\ntime and to have someone who could converse with him in his native\ndialect, he taught this parrot to speak his own tongue, and spent most of\nhis days in talking with it and fondling it. At last, after he had\ninstructed it by slow degrees how to repeat this long sermon or\npoem--which I have often heard it recite in a sing-song voice from\nbeginning to end--his time came, as they say, and he had to give way to\nanother Tu-Kila-Kila; for the Bouparese have a proverb like our own about\nthe king, 'The High God is dead; may the High God live forever!' But\nbefore he gave up his Soul to his successor, and was eaten or buried,\nwhichever is the custom, he handed over his pet to the King of the Birds,\nstrictly charging all future bearers of that divine office to care for\nthe parrot as they would care for a son or a daughter. And so the natives\nmake much of the parrot to the present day, saying he is greater than\nany, save a Korong or a god, for he is the Soul of a dead race, summing\nit up in himself, and he knows the secret of the Death of Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"But you can't tell me what language he speaks?\" Felix asked with a\ndespairing gesture. It was terrible to stand thus within measurable\ndistance of the secret which might, perhaps, save Muriel's life, and yet\nbe perpetually balked by wheel within wheel of more than Egyptian\nmystery.\n\n\"Who can say?\" the Frenchman answered, shrugging his shoulders\nhelplessly. \"It isn't Polynesian; that I know well, for I speak\nBouparese now like a native of Boupari; and it isn't the only other\nlanguage spoken at the present day in the South Seas--the Melanesian of\nNew Caledonia--for that I learned well from the Kanakas while I was\nserving my time as a convict among them. All we can say for certain is\nthat it may, perhaps, be some very ancient tongue. For parrots, we know,\nare immensely long-lived. Some of them, it is said, exceed their century.\nIs it not so, eh, my friend Methuselah?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nFACING THE WORST.\n\n\nMuriel, meanwhile, sat alone in her hut, frightened at Felix's unexpected\ndisappearance so early in the morning, and anxiously awaiting her lover's\nreturn, for she made no pretences now to herself that she did not really\nlove Felix. Though the two might never return to Europe to be husband and\nwife, she did not doubt that before the eye of Heaven they were already\nbetrothed to one another as truly as though they had plighted their troth\nin solemn fashion. Felix had risked his life for her, and had brought all\nthis misery upon himself in the attempt to save her. Felix was now all\nthe world that was left her. With Felix, she was happy, even on this\nhorrible island; without him, she was miserable and terrified, no matter\nwhat happened.\n\n\"Mali,\" she cried to her faithful attendant, as soon as she found Felix\nwas missing from his tent, \"what's become of Mr. Thurstan? Where can he\nbe gone, I wonder, this morning?\"\n\n\"You no fear, Missy Queenie,\" Mali answered, with the childish\nconfidence of the native Polynesian. \"Mistah Thurstan, him gone to see\nman-a-oui-oui, the King of the Birds. Month of Birds finish last night;\nman-a-oui-oui no taboo any longer. King of the Birds keep very old\nparrot, Boupari folk tell me; and old parrot very wise, know how to make\nTu-Kila-Kila. Mistah Thurstan, him gone to find man-a-oui-oui. Parrot\ntell him plenty wise thing. Parrot wiser than Boupari people; know very\ngood medicine; wise like Queensland lady and gentleman.\" And Mali set\nherself vigorously to work to wash the wooden platter on which she served\nup her mistress's yam for breakfast.\n\nIt was curious to Muriel to see how readily Mali had slipped from\nsavagery to civilization in Queensland, and how easily she had slipped\nback again from civilization to savagery in Boupari. In waiting on her\nmistress she was just the ordinary trained native Australian servant; in\nevery other respect she was the simple unadulterated heathen Polynesian.\nShe recognized in Muriel a white lady of the English sort, and treated\nher within the hut as white ladies were invariably treated in Queensland;\nbut she considered that at Boupari one must do as Boupari does, and it\nnever for a moment occurred to her simple mind to doubt the omnipotence\nof Tu-Kila-Kila in his island realm any more than she had doubted the\nomnipotence of the white man and his local religion in their proper place\n(as she thought it) in Queensland.\n\nAn hour or two passed before Felix returned. At last he arrived, very\nwhite and pale, and Muriel saw at once by the mere look on his face that\nhe had learned some terrible news at the Frenchman's.\n\n\"Well, you found him?\" she cried, taking his hand in hers, but hardly\ndaring to ask the fatal question at once.\n\nAnd Felix, sitting down, as pale as a ghost, answered faintly, \"Yes,\nMuriel, I found him!\"\n\n\"And he told you everything?\"\n\n\"Everything he knew, my poor child. Oh, Muriel, Muriel, don't ask me what\nit is. It's too terrible to tell you.\"\n\nMuriel clasped her white hands together, held bloodless downward, and\nlooked at him fixedly. \"Mali, you can go,\" she said. And the Shadow,\nrising up with childish confidence, glided from the hut, and left them,\nfor the first time since their arrival on the central island, alone\ntogether.\n\nMuriel looked at him once more with the same deadly fixed look. \"With\nyou, Felix,\" she said, slowly, \"I can bear or dare anything. I feel as if\nthe bitterness of death were past long ago. I know it must come. I only\nwant to be quite sure when.... And besides, you must remember, I have\nyour promise.\"\n\nFelix clasped his own hands despondently in return, and gazed across at\nher from his seat a few feet off in unspeakable misery.\n\n\"Muriel,\" he cried, \"I couldn't. I haven't the heart. I daren't.\"\n\nMuriel rose and laid her hand solemnly on his arm. \"You will!\" she\nanswered, boldly. \"You can! You must! I know I can trust your promise for\nthat. This moment, if you like. I would not shrink. But you will never\nlet me fall alive into the hands of those wretches. Felix, from _your_\nhand I could stand anything. I'm not afraid to die. I love you too\ndearly.\"\n\nFelix held her white little wrist in his grasp and sobbed like a child.\nHer very bravery and confidence seemed to unman him, utterly.\n\nShe looked at him once more. \"When?\" she asked, quietly, but with lips as\npale as death.\n\n\"In about four months from now,\" Felix answered, endeavoring to be calm.\n\n\"And they will kill us both?\"\n\n\"Yes, both. I think so.\"\n\n\"Together?\"\n\n\"Together.\"\n\nMuriel drew a deep sigh.\n\n\"Will you know the day beforehand?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. The Frenchman told me it. He has known others killed in the\nself-same fashion.\"\n\n\"Then, Felix---the night before it comes, you will promise me, will you?\"\n\n\"Muriel, Muriel, I could never dare to kill you.\"\n\nShe laid her hand soothingly on his. She stroked him gently. \"You are\na man,\" she said, looking up into his eyes with confidence. \"I trust\nyou. I believe in you. I know you will never let these savages hurt\nme.... Felix, in spite of everything, I've been happier since we came to\nthis island together than ever I have been in my life before. I've had my\nwish. I didn't want to miss in life the one thing that life has best\nworth giving. I haven't missed it now. I know I haven't; for I love you,\nand you love me. After that, I can die, and die gladly. If I die with\n_you_, that's all I ask. These seven or eight terrible weeks have made me\nfeel somehow unnaturally calm. When I came here first I lived all the\ntime in an agony of terror. I've got over the agony of terror now. I'm\nquite resigned and happy. All I ask is to be saved--by you--from the\ncruel hands of these hateful cannibals.\"\n\nFelix raised her white hand just once to his lips. It was the first time\nhe had ever ventured to kiss her. He kissed it fervently. She let it drop\nas if dead by her side.\n\n\"Now tell me all that happened,\" she said. \"I'm strong enough to bear it.\nI feel such a woman now--so wise and calm. These few weeks have made me\ngrow from a girl into a woman all at once. There's nothing I daren't\nhear, if you'll tell me it, Felix.\"\n\nFelix took up her hand again and held it in his, as he narrated the whole\nstory of his visit to the Frenchman. When Muriel had heard it, she said\nonce more, slowly, \"I don't think there's any hope in all these wild\nplans of playing off superstition against superstition. To my mind there\nare only two chances left for us now. One is to concoct with the\nFrenchman some means of getting away by canoe from the island--I'd rather\ntrust the sea than the tender mercy of these dreadful people; the other\nis to keep a closer lookout than ever for the merest chance of a passing\nsteamer.\"\n\nFelix drew a deep sigh. \"I'm afraid neither's much use,\" he said. \"If we\ntried to get away, dogged as we are, day and night, by our Shadows, the\nnatives would follow us with their war-canoes in battle array and hack us\nto pieces; for Peyron says that, regarding us as gods, they think the\nrain would vanish from their island forever if once they allowed us to\nget away alive and carry the luck with us. And as to the steamers, we\nhaven't seen a trace of one since we left the Australasian. Probably it\nwas only by the purest accident that even she ever came so close in to\nBoupari.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" Muriel cried, still clasping his hand tight, and letting\nthe tears now trickle slowly down her pale white cheeks, \"we can talk it\nall over some day with M. Peyron.\"\n\n\"We can talk it over to-day,\" Felix answered, \"if it comes to that; for\nPeyron means to step round, he says, a little later in the afternoon, to\npay his respects to the first white lady he has ever seen since he left\nNew Caledonia.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTU-KILA-KILA PLAYS A CARD.\n\n\nBefore the Frenchman could carry out his plan, however, he was himself\nthe recipient of the high honor of a visit from his superior god and\nchief, Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nEvery day and all day long, save on a few rare occasions when special\nduties absolved him, the custom and religion of the islanders prescribed\nthat their supreme incarnate deity should keep watch and ward without\ncessation over the great spreading banyan-tree that overshadowed with\nits dark boughs his temple-palace. High god as he was held to be, and\nall-powerful within the limits of his own strict taboos, Tu-Kila-Kila was\nyet as rigidly bound within those iron laws of custom and religious usage\nas the meanest and poorest of his subject worshippers. From sunrise to\nsunset, and far on into the night, the Pillar of Heaven was compelled to\nprowl up and down, with spear in hand and tomahawk at side, as Felix had\nso often seen him, before the sacred trunk, of which he appeared to be in\nsome mysterious way the appointed guardian. His very power, it seemed,\nwas intimately bound up with the performance of that ceaseless and\nirksome duty; he was a god in whose hands the lives of his people were\nbut as dust in the balance; but he remained so only on the onerous\ncondition of pacing to and fro, like a sentry, forever before the still\nmore holy and venerable object he was chosen to protect from attack or\ninjury. Had he failed in his task, had he slumbered at his post, all god\nthough he might be, his people themselves would have risen in a body and\ntorn him limb from limb before their ancestral fetich as a sacrilegious\npretender.\n\nAt certain times and seasons, however, as for example at all high\nfeasts and festivals, Tu-Kila-Kila had respite for a while from this\nconstant treadmill of mechanical divinity. Whenever the moon was at the\nhalf-quarter, or the planets were in lucky conjunctions, or a red glow\nlit up the sky by night, or the sacred sacrificial fires of human flesh\nwere lighted, then Tu-Kila-Kila could lay aside his tomahawk and spear,\nand become for a while as the islanders, his fellows, were. At other\ntimes, too, when he went out in state to visit the lesser deities of his\ncourt, the King of Fire and the King of Water made a solemn taboo before\nHe left his home, which protected the sacred tree from aggression during\nits guardian's absence. Then Tu-Kila-Kila, shaded by his divine umbrella,\nand preceded by the noise of the holy tom-toms, could go like a monarch\nover all parts of his realm, giving such orders as he pleased (within the\nlimits of custom) to his inferior officers. It was in this way that he\nnow paid his visit to M. Jules Peyron, King of the Birds. And he did so\nfor what to him were amply sufficient reasons.\n\nIt had not escaped Tu-Kila-Kila's keen eye, as he paced among the\nskeletons in his yard that morning, that Felix Thurstan, the King of the\nRain, had taken his way openly toward the Frenchman's quarters. He felt\npretty sure, therefore, that Felix had by this time learned another white\nman was living on the island; and he thought it an ominous fact that the\nnew-comer should make his way toward his fellow-European's hut on the\nvery first morning when the law of taboo rendered such a visit possible.\nThe savage is always by nature suspicious; and Tu-Kila-Kila had grounds\nenough of his own for suspicion in this particular instance. The two\nwhite men were surely brewing mischief together for the Lord of Heaven\nand Earth, the Illuminer of the Glowing Light of the Sun; he must make\nhaste and see what plan they were concocting against the sacred tree and\nthe person of its representative, the King of Plants and of the Host of\nHeaven.\n\nBut it isn't so easy to make haste when all your movements are impeded\nand hampered by endless taboos and a minutely annoying ritual. Before\nTu-Kila-Kila could get himself under way, sacred umbrella, tom-toms, and\nall, it was necessary for the King of Fire and the King of Water to make\ntaboo on an elaborate scale with their respective elements; and so by the\ntime the high god had reached M. Jules Peyron's garden, Felix Thurstan\nhad already some time since returned to Muriel's hut and his own\nquarters.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila approached the King of the Birds, amid loud clapping of\nhands, with considerable haughtiness. To say the truth, there was no love\nlost between the cannibal god and his European subordinate. The savage,\npuffed up as he was in his own conceit, had nevertheless always an\nuncomfortable sense that, in his heart of hearts, the impassive Frenchman\nhad but a low opinion of him. So he invariably tried to make up by the\nsolemnity of his manner and the loudness of his assertions for any\ntrifling scepticism that might possibly exist in the mind of his\nfollower.\n\nOn this particular occasion, as he reached the Frenchman's plot,\nTu-Kila-Kila stepped forward across the white taboo-line with a\nsuspicious and peering eye. \"The King of the Rain has been here,\" he\nsaid, in a pompous tone, as the Frenchman rose and saluted him\nceremoniously. \"Tu-Kila-Kila's eyes are sharp. They never sleep. The sun\nis his sight. He beholds all things. You cannot hide aught in heaven or\nearth from the knowledge of him that dwells in heaven. I look down upon\nland and sea, and spy out all that takes place or is planned in them. I\nam very holy and very cruel. I see all earth and I drink the blood of all\nmen. The King of the Rain has come this morning to visit the King of the\nBirds. Where is he now? What has your divinity done with him?\"\n\nHe spoke from under the sheltering cover of his veiled umbrella. The\nFrenchman looked back at him with as little love as Tu-Kila-Kila himself\nwould have displayed had his face been visible. \"Yes, you are a very\ngreat god,\" he answered, in the conventional tone of Polynesian\nadulation, with just a faint under-current of irony running through his\naccent as he spoke. \"You say the truth. You do, indeed, know all things.\nWhat need for me, then, to tell you, whose eye is the sun, that my\nbrother, the King of the Rain, has been here and gone again? You know it\nyourself. Your eye has looked upon it. My brother was indeed with me. He\nconsulted me as to the showers I should need from his clouds for the\nbirds, my subjects.\"\n\n\"And where is he gone now?\" Tu-Kila-Kila asked, without attempting to\nconceal the displeasure in his tone, for he more than half suspected the\nFrenchman of a sacrilegious and monstrous design of chaffing him.\n\nThe King of the Birds bowed low once more. \"Tu-Kila-Kila's glance is\nkeener than my hawk's,\" he answered, with the accustomed Polynesian\nimagery. \"He sees over the land with a glance, like my parrots, and over\nthe sea with sharp sight, like my albatrosses. He knows where my brother,\nthe King of the Rain, has gone. For me, who am the least among all the\ngods, I sit here on my perch and blink like a crow. I do not know these\nthings. They are too high and too deep for me.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila did not like the turn the conversation was taking. Before\nhis own attendants such hints, indeed, were almost dangerous. Once let\nthe savage begin to doubt, and the Moral Order goes with a crash\nimmediately. Besides, he must know what these white men had been talking\nabout. \"Fire and Water,\" he said in a loud voice, turning round to his\ntwo chief satellites, \"go far down the path, and beat the tom-toms. Fence\noff with flood and flame the airy height where the King of the Birds\nlives; fence it off from all profane intrusion. I wish to confer in\nsecret with this god, my brother. When we gods talk together, it is not\nwell that others should hear our converse. Make a great Taboo. I,\nTu-Kila-Kila, myself have said it.\"\n\nFire and Water, bowing low, backed down the path, beating tom-toms as\nthey went, and left the savage and the Frenchman alone together.\n\nAs soon as they were gone, Tu-Kila-Kila laid aside his umbrella with a\npositive sigh of relief. Now his fellow-countrymen were well out of the\nway, his manner altered in a trice, as if by magic. Barbarian as he was,\nhe was quite astute enough to guess that Europeans cared nothing in their\nhearts for all his mumbo-jumbo. He believed in it himself, but they did\nnot, and their very unbelief made him respect and fear them.\n\n\"Now that we two are alone,\" he said, glancing carelessly around him, \"we\ntwo who are gods, and know the world well--we two who see everything in\nheaven or earth--there is no need for concealment--we may talk as plainly\nas we will with one another. Come, tell me the truth! The new white man\nhas seen you?\"\n\n\"He has seen me, yes, certainly,\" the Frenchman admitted, taking a keen\nlook deep into the savage's cunning eyes.\n\n\"Does he speak your language--the language of birds?\" Tu-Kila-Kila asked\nonce more, with insinuating cunning. \"I have heard that the sailing gods\nare of many languages. Are you and he of one speech or two? Aliens, or\ncountrymen?\"\n\n\"He speaks my language as he speaks Polynesian,\" the Frenchman replied,\nkeeping his eye firmly fixed on his doubtful guest, \"but it is not his\nown. He has a tongue apart--the tongue of an island not far from my\ncountry, which we call England.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila drew nearer, and dropped his voice to a confidential\nwhisper. \"Has he seen the Soul of all dead parrots?\" he asked, with keen\ninterest in his voice. \"The parrot that knows Tu-Kila-Kila's secret? That\none over there--the old, the very sacred one?\"\n\nM. Peyron gazed round his aviary carelessly. \"Oh, that one,\" he answered,\nwith a casual glance at Methuselah, as though one parrot or another were\nmuch the same to him. \"Yes, I think he saw it. I pointed it out to him,\nin fact, as the oldest and strangest of all my subjects.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila's countenance fell. \"Did he hear it speak?\" he asked, in\nevident alarm. \"Did it tell him the story of Tu-Kila-Kila's secret?\"\n\n\"No, it didn't speak,\" the Frenchman answered. \"It seldom does now. It is\nvery old. And if it did, I don't suppose the King of the Rain would have\nunderstood one word of it. Look here, great god, allay your fears. You're\na terrible coward. I expect the real fact about the parrot is this: it is\nthe last of its own race; it speaks the language of some tribe of men who\nonce inhabited these islands, but are now extinct. No human being at\npresent alive, most probably, knows one word of that forgotten language.\"\n\n\"You think not?\" Tu-Kila-Kila asked, a little relieved.\n\n\"I am the King of the Birds, and I know the voices of my subjects by\nheart; I assure you it is as I say,\" M. Peyron answered, drawing himself\nup solemnly.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila looked askance, with something very closely approaching a\nwink in his left eye. \"We two are both gods,\" he said, with a tinge of\nirony in his tone. \"We know what that means.... _I_ do not feel so\ncertain.\"\n\nHe stood close by the parrot with itching fingers. \"It is very,\nvery old,\" he went on to himself, musingly. \"It can't live long. And\nthen--none but Boupari men will know the secret.\"\n\nAs he spoke he darted a strange glance of hatred toward the unconscious\nbird, the innocent repository, as he firmly believed, of the secret\nthat doomed him. The Frenchman had turned his back for a moment now,\nto fetch out a stool. Tu-Kila-Kila, casting a quick, suspicious eye to\nthe right and left, took a step nearer. The parrot sat mumbling on its\nperch, inarticulately, putting its head on one side, and blinking its\nhalf-blinded eyes in the bright tropical sunshine. Tu-Kila-Kila paused\nirresolute before its face for a second. If he only dared--one wring of\nthe neck--one pinch of his finger and thumb almost!--and all would be\nover. But he dared not! he dared not! Your savage is overawed by the\nblind terrors of taboo. His predecessor, some elder Tu-Kila-Kila of\nforgotten days, had laid a great charm upon that parrot's life. Whoever\nhurt it was to die an awful death of unspeakable torment. The King of the\nBirds had special charge to guard it. If even the Cannibal God himself\nwrought it harm, who could tell what judgment might fall upon him\nforthwith, what terrible vengeance the dead Tu-Kila-Kila might wreak\nupon him in his ghostly anger? And that dead Tu-Kila-Kila was his own\nSoul! His own Soul might flare up within him in some mystic way and burn\nhim to ashes.\n\nAnd yet--suppose this hateful new-comer, the King of the Rain, whom\nhe had himself made Korong on purpose to get rid of him the more easily,\nand so had elevated into his own worst potential enemy--suppose this\nnew-comer, the King of the Rain, were by chance to speak that other\ndialect of the bird-language, which the King of the Birds himself knew\nnot, but which the parrot had learned from his old master, the ancient\nTu-Kila-Kila of other days, and in which the bird still recited the\nsecret of the sacred tree and the Death of the Great God--ah, then he\nmight still have to fight hard for his divinity. He gazed angrily at\nthe bird. Methuselah blinked, and put his head on one side, and looked\ncraftily askance at him. Tu-Kila-Kila hated it, that insolent creature.\nWas he not a god, and should he be thus bearded in his own island by a\nmere Soul of dead birds, a poor, wretched parrot? But the curse! What\nmight not that portend? Ah, well, he would risk it. Glancing around him\nonce more to the right and left, to make sure that nobody was looking,\nthe cunning savage put forth his hand stealthily, and tried with a\nfriendly caress to seize the parrot.\n\nIn a moment, before he had time to know what was happening,\nMethuselah--sleepy old dotard as he seemed--had woke up at once to a\nsense of danger. Turning suddenly round upon the sleek, caressing hand,\nhe darted his beak with a vicious peck at his assailant, and bit the\ndivine finger of the Pillar of Heaven as carelessly as he would have\nbitten any child on Boupari. Tu-Kila-Kila, thunder-struck, drew back his\narm with a start of surprise and a loud cry of pain. The bird had wounded\nhim. He shook his hand and stamped. Blood was dropping on the ground from\nthe man-god's finger. He hardly knew what strange evil this omen of harm\nmight portend for the world. The Soul of all dead parrots had carried out\nthe curse, and had drawn red drops from the sacred veins of Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nOne must be a savage one's self, and superstitious at that, fully to\nunderstand the awful significance of this deadly occurrence. To draw\nblood from a god, and, above all, to let that blood fall upon the dust of\nthe ground, is the very worst luck--too awful for the human mind to\ncontemplate.\n\nAt the same moment, the parrot, awakened by the unexpected attack, threw\nback its head on its perch, and, laughing loud and long to itself in its\nown harsh way, began to pour forth a whole volley of oaths in a guttural\nlanguage, of which neither Tu-Kila-Kila nor the Frenchman understood one\nsyllable. And at the same moment, too, M. Peyron himself, recalled from\nthe door of his hut by Tu-Kila-Kila's sharp cry of pain and by his liege\nsubject's voluble flow of loud speech and laughter, ran up all agog to\nknow what was the matter.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila, with an effort, tried to hide in his robe his wounded\nfinger. But the Frenchman caught at the meaning of the whole scene at\nonce, and interposed himself hastily between the parrot and its\nassailant. \"_H\u00e9!_ my Methuselah,\" he cried, in French, stroking the\nexultant bird with his hand, and smoothing its ruffled feathers, \"did he\ntry to choke you, then? Did he try to get over you? That was a brave\nbird! You did well, _mon ami_, to bite him!... No, no, Life of the World,\nand Measurer of the Sun's Course,\" he went on, in Polynesian, \"you shall\nnot go near him. Keep your distance, I beg of you. You may be a high\ngod--though you were a scurvy wretch enough, don't you recollect, when\nyou were only Lavita, the son of Sami--but I know your tricks. Hands off\nfrom my birds, say I. A curse is on the head of the Soul of dead parrots.\nYou tried to hurt him, and see how the curse has worked itself out! The\nblood of the great god, the Pillar of Heaven, has stained the gray dust\nof the island of Boupari.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila stood sucking his finger, and looking the very picture of\nthe most savage sheepishness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nDOMESTIC BLISS.\n\n\nTu-Kila-Kila went home that day in a very bad humor. The portent of the\nbitten finger had seriously disturbed him. For, strange as it sounds to\nus, he really believed himself in his own divinity; and the bare thought\nthat the holy soil of earth should be dabbled and wet with the blood of a\ngod gave him no little uneasiness in his own mind on his way homeward.\nBesides, what would his people think of it if they found it out? At all\nhazards almost, he must strive to conceal this episode of the bite from\nthe men of Boupari. A god who gets wounded, and, worse still, gets\nwounded in the very act of trying to break a great taboo laid on by\nhimself in a previous incarnation--such a god undoubtedly lays himself\nopen to the gravest misapprehensions on the part of his worshippers.\nIndeed, it was not even certain whether his people, if they knew, would\nany longer regard him as a god at all. The devotion of savages is\nprofound, but it is far from personal. When deities pass so readily from\none body to another, you must always keep a sharp lookout lest the great\nspirit should at any minute have deserted his earthly tabernacle, and\nhave taken up his abode in a fresh representative. Honor the gods by all\nmeans; but make sure at the same time what particular house they are just\nthen inhabiting.\n\nIt was the hour of siesta in Tu-Kila-Kila's tent. For a short space in\nthe middle of the day, during the heat of the sun, while Fire and Water,\nwith their embers and their calabash, sat on guard in a porch by the\nbamboo gate, Tu-Kila-Kila, Pillar of Heaven and Threshold of Earth, had\nrespite for a while from his daily task of guarding the sacred banyan,\nand could take his ease after his meal in his own quarters. While that\nprecious hour of taboo lasted, no wandering dragon or spirit of the air\ncould hurt the holy tree, and no human assailant dare touch or approach\nit. Even the disease-making gods, who walk in the pestilence, could not\nblight or wither it. At all other times Tu-Kila-Kila mounted guard over\nhis tree with a jealousy that fairly astonished Felix Thurstan's soul;\nfor Felix Thurstan only dimly understood as yet how implicitly\nTu-Kila-Kila's own life and office were bound up with the inviolability\nof the banyan he protected.\n\nWithin the hut, during that playtime of siesta, while the lizards (who\nare also gods) ran up and down the wall, and puffed their orange throats,\nTu-Kila-Kila lounged at his ease that afternoon, with one of his many\nwives--a tall and beautiful Polynesian woman, lithe and supple, as is the\nwont of her race, and as exquisitely formed in every limb and feature as\na sculptured Greek goddess. A graceful wreath of crimson hibiscus adorned\nher shapely head, round which her long and glossy black hair was coiled\nin great rings with artistic profusion. A festoon of blue flowers and\ndark-red drac\u00e6na leaves hung like a chaplet over her olive-brown neck and\nswelling bust. One breadth of native cloth did duty for an apron or\ngirdle round her waist and hips. All else was naked. Her plump brown arms\nwere set off by the green and crimson of the flowers that decked her.\nTu-Kila-Kila glanced at his slave with approving eyes. He always liked\nUla; she pleased him the best of all his women. And she knew his ways,\ntoo: she never contradicted him.\n\nAmong savages, guile is woman's best protection. The wife who knows when\nto give way with hypocritical obedience, and when to coax or wheedle her\nyielding lord, runs the best chance in the end for her life. Her model is\nnot the oak, but the willow. She must be able to watch for the rising\nsigns of ill-humor in her master's mind, and guard against them\ncarefully. If she is wise, she keeps out of her husband's way when his\nanger is aroused, but soothes and flatters him to the top of his bent\nwhen his temper is just slightly or momentarily ruffled.\n\n\"The Lord of Heaven and Earth is ill at ease,\" Ula murmured,\ninsinuatingly, as Tu-Kila-Kila winced once with the pain of his swollen\nfinger. \"What has happened today to the Increaser of Bread-Fruit? My lord\nis sad. His eye is downcast. Who has crossed my master's will? Who\nhas dared to anger him?\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila kept the wounded hand wrapped up in a soft leaf, like a\nwoolly mullein. All the way home he had been obliged to conceal it, and\ndisguise the pain he felt, lest Fire and Water should discover his\nsecret. For he dared not let his people know that the Soul of all dead\nparrots had bitten his finger, and drawn blood from the sacred veins of\nthe man-god. But he almost hesitated now whether or not he should confide\nin Ula. A god may surely trust his own wedded wives. And yet--such need\nto be careful--women are so treacherous! He suspected Ula sometimes of\nbeing a great deal too fond of that young man Toko, who used to be one of\nthe temple attendants, and whom he had given as Shadow accordingly to the\nKing of the Rain, so as to get rid of him altogether from among the crowd\nof his followers. So he kept his own counsel for the moment, and\ndisguised his misfortune. \"I have been to see the King of the Birds this\nmorning,\" he said, in a grumbling voice; \"and I do not like him. That\nGod is too insolent. For my part I hate these strangers, one and all.\nThey have no respect for Tu-Kila-Kila like the men of Boupari. They are\nas bad as atheists. They fear not the gods, and the customs of our\nfathers are not in them.\"\n\nUla crept nearer, with one lithe round arm laid caressingly close to her\nmaster's neck. \"Then why do you make them Korong?\" she asked, with\nfeminine curiosity, like some wife who seeks to worm out of her husband\nthe secret of freemasonry. \"Why do you not cook them and eat them at\nonce, as soon as they arrive? They are very good food--so white and fine.\nThat last new-comer, now--the Queen of the Clouds--why not eat her? She\nis plump and tender.\"\n\n\"I like her,\" Tu-Kila-Kila responded, in a gloating tone. \"I like her\nevery way. I would have brought her here to my temple and admitted her at\nonce to be one of Tu-Kila-Kila's wives--only that Fire and Water would\nnot have permitted me. They have too many taboos, those awkward gods. I\ndo not love them. But I make my strangers Korong for a very wise reason.\nYou women are fools; you understand nothing; you do not know the\nmysteries. These things are a great deal too high and too deep for you.\nYou could not comprehend them. But men know well why. They are wise; they\nhave been initiated. Much more, then, do I, who am the very high god--who\neat human flesh and drink blood like water--who cause the sun to shine\nand the fruits to grow--without whom the day in heaven would fade and die\nout, and the foundations of the earth would be shaken like a plantain\nleaf.\"\n\nUla laid her soft brown hand soothingly on the great god's arm just above\nthe elbow. \"Tell me,\" she said, leaning forward toward him, and looking\ndeep into his eyes with those great speaking gray orbs of hers; \"tell\nme, O Sustainer of the Equipoise of Heaven; I know you are great; I know\nyou are mighty; I know you are holy and wise and cruel; but why must you\nlet these sailing gods who come from unknown lands beyond the place\nwhere the sun rises or sets--why must you let them so trouble and annoy\nyou? Why do you not at once eat them up and be done with them? Is not\ntheir flesh sweet? Is not their blood red? Are they not a dainty well fit\nfor the banquet of Tu-Kila-Kila?\"\n\nThe savage looked at her for a moment and hesitated. A very beautiful\nwoman this Ula, certainly. Not one of all his wives had larger brown\nlimbs, or whiter teeth, or a deeper respect for his divine nature. He had\nalmost a mind--it was only Ula? Why not break the silence enjoined upon\ngods toward women, and explain this matter to her? Not the great secret\nitself, of course--the secret on which hung the Death and Transmigration\nof Tu-Kila-Kila--oh, no; not that one. The savage was far too cunning\nin his generation to intrust that final terrible Taboo to the ears of a\nwoman. But the reason why he made all strangers Korong. A woman might\nsurely be trusted with that--especially Ula. She was so very handsome.\nAnd she was always so respectful to him.\n\n\"Well, the fact of it is,\" he answered, laying his hand on her neck, that\nplump brown neck of hers, under the garland of drac\u00e6na leaves, and\nstroking it voluptuously, \"the sailing gods who happen upon this island\nfrom time to time are made Korong--but hush! it is taboo.\" He gazed\naround the hut suspiciously. \"Are all the others away?\" he asked, in a\nfrightened tone. \"Fire and Water would denounce me to all my people if\nonce they found I had told a taboo to a woman. And as for you, they would\ntake you, because you knew it, and would pull your flesh from your bones\nwith hot stone pincers!\"\n\nUla rose and looked about her at the door of the tent. She nodded thrice;\nthen she glided back, serpentine, and threw herself gracefully, in a\nstatuesque pose, on the native mat beside him. \"Here, drink some more\nkava,\" she cried, holding a bowl to his lips, and wheedling him with her\neyes. \"Kava is good; it is fit for gods. It makes them royally drunk, as\nbecomes great deities. The spirits of our ancestors dwell in the bowl;\nwhen you drink of the kava they mount by degrees into your heart and\nhead. They inspire brave words. They give you thoughts of heaven. Drink,\nmy master, drink. The Ruler of the Sun in Heaven is thirsty.\"\n\nShe lay propped on one elbow, with her face close to his; and offered\nhim, with one brown, irresistible hand, the intoxicating liquor.\nTu-Kila-Kila took the bowl, and drank a second time, for he had drunk of\nit once with his dinner already. It was seldom he allowed himself the\nluxury of a second draught of that very stupefying native intoxicant, for\nhe knew too well the danger of insecurely guarding his sacred tree; but\non this particular occasion, as on so many others in the collective life\nof humanity, \"the woman tempted him,\" and he acted as she told him. He\ndrank it off deep. \"Ha, ha! that is good!\" he cried, smacking his lips.\n\"That is a drink fit for a god. No woman can make kava like you, Ula.\" He\ntoyed with her arms and neck lazily once more. \"You are the queen of my\nwives,\" he went on, in a dreamy voice. \"I like you so well, that, plump\nas you are, I really believe, Ula, I could never make up my mind to eat\nyou.\"\n\n\"My lord is very gracious,\" Ula made answer, in a soft, low tone,\npretending to caress him. And for some minutes more she continued to make\nmuch of him in the fulsome strain of Polynesian flattery.\n\nAt last the kava had clearly got into Tu-Kila-Kila's head. Then Ula bent\nforward once more and again attacked him. \"Now I know you will tell me,\"\nshe said, coaxingly, \"why you make them Korong. As long as I live, I will\nnever speak or hint of it to anybody anywhere. And if I do--why, the\nremedy is near. I am your meat--take me and eat me.\"\n\nEven cannibals are human; and at the touch of her soft hand, Tu-Kila-Kila\ngave way slowly. \"I made them Korong,\" he answered, in rather thick\naccents, \"because it is less dangerous for me to make them so than to\nchoose for the post from among our own islanders. Sooner or later, my day\nmust come; but I can put it off best by making my enemies out of\nstrangers who arrive upon our island, and not out of those of my own\nhousehold. All Boupari men who have been initiated know the terrible\nsecret--they know where lies the Death of Tu-Kila-Kila. The strangers who\ncome to us from the sun or the sea do not know it; and therefore my life\nis safest with them. So I make them Korong whenever I can, to prolong my\nown days, and to guard my secret.\"\n\n\"And the Death of Tu-Kila-Kila?\" the woman whispered, very low, still\nsoothing his arm with her hand and patting his cheek softly from time to\ntime with a gentle, caressing motion. \"Tell me where does that live? Who\nholds it in charge? Where is Tu-Kila-Kila's great spirit laid by in\nsafety? I know it is in the tree; but where and in what part of it?\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila drew back with a little cry of surprise. \"You know it is in\nthe tree!\" he cried. \"You know my soul is kept there! Why, Ula, who told\nyou that? and you a woman! Bad medicine indeed! Some man has been\nblabbing what he learned in the mysteries. If this should reach the ears\nof the King of the Rain--\" he paused mysteriously.\n\n\"What? What?\" Ula cried, seizing his hand in hers, and pressing it hard\nto her bosom in her anxiety and eagerness. \"Tell me the secret! Tell me!\"\n\nWith a sudden sharp howl of darting pain, Tu-Kila-Kila withdrew his hand.\nShe had squeezed the finger the parrot had bitten, and blood began once\nmore to flow from it freely.\n\nA wild impulse of revenge came over the savage. He caught her by the\nneck with his other hand, pressed her throat hard, till she was black in\nthe face, kicked her several times with ferocious rage, and then flung\nher away from him to the other side of the hut with a fierce and\nuntranslatable native imprecation.\n\nUla, shaken and hurt, darted away toward the door, with a face of abject\nterror. For every reason on earth she was intensely alarmed. Were it\nmerely as a matter of purely earthly fear, she had ground enough for\nfright in having so roused the hasty anger of that powerful and\nimplacable creature. He would kill her and eat her with far less\ncompunction than an English farmer would kill and eat one of his own\nbarnyard chickens. But besides that, it terrified her not a little in\nmore mysterious ways to see the blood of a god falling upon the earth so\nfreely. She knew not what awful results to herself and her race might\nfollow from so terrible a desecration.\n\nBut, to her utter astonishment, the great god himself, mad with rage as\nhe was, seemed none the less almost as profoundly frightened and\nsurprised as she herself was. \"What did you do that for?\" he cried, now\nsufficiently recovered for thought and speech, wringing his hand with\npain, and then popping his finger hastily into his mouth to ease it. \"You\nare a clumsy thing. And you want to destroy me, too, with your foolish\nclumsiness.\"\n\nHe looked at her and scowled. He was very angry. But the savage woman is\nnothing if not quick-witted and politic. In a flash of intuition, Ula saw\nat once he was more frightened than hurt; he was afraid of the effect of\nthis strange revelation upon his own reputation for supreme godship. With\nevery mark and gesture of deprecatory servility the woman sidled back to\nhis side like a whipped dog. For a second she looked down on the floor\nat the drops of blood; then, without one word of warning or one instant's\nhesitation, she bit her own finger hard till blood flowed from it freely.\n\"I will show this to Fire and Water,\" she said, holding it up before his\neyes all red and bleeding. \"I will say you were angry with me and bit me\nfor a punishment, as you often do. They will never find out it was the\nblood of a god. Have no fear for their eyes. Let me look at your finger.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila, half appeased by her clever quickness, held his hand out\nsulkily, like a disobedient child. Ula examined it close. \"A bite,\" she\nsaid, shortly. \"A bite from a bird! a peck from a parrot.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila jerked out a surly assent. \"Yes, the Soul of all dead\nparrots,\" he answered, with an angry glare. \"It bit me this morning at\nthe King of the Birds'. A vicious brute. But no one else saw it.\"\n\nUla put the finger up to her own mouth, and sucked the wound gently.\nHer medicine stanched it. Then she took a thin leaf of the paper\nmulberry, soft, cool, and soothing, and bound it round the place with a\nstrip of the lace-like inner bark, as deftly as any hospital nurse in\nLondon would have done it. These savage women are capital hands in\nsickness. Tu-Kila-Kila sat and sulked meanwhile, like a disappointed\nchild. When Ula had finished, she nodded her head and glided softly away.\nShe knew her chance of learning the secret was gone for the moment, and\nshe had too much of the guile of the savage woman to spoil her chances by\nloitering about unnecessarily while her lord was in his present\nungracious humor.\n\nAs she stole from the hut, Tu-Kila-Kila, looking ruefully at his wounded\nhand, and then at that light and supple retreating figure, muttered\nsulkily to himself, with a very bad grace, \"the woman knows too much. She\nnearly wormed my secret out of me. She knows that Tu-Kila-Kila's life and\nsoul are bound up in the tree. She knows that I bled, and that the parrot\nbit me. If she blabs, as women will do, mischief may come of it. I am a\ngreat god, a very great god--keen, bloodthirsty, cruel. And I like that\nwoman. But it would be wiser and safer, perhaps, after all, to forego my\naffection and to make a great feast of her.\"\n\nAnd Ula, looking back with a smile and a nod, and holding up her own\nbitten and bleeding hand with a farewell shake, as if to remind her\ndivine husband of her promise to show it to Fire and Water, murmured low\nto herself as she went, \"He is a very great god; a very great god, no\ndoubt; but I hate him, I hate him! He would eat me to-morrow if I didn't\ncoax him and wheedle him and keep him in a good temper. You want to be\nsharp, indeed, to be the wife of a god. I got off to-day with the skin of\nmy teeth. He might have turned and killed me. If only I could find out\nthe Great Taboo, I would tell it to the stranger, the King of the Rain;\nand then, perhaps, Tu-Kila-Kila would die. And the stranger would become\nTu-Kila-Kila in turn, and I would be one of his wives; and Toko, who is\nhis Shadow, would return again to the service of Tu-Kila-Kila's temple.\"\n\nBut Fire, as she passed, was saying to Water, \"We are getting tired in\nBoupari of Lavita, the son of Sami. If the luck of the island is not to\nchange, it is high time, I think, we should have a new Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nCOUNCIL OF WAR.\n\n\nThat same afternoon Muriel had a visitor. M. Jules Peyron, formerly of\nthe Coll\u00e9ge de France, no longer a mere Polynesian god, but a French\ngentleman of the Boulevards in voice and manner, came to pay his\nrespects, as in duty bound, to Mademoiselle Ellis. M. Peyron had\nperformed his toilet under trying circumstances, to the best of his\nability. The remnants of his European clothes, much patched and overhung\nwith squares of native tappa cloth, were hidden as much as possible by a\nwide feather cloak, very savage in effect, but more seemly, at any rate,\nthan the tattered garments in which Felix had first found him in his own\ngarden parterre. M. Peyron, however, was fully aware of the defects of\nhis costume, and profoundly apologetic. \"It is with ten thousand regrets,\nmademoiselle,\" he said, many times over, bowing low and simpering, \"that\nI venture to appear in a lady's _salon_--for, after all, wherever a\nEuropean lady goes, there her _salon_ follows her--in such a _tenue_\nas that in which I am now compelled to present myself. _Mais que\nvoulez-vous? Nous ne sommes pas \u00e0 Paris_!\" For to M. Peyron, as innocent\nin his way as Mali herself, the whole world divided itself into Paris and\nthe Provinces.\n\nNevertheless, it was touching to both the new-comers to see the\nFrenchman's delight at meeting once more with civilized beings. \"Figure\nto yourself, mademoiselle,\" he said, with true French effusion--\"figure\nto yourself the joy and surprise with which I, this morning, receive\nmonsieur, your friend, at my humble cottage! For the first time after\nnine years on this hateful island, I see again a European face; I hear\nagain the sound, the beautiful sound of that charming French language. My\nemotion, believe me, was too profound for words. When monsieur was gone,\nI retired to my hut, I sat down on the floor, I gave myself over to\ntears, tears of joy and gratitude, to think I should once more catch a\nglimpse of civilization! This afternoon, I ask myself, can I venture\nto go out and pay my respects, thus attired, in these rags, to a European\nlady? For a long time I doubt, I wonder, I hesitate. In my quality of\nFrenchman, I would have wished to call in civilized costume upon a\ncivilized household. But what would you have? Necessity knows no law. I\nam compelled to envelope myself in my savage robe of office as a\nPolynesian god--a robe of office which, for the rest, is not without an\ninterest of its own for the scientific ethnologist. It belongs to me\nespecially as King of the Birds, and in it, in effect, is represented\nat least one feather of each kind or color from every part of the body\nof every species of bird that inhabits Boupari. I thus sum up, _pour\nainsi dire_, in my official costume all the birds of the island, as\nTu-Kila-Kila, the very high god, sums up, in his quaint and curious\ndress, the land and the sea, the trees and the stones, earth and air, and\nfire and water.\"\n\nFamiliarity with danger begets at last a certain callous indifference.\nMuriel was surprised in her own mind to discover how easily they could\nchat with M. Peyron on such indifferent subjects, with that awful doom of\nan approaching death hanging over them so shortly. But the fact was,\nterrors of every kind had so encompassed them round since their arrival\non the island that the mere additional certainty of a date and mode of\nexecution was rather a relief to their minds than otherwise. It partook\nof the nature of a reprieve, not of a sentence. Besides, this meeting\nwith another speaker of a European tongue seemed to them so full of\npromise and hope that they almost forgot the terrors of their threatened\nend in their discussion of possible schemes for escape to freedom. Even\nM. Peyron himself, who had spent nine long years of exile in the island,\nfelt that the arrival of two new Europeans gave him some hope of\neffecting at last his own retreat from this unendurable position. His\ntalk was all of passing steamers. If the Australasian had come near\nenough once to sight the island, he argued, then the homeward-bound\nvessel, _en route_ for Honolulu, must have begun to take a new course\nconsiderably to the eastward of the old navigable channel. If this were\nso, their obvious plan was to keep a watch, day and night, for another\npassing Australian liner, and whenever one hove in sight, to steal away\nto the shore, seize a stray canoe, overpower, if possible, their Shadows,\nor give them the slip, and make one bold stroke for freedom on the open\nocean.\n\nNone of them could conceal from their own minds, to be sure, the extreme\ndifficulty of carrying out this programme. In the first place, it was a\ntoss-up whether they ever sighted another steamer at all; for during the\nweeks they had already passed on the island, not a sign of one had\nappeared from any quarter. Then, again, even supposing a steamer ever\nhove in sight, what likelihood that they could make out for her in an\nopen canoe in time to attract attention before she had passed the island?\nTu-Kila-Kila would never willingly let them go; their Shadows would watch\nthem with unceasing care; the whole body of natives would combine\ntogether to prevent their departure. If they ran away at all, they must\nrun for their lives; as soon as the islanders discovered they were gone,\nevery war-canoe in the place would be manned at once with bloodthirsty\nsavages, who would follow on their track with relentless persistence.\n\nAs for Muriel, less prepared for such dangerous adventures than the two\nmen, she was rather inclined to attach a certain romantic importance (as\na girl might do) to the story of the parrot and the possible disclosures\nwhich it could make if it could only communicate with them. The\nmysterious element in the history of that unique bird attracted her\nfancy. \"The only one of its race now left alive,\" she said, with slow\nreflectiveness. \"Like Dolly Pentreath, the last old woman who could speak\nCornish! I wonder how long parrots ever live? Do you know at all,\nmonsieur? You are the King of the Birds--you ought to be an authority on\ntheir habits and manners.\"\n\nThe Frenchman smiled a gallant smile. \"Unhappily, mademoiselle,\" he said,\n\"though, as a medical student, I took up to a certain extent biological\nscience in general at the Coll\u00e9ge de France, I never paid any special or\npeculiar attention in Paris to birds in particular. But it is the\nuniversal opinion of the natives (if that counts for much) that parrots\nlive to a very great age; and this one old parrot of mine, whom I call\nMethuselah on account of his advanced years, is considered by them all to\nbe a perfect patriarch. In effect, when the oldest men now living on the\nisland were little boys, they tell me that Methuselah was already a\nvenerable and much-venerated parrot. He must certainly have outlived all\nthe rest of his race by at least the best part of three-quarters of a\ncentury. For the islanders themselves not infrequently live, by unanimous\nconsent, to be over a hundred.\"\n\n\"I remember to have read somewhere,\" Felix said, turning it over in his\nmind, \"that when Humboldt was travelling in the wilds of South America he\nfound one very old parrot in an Indian village, which, the Indians\nassured him, spoke the language of an extinct tribe, incomprehensible\nthen by any living person. If I recollect aright, Humboldt believed that\nparticular bird must have lived to be nearly a hundred and fifty.\"\n\n\"That is so, monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered. \"I remember the case\nwell, and have often recalled it. I recollect our professor mentioning it\none day in the course of his lectures. And I have always mentally coupled\nthat parrot of Humboldt's with my own old friend and subject, Methuselah.\nHowever, that only impresses upon one more fully the folly of hoping that\nwe can learn anything worth knowing from him. I have heard him recite his\nstory many times over, though now he repeats it less frequently than he\nused formerly to do; and I feel convinced it is couched in some unknown\nand, no doubt, forgotten language. It is a much more guttural and\nunpleasant tongue than any of the soft dialects now spoken in Polynesia.\nIt belonged, I am convinced, to that yet earlier and more savage race\nwhich the Polynesians must have displaced; and as such it is now, I feel\ncertain, practically irrecoverable.\"\n\n\"If they were more savage than the Polynesians,\" Muriel said, with a\nprofound sigh, \"I'm sorry for anybody who fell into their clutches.\"\n\n\"But what would not many philologists at home in England give,\" Felix\nmurmured, philosophically, \"for a transcript of the words that parrot can\nspeak--perhaps a last relic of the very earliest and most primitive form\nof human language!\"\n\nAt the very moment when these things were passing under the wattled roof\nof Muriel's hut, it happened that on the taboo-space outside, Toko, the\nShadow, stood talking for a moment with Ula, the fourteenth wife of the\ngreat Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\n\"I never see you now, Toko,\" the beautiful Polynesian said, leaning\nalmost across the white line of coral-sand which she dared not\ntransgress. \"Times are dull at the temple since you came to be Shadow to\nthe white-faced stranger.\"\n\n\"It was for that that Tu-Kila-Kila sent me here,\" the Shadow answered,\nwith profound conviction. \"He is jealous, the great god. He is bad. He is\ncruel. He wanted to get rid of me. So he sent me away to the King of the\nRain that I might not see you.\"\n\nUla pouted, and held up her wounded finger before his eyes\ncoquettishly. \"See what he did to me,\" she said, with a mute appeal\nfor sympathy--though in that particular matter the truth was not in\nher. \"Your god was angry with me to-day because I hurt his hand, and\nhe clutched me by the throat, and almost choked me. He has a bad heart.\nSee how he bit me and drew blood. Some of these days, I believe, he will\nkill me and eat me.\"\n\nThe Shadow glanced around him suspiciously with an uneasy air. Then he\nwhispered low, in a voice half grudge, half terror, \"If he does, he is a\ngreat god--he can search all the world--I fear him much, but Toko's heart\nis warm. Let Tu-Kila-Kila look out for vengeance.\"\n\nThe woman glanced across at him open-eyed, with her enticing look. \"If\nthe King of the Rain, who is Korong, knew all the secret,\" she murmured,\nslowly, \"he would soon be Tu-Kila-Kila himself; and you and I could then\nmeet together freely.\"\n\nThe Shadow started. It was a terrible suggestion. \"You mean to say--\" he\ncried; then fear overcame him, and, crouching down where he sat, he gazed\naround him, terrified. Who could say that the wind would not report his\nwords to Tu-Kila-Kila?\n\nUla laughed at his fears. \"Pooh,\" she answered, smiling. \"You are a man;\nand yet you are afraid of a little taboo. I am a woman; and yet if I knew\nthe secret as you do, I would break taboo as easily as I would break an\negg-shell. I would tell the white-faced stranger all--if only it would\nbring you and me together forever.\"\n\n\"It is a great risk, a very great risk,\" the Shadow answered, trembling.\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila is a mighty god. He may be listening this moment, and may\npinch us to death by his spirits for our words, or burn us to ashes with\na flash of his anger.\"\n\nThe woman smiled an incredulous smile. \"If you had lived as near\nTu-Kila-Kila as I have,\" she answered, boldly, \"you would think as\nlittle, perhaps, of his divinity as I do.\"\n\nFor even in Polynesia, superstitious as it is, no hero is a god to his\nwives or his valets.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nMETHUSELAH GIVES SIGN.\n\n\nAll the hopes of the three Europeans were concentrated now on the bare\noff-chance of a passing steamer. M. Peyron in particular was fully\nconvinced that, if the Australasian had found the inner channel\npracticable, other ships in future would follow her example. With this\nidea firmly fixed in his head, he arranged with Felix that one or other\nof them should keep watch alternately by night as far as possible; and he\nalso undertook that a canoe should constantly be in readiness to carry\nthem away to the supposititious ship, if occasion arose for it. Muriel\ntook counsel with Mali on the question of rousing the Frenchman if a\nsteamer appeared, and they were the first to sight it; and Mali, in whom\nrenewed intercourse with white people had restored to some extent the\ncivilized Queensland attitude of mind, readily enough promised to assist\nin their scheme, provided she was herself taken with them, and so\nrelieved from the terrible vengeance which would otherwise overtake her.\n\"If Boupari man catch me,\" she said, in her simple, graphic, Polynesian\nway, \"Boupari man kill me, and lay me in leaves, and cook me very nice,\nand make great feast of me, like him do with Jani.\" From that untimely\nend both Felix and Muriel promised faithfully, as far as in them lay, to\nprotect her.\n\nTo communicate with M. Peyron by daytime, without arousing the\never-wakeful suspicion of the natives, Felix hit upon an excellent plan.\nHe burnished his metal matchbox to the very highest polish it was capable\nof taking, and then heliographed by means of sun-flashes on the Morse\ncode. He had learned the code in Fiji in the course of his official\nduties; and he taught the Frenchman now readily enough how to read and\nreply with the other half of the box, torn off for the purpose.\n\nIt was three or four days, however, before the two English wanderers\nventured to return M. Peyron's visit. They didn't wish to attract too\ngreatly the attention of the islanders. Gradually, as their stay on the\nisland went on, they learned the truth that Tu-Kila-Kila's eyes, as he\nhimself had boasted, were literally everywhere. For he had spies of his\nown, told off in every direction, who dogged the steps of his victims\nunseen. Sometimes, as Felix and Muriel walked unsuspecting through the\njungle paths, closely followed by their Shadows, a stealthy brown figure,\ncrouched low to the ground, would cross the road for a moment behind\nthem, and disappear again noiselessly into the dense mass of underbrush.\nThen Mali or Toko, turning round, all hushed, with a terrified look,\nwould murmur low to themselves, or to one another, \"There goes one of\nthe Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila!\" It was only by slow degrees that this system\nof espionage grew clear to the strangers; but as soon as they had learned\nits reality and ubiquity, they felt at once how undesirable it would be\nfor them to excite the terrible man-god's jealousy and suspicion by being\nobserved too often in close personal intercourse with their fellow-exile\nand victim, the Frenchman. It was this that made them have recourse to\nthe device of the heliograph.\n\nSo three or four days passed before Muriel dared to approach M. Peyron's\ncottage. When she did at last go there with Felix, it was in the early\nmorning, before the fierce tropical sun, that beat full on the island,\nhad begun to exert its midday force and power. The path that led there\nlay through the thick and tangled mass of brushwood which covered the\ngreater part of the island with its dense vegetation; it was overhung by\nhuge tree-ferns and broad-leaved Southern bushes, and abutted at last on\nthe little wind-swept knoll where the King of the Birds had his\nappropriate dwelling-place. The Frenchman received them with studied\nParisian hospitality. He had decorated his arbor with fresh flowers for\nthe occasion, and bright tropical fruits, with their own green leaves,\ndid duty for the coffee or the absinthe of his fatherland on his homemade\nrustic table. Yet in spite of all the rudeness of the physical\nsurroundings, they felt themselves at home again with this one exiled\nEuropean; the faint flavor of civilization pervaded and permeated the\nFrenchman's hut after the unmixed savagery to which they had now been so\nlong accustomed.\n\nMuriel's curiosity, however, centred most about the mysterious old\nparrot, of whose strange legend so much had been said to her. After they\nhad sat for a little under the shade of the spreading banyan, to cool\ndown from their walk--for it was an oppressive morning--M. Peyron led her\nround to his aviary at the back of the hut, and introduced her, by their\nnative names, to all his subjects. \"I am responsible for their lives,\" he\nsaid, gravely, \"for their welfare, for their happiness. If I were to let\none of them grow old without a successor in the field to follow him up\nand receive his soul--as in the case of my friend Methuselah here, who\nwas so neglected by my predecessors--the whole species would die out for\nwant of a spirit, and my own life would atone for that of my people.\nThere you have the central principle of the theology of Boupari. Every\nrace, every element, every power of nature, is summed up for them in some\nparticular person or thing; and on the life of that person or thing\ndepends, as they believe, the entire health of the species, the sequence\nof events, the whole order and succession of natural phenomena.\"\n\nFelix approached the mysterious and venerable bird with somewhat\nincautious fingers. \"It looks very old,\" he said, trying to stroke its\nhead and neck with a friendly gesture. \"You do well, indeed, in calling\nit Methuselah.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the bird, alarmed at the vague consciousness of a hand and\nvoice which it did not recognize and mindful of Tu-Kila-Kila's recent\nattack, made a vicious peck at the fingers outstretched to caress it.\n\"Take care!\" the Frenchman cried, in a warning voice. \"The patriarch's\ntemper is no longer what it was sixty or seventy years ago. He grows old\nand peevish. His humor is soured. He will sing no longer the lively\nlittle scraps of Offenbach I have taught him. He does nothing but sit\nstill and mumble now in his own forgotten language. And he's dreadfully\ncross--so crabbed--_mon Dieu_, what a character! Why, the other day, as I\ntold you, he bit Tu-Kila-Kila himself, the high god of the island, with a\ngood hard peck, when that savage tried to touch him; you'd have laughed\nto see his godship sent off bleeding to his hut with a wounded finger! I\nwill confess I was by no means sorry at the sight myself. I do not love\nthat god, nor he me; and I was glad when Methuselah, on whom he is afraid\nto revenge himself openly, gave him a nice smart bite for trying to\ninterfere with him.\"\n\n\"He's very snappish, to be sure,\" Felix said, with a smile, trying once\nmore to push forward one hand to stroke the bird cautiously. But\nMethuselah resented all such unauthorized intrusions. He was growing too\nold to put up with strangers. He made a second vicious attempt to peck at\nthe hand held out to soothe him, and screamed, as he did so, in the usual\ndiscordant and unpleasant voice of an angry or frightened parrot.\n\n\"Why, Felix,\" Muriel put in, taking him by the arm with a girlish\ngesture--for even the terrors by which they were surrounded hadn't wholly\nsucceeded in killing out the woman within her--\"how clumsy you are! You\ndon't understand one bit how to manage parrots. I had a parrot of my own\nat my aunt's in Australia, and I know their ways and all about them. Just\nlet me try him.\" She held out her soft white hand toward the sulky bird\nwith a fearless, caressing gesture. \"Pretty Poll, pretty Poll!\" she said,\nin English, in the conventional tone of address to their kind. \"Did the\nnaughty man go and frighten her then? Was she afraid of his hand? Did\nPolly want a lump of sugar?\"\n\nOn a sudden the bird opened its eyes quickly with an awakened air, and\nlooked her back in the face, half blindly, half quizzingly. It preened\nits wings for a second, and crooned with pleasure. Then it put forward\nits neck, with its head on one side, took her dainty finger gently\nbetween its beak and tongue, bit it for pure love with a soft, short\npressure, and at once allowed her to stroke its back and sides with a\nvery pleased and surprised expression. The success of her skill flattered\nMuriel. \"There! it knows me!\" she cried, with childish delight; \"it\nunderstands I'm a friend! It takes to me at once! Pretty Poll! Pretty\nPoll! Come, Poll, come and kiss me!\"\n\nThe bird drew back at the words, and steadied itself for a moment\nknowingly on its perch. Then it held up its head, gazed around it with a\nvacant air, as if suddenly awakened from a very long sleep, and, opening\nits mouth, exclaimed in loud, clear, sharp, and distinct tones--and in\nEnglish--\"Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll! Polly wants a buss! Polly wants a\nnice sweet bit of apple!\"\n\nFor a moment M. Peyron couldn't imagine what had happened. Felix looked\nat Muriel. Muriel looked at Felix. The Englishman held out both his hands\nto her in a wild fervor of surprise. Muriel took them in her own, and\nlooked deep into his eyes, while tears rose suddenly and dropped down her\ncheeks, one by one, unchecked. They couldn't say why, themselves; they\ndidn't know wherefore; yet this unexpected echo of their own tongue, in\nthe mouth of that strange and mysterious bird, thrilled through them\ninstinctively with a strange, unearthly tremor. In some dim and\nunexplained way, they felt half unconsciously to themselves that this\ndiscovery was, perhaps, the first clue to the solution of the terrible\nsecret whose meshes encompassed them.\n\nM. Peyron looked on in mute astonishment. He had heard the bird repeat\nthat strange jargon so often that it had ceased to have even the\npossibility of a meaning for him. It was the way of Methuselah--just his\nlanguage that he talked; so harsh! so guttural! \"Pretty Poll! Pretty\nPoll!\" he had noticed the bird harp upon those quaint words again and\nagain. They were part, no doubt, of that old primitive and forgotten\nPacific language the creature had learned in other days from some earlier\nbearer of the name and ghastly honors of Tu-Kila-Kila. Why should these\nEnglish seem so profoundly moved by them?\n\n\"Mademoiselle doesn't surely understand the barbarous dialect which our\nMethuselah speaks!\" he exclaimed in surprise, glancing half suspiciously\nfrom one to the other of these incomprehensible Britons. Like most other\nFrenchmen, he had been brought up in total ignorance of every European\nlanguage except his own; and the words the parrot pronounced, when\ndelivered with the well-known additions of parrot harshness and parrot\nvolubility, seemed to him so inexpressibly barbaric in their clicks and\njerks that he hadn't yet arrived at the faintest inkling of the truth as\nhe observed their emotion.\n\nFelix seized his new friend's hand in his and wrung it warmly. \"Don't you\nsee what it is?\" he exclaimed, half beside himself with this vague hope\nof some unknown solution. \"Don't you realize how the thing stands?\nDon't you guess the truth? This isn't a Polynesian, dialect at all. It's\nour own mother tongue. The bird speaks English!\"\n\n\"English!\" M. Peyron replied, with incredulous scorn. \"What! Methuselah\nspeak English! Oh, no, monsieur, impossible. _Vous vous trompez, j'en\nsuis s\u00fbr_. I can never believe it. Those harsh, inarticulate sounds to\nbelong to the noble language of Shaxper and Newtowne! _Ah, monsieur,\nincroyable! vous vous trompez; vous vous trompez!_\"\n\nAs he spoke, the bird put its head on one side once more, and, looking\nout of its half-blind old eyes with a crafty glance round the corner at\nMuriel, observed again, in not very polite English, \"Pretty Poll! Pretty\nPoll! Polly wants some fruit! Polly wants a nut! Polly wants to go to\nbed!... God save the king! To hell with all papists!\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" Felix said, a certain solemn feeling of surprise coming over\nhim slowly at this last strange clause, \"it is perfectly true. The bird\nspeaks English. The bird that knows the secret of which we are all in\nsearch--the bird that can tell us the truth about Tu-Kila-Kila--can tell\nus in the tongue which mademoiselle and I speak as our native language.\nAnd what is more--and more strange--gather from his tone and the tenor of\nhis remarks, he was taught, long since--a century ago, or more--and by an\nEnglish sailor!\"\n\nMuriel held out a bit of banana on a sharp stick to the bird.\nMethuselah-Polly took it gingerly off the end, like a well-behaved\nparrot? \"God save the king!\" Muriel said, in a quiet voice, trying to\ndraw him on to speak a little further.\n\nMethuselah twisted his eye sideways, first this way, then that, and\nresponded in a very clear tone, indeed, \"God save the king! Confound the\nDuke of York! Long live Dr. Oates! And to hell with all papists!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nTANTALIZING, VERY.\n\n\nThey looked at one another again with a wild surmise. The voice was as\nthe voice of some long past age. Could the parrot be speaking to them in\nthe words of seventeenth-century English?\n\nEven M. Peyron, who at first had received the strange discovery with\nincredulity, woke up before long to the importance of this sudden and\nunexpected revelation. The Tu-Kila-Kila who had taught Methuselah that\nlong poem or sermon, which native tradition regarded as containing the\ncentral secret of their creed or its mysteries, and which the cruel and\ncunning Tu-Kila-Kila of to-day believed to be of immense importance to\nhis safety--that Tu-Kila-Kila of other days was, in all probability, no\nother than an English sailor. Cast on these shores, perhaps, as they\nthemselves had been, by the mercy of the waves, he had managed to master\nthe language and religion of the savages among whom he found himself\nthrown; he had risen to be the representative of the cannibal god; and,\nduring long months or years of tedious exile, he had beguiled his leisure\nby imparting to the unconscious ears of a bird the weird secret of his\nsuccess, for the benefit of any others of his own race who might be\nsimilarly treated by fortune in future. Strange and romantic as it all\nsounded, they could hardly doubt now that this was the real explanation\nof the bird's command of English words. One problem alone remained to\ndisturb their souls. Was the bird really in possession of any local\nsecret and mystery at all, or was this the whole burden of the message he\nhad brought down across the vast abyss of time--\"God save the king, and\nto hell with all papists?\"\n\nFelix turned to M. Peyron in a perfect tumult of suspense. \"What he\nrecites is long?\" he said, interrogatively, with profound interest. \"You\nhave heard him say much more than this at times? The words he has just\nuttered are not those of the sermon or poem you mentioned?\"\n\nM. Peyron opened his hands expansively before him. \"Oh, _mon Dieu_, no,\nmonsieur,\" he answered, with effusion. \"You should hear him recite it.\nHe's never done. It is whole chapters--whole chapters; a perfect Henriade\nin parrot-talk. When once he begins, there's no possibility of checking\nor stopping him. On, on he goes. Farewell to the rest; he insists on\npouring it all forth to the very last sentence. Gabble, gabble, gabble;\nchatter, chatter, chatter; pouf, pouf, pouf; boum, boum, boum; he runs\nahead eternally in one long discordant sing-song monotone. The person who\ntaught him must have taken entire months to teach him, a phrase at a\ntime, paragraph by paragraph. It is wonderful a bird's memory could hold\nso much. But till now, taking it for granted he spoke only some wild\nSouth Pacific dialect, I never paid much attention to Methuselah's\nvagaries.\"\n\n\"Hush. He's going to speak,\" Muriel cried, holding up, in alarm, one\nwarning finger.\n\nAnd the bird, his tongue-strings evidently loosened by the strange\nrecurrence after so many years of those familiar English sounds, \"Pretty\nPoll! Pretty Poll!\" opened his mouth again in a loud chuckle of delight,\nand cried, with persistent shrillness, \"God save the king! A fig for\nall arrant knaves and roundheads!\"\n\nA creepier feeling than ever came over the two English listeners at those\nastounding words. \"Great heavens!\" Felix exclaimed to the unsuspecting\nFrenchman, \"he speaks in the style of the Stuarts and the Commonwealth!\"\n\nThe Frenchman started. \"_\u00c9poque Louis Quatorze_!\" he murmured,\ntranslating the date mentally into his own more familiar chronology. \"Two\ncenturies since! Oh, incredible! incredible! Methuselah is old, but not\nquite so much of a patriarch as that. Even Humboldt's parrot could hardly\nhave lived for two hundred years in the wilds of South America.\"\n\nFelix regarded the venerable creature with a look of almost superstitious\nawe. \"Facts are facts,\" he answered shortly, shutting his mouth with a\nlittle snap. \"Unless this bird has been deliberately taught historical\ndetails in an archaic diction--and a shipwrecked sailor is hardly likely\nto be antiquarian enough to conceive such an idea--he is undoubtedly a\nsurvival from the days of the Commonwealth or the Restoration. And you\nsay he runs on with his tale for an hour at a time! Good heavens, what\na thought! I wish we could manage to start him now. Does he begin it\noften?\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" the Frenchman answered, \"when I came here first, though\nMethuselah was already very old and feeble, he was not quite a dotard,\nand he used to recite it all every morning regularly. That was the hour,\nI suppose, at which the master, who first taught him this lengthy\nrecitation, used originally to impress it upon him. In those days his\nsight and his memory were far more clear than now. But by degrees, since\nmy arrival, he has grown dull and stupid. The natives tell me that fifty\nyears ago, while he was already old, he was still bright and lively, and\nwould recite the whole poem whenever anybody presented him with his\ngreatest dainty, the claw of a moora-crab. Nowadays, however, when he can\nhardly eat, and hardly mumble, he is much less persistent and less\ncoherent than formerly. To say the truth, I have discouraged him in his\nefforts, because his pertinacity annoyed me. So now he seldom gets\nthrough all his lesson at one bout, as he used to do at the beginning.\nThe best way to get him on is for me to sing him one of my French songs.\nThat seems to excite him, or to rouse him to rivalry. Then he will put\nhis head on one side, listen critically for a while, smile a superior\nsmile, and finally begin--jabber, jabber, jabber--trying to talk me down,\nas if I were a brother parrot.\"\n\n\"Oh, do sing now!\" Muriel cried, with intense persuasion in her voice.\n\"I do so want to hear it.\" She meant, of course, the parrot's story.\n\nBut the Frenchman bowed, and laid his hand on his heart. \"Ah,\nmademoiselle,\" he said, \"your wish is almost a royal command. And yet, do\nyou know, it is so long since I have sung, except to please myself--my\nmusic is so rusty, old pieces you have heard--I have no accompaniment,\nno score--_mais enfin_, we are all so far from Paris!\"\n\nMuriel didn't dare to undeceive him as to her meaning, lest he should\nrefuse to sing in real earnest, and the chance of learning the parrot's\nsecret might slip by them irretrievably. \"Oh, monsieur,\" she cried,\nfitting herself to his humor at once, and speaking as ceremoniously as if\nshe were assisting at a musical party in the Avenue Victor Hugo, \"don't\ndecline, I beg of you, on those accounts. We are both most anxious to\nhear your song. Don't disappoint us, pray. Please begin immediately.\"\n\n\"Ah, mademoiselle,\" the Frenchman said, \"who could resist such an appeal?\nYou are altogether too flattering.\" And then, in the same cheery voice\nthat Felix had heard on the first day he visited the King of Birds' hut,\nM. Peyron began, in very decent style, to pour forth the merry sounds of\nhis rollicking song:\n\n\"Quand on conspi-re,\n    Quand sans frayeur\n On peut se di-re\n    Conspirateur--\n Pour tout le mon-de\n    Il faut avoir\n Perruque blon-de\n    Et collet noir.\"\n\nHe had hardly got as far as the end of the first stanza, however, when\nMethuselah, listening, with his ear cocked up most knowingly, to the\nFrenchman's song, raised his head in opposition, and, sitting bolt\nupright on his perch, began to scream forth a voluble stream of words in\none unbroken flood, so fast that Muriel could hardly follow them. The\nbird spoke in a thick and very harsh voice, and, what was more remarkable\nstill, with a distinct and extremely peculiar North Country accent. \"In\nthe nineteenth year of the reign of his most gracious majesty, King\nCharles the Second,\" he blurted out, viciously, with an angry look at the\nFrenchman, \"I, Nathaniel Cross, of the borough of Sunderland, in the\ncounty of Doorham, in England, an able-bodied mariner, then sailing the\nSouth Seas in the good bark Martyr Prince, of the Port of Great Grimsby,\nwhereof one Thomas Wells, gent., under God, was master--\"\n\n\"Oh, hush, hush!\" Muriel cried, unable to catch the parrot's precious\nwords through the emulous echo of the Frenchman's music. \"Whereof one\nThomas Wells, gent., under God, was master--go on, Polly.\"\n\n\"Perruque blonde\n   Et collet noir,\"\n\nthe Frenchman repeated, with a half-offended voice, finishing his stanza.\n\nBut just as he stopped, Methuselah stopped too, and, throwing back his\nhead in the air with a triumphant look, stared hard at his vanquished and\nsilenced opponent out of those blinking gray eyes of his. \"I thought I'd\nbe too much for you!\" he seemed to say, wrathfully.\n\n\"Whereof one Thomas Wells, gent., under God, was master,\" Muriel\nsuggested again, all agog with excitement. \"Go on, good bird! Go on,\npretty Polly.\"\n\nBut Methuselah was evidently put off the scent now by the unseasonable\ninterruption. Instead of continuing, he threw back his head a second time\nwith a triumphant air and laughed aloud boisterously. \"Pretty Polly,\" he\ncried. \"Pretty Polly wants a nut. Tu-Kila-Kila maroo! Pretty Poll! Pretty\nPolly!\"\n\n\"Sing again, for Heaven's sake!\" Felix exclaimed, in a profoundly\nagitated mood, explaining briefly to the Frenchman the full significance\nof the words Methuselah had just begun to utter.\n\nThe Frenchman struck up his tune afresh to give the bird a start; but all\nto no avail. Methuselah was evidently in no humor for talking just then.\nHe listened with a callous, uncritical air, bringing his white eyelids\ndown slowly and sleepily over his bleared gray eyes. Then he nodded his\nhead slowly. \"No use,\" the Frenchman murmured, pursing his lips up\ngravely. \"The bird won't talk. It's going off to sleep now. Methuselah\ngets visibly older every day, monsieur and mademoiselle. You are only\njust in time to catch his last accents.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nA MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD.\n\n\nEarly next morning, as Felix lay still in his hut, dozing, and just\nvaguely conscious of a buzz of a mosquito close to his ear, he was\naroused by a sudden loud cry outside--a cry that called his native name\nthree times, running: \"O King of the Rain, King of the Rain, King of the\nRain, awake! High time to be up! The King of the Birds sends you health\nand greeting!\"\n\nFelix rose at once; and his Shadow, rising before him, and unbolting the\nloose wooden fastener of the door, went out in haste to see who called\nbeyond the white taboo-line of their sacred precincts.\n\nA native woman, tall, lithe, and handsome, stood there in the full light\nof morning, beckoning. A strange glow of hatred gleamed in her large gray\neyes. Her shapely brown bosom heaved and panted heavily. Big beads\nglistened moistly on her smooth, high brow. It was clear she had run all\nthe way in haste. She was deeply excited and full of eager anxiety.\n\n\"Why, what do you want here so early, Ula?\" the Shadow asked, in\nsurprise--for it was indeed she. \"How have you slipped away, as soon as\nthe sun is risen, from the sacred hut of Tu-Kila-Kila?\"\n\nUla's gray eyes flashed angry fire as she answered. \"He has beaten me\nagain,\" she cried, in revengeful tones; \"see the weals on my back! See my\narms and shoulders! He has drawn blood from my wounds. He is the most\nhateful of gods. I should love to kill him. Therefore I slipped away from\nhim with the early dawn and came to consult with his enemy, the King of\nthe Birds, because I heard the words that the Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, who\npervade the world, report to their master. The Eyes have told him that\nthe King of the Rain, the Queen of the Clouds, and the King of the Birds\nare plotting together in secret against Tu-Kila-Kila. When I heard that,\nI was glad; I went to the King of the Birds to warn him of his danger;\nand the King of the Birds, concerned for your safety, has sent me in\nhaste to ask his brother gods to go at once to him.\"\n\nIn a minute Felix was up and had called out Mali from the neighboring\nhut. \"Tell Missy Queenie,\" he cried, \"to come with me to see the\nman-a-oui-oui! The man-a-oui-oui has sent me for us to come. She must\nmake great haste. He wants us immediately.\"\n\nWith a word and a sign to Toko, Ula glided away stealthily, with the\ncat-like tread of the native Polynesian woman, back to her hated husband.\n\nFelix went out to the door and heliographed with his bright metal plate,\nturned on the Frenchman's hill, \"What is it?\"\n\nIn a moment the answer flashed back, word by word, \"Come quick, if you\nwant to hear. Methuselah is reciting!\"\n\nA few seconds later Muriel emerged from her hut, and the two Europeans,\nclosely followed, as always, by their inseparable Shadows, took the\nwinding side-path that led through the jungle by a devious way, avoiding\nthe front of Tu-Kila-Kila's temple, to the Frenchman's cottage.\n\nThey found M. Peyron very much excited, partly by Ula's news of\nTu-Kila-Kila's attitude, but more still by Methuselah's agitated\ncondition. \"The whole night through, my dear friends,\" he cried, seizing\ntheir hands, \"that bird has been chattering, chattering, chattering. _Oh,\nmon Dieu, quel oiseau!_ It seems as though the words heard yesterday from\nmademoiselle had struck some lost chord in the creature's memory. But he\nis also very feeble. I can see that well. His garrulity is the garrulity\nof old age in its last flickering moments. He mumbles and mutters.\nHe chuckles to himself. If you don't hear his message now and at once,\nit's my solemn conviction you will never hear it.\"\n\nHe led them out to the aviary, where Methuselah, in effect, was sitting\non his perch, most tremulous and woebegone. His feathers shuddered\nvisibly; he could no longer preen himself. \"Listen to what he says,\" the\nFrenchman exclaimed, in a very serious voice. \"It is your last, last\nchance. If the secret is ever to be unravelled at all, by Methuselah's\naid, now is, without doubt, the proper moment to unravel it.\"\n\nMuriel put out her hand and stroked the bird gently. \"Pretty Poll,\" she\nsaid, soothingly, in a sympathetic voice. \"Pretty Poll! Poor Poll! Was he\nill! Was he suffering?\"\n\nAt the sound of those familiar words, unheard so long till yesterday, the\nparrot took her finger in his beak once more, and bit it with the\ntenderness of his kind in their softer moments. Then he threw back his\nhead with a sort of mechanical twist, and screamed out at the top of his\nvoice, for the last time on earth, his mysterious message:\n\n\"Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll! God save the king! Confound the Duke of York!\nDeath to all arrant knaves and roundheads!\n\n\"In the nineteenth year of the reign of his most gracious majesty, King\nCharles the Second, I, Nathaniel Cross, of the borough of Sunderland, in\nthe county of Doorham, in England, an able-bodied mariner, then sailing\nthe South Seas in the good bark Martyr Prince, of the Port of Great\nGrimsby, whereof one Thomas Wells, gent., under God, was master, was, by\nstress of weather, wrecked and cast away on the shores of this island,\ncalled by its gentile inhabitants by the name of Boo Parry. In which\nwreck, as it befell, Thomas Wells, gent., and his equipment were, by\ndivine disposition, killed and drowned, save and except three mariners,\nwhereof I am one, who in God's good providence swam safely through an\nexceeding great flood of waves and landed at last on this island. There\nmy two companions, Owen Williams, of Swansea, in the parts of Wales, and\nLewis le Pickard, a French Hewgenott refugee, were at once, by the said\ngentiles, cruelly entreated, and after great torture cooked and eaten at\nthe temple of their chief god, Too-Keela-Keela. But I, myself, having\nthrough God's grace found favor in their eyes, was promoted to the post\nwhich in their speech is called Korong, the nature of which this bird, my\nmouthpiece, will hereafter, to your ears, more fully discover.\"\n\nHaving said so much, in a very jerky way, Methuselah paused, and blinked\nhis eyes wearily.\n\n\"What does he say?\" the Frenchman began, eager to know the truth. But\nFelix, fearful lest any interruption might break the thread of the bird's\ndiscourse and cheat them of the sequel, held up a warning finger, and\nthen laid it on his lips in mute injunction. Methuselah threw back his\nhead at that and laughed aloud. \"God save the king!\" he cried again, in a\nstill feebler way, \"and to hell with all papists!\"\n\nIt was strange how they all hung on the words of that unconscious\nmessenger from a dead and gone age, who himself knew nothing of the\nimport of the words he was uttering. Methuselah laughed at their\nearnestness, shook his head once or twice, and seemed to think to\nhimself. Then he remembered afresh the point he had broken off at.\n\n\"More fully discover. For seven years have I now lived on this island,\nnever having seen or h'ard Christian face or voice; and at the end of\nthat time, feeling my health feail, and being apprehensive lest any of my\nfellow-countrymen should hereafter suffer the same fate as I have done, I\nbegan to teach this parrot his message, a few words at a time, impressing\nit duly and fully on his memory.\n\n\"Larn, then, O wayfarer, that the people of Boo Parry are most arrant\ngentiles, heathens, and carribals. And this, as I discover, is the nature\nand method of their vile faith. They hold that the gods are each and\nseveral incarnate in some one particular human being. This human being\nthey worship and reverence with all ghostly respect as his incarnation.\nAnd chiefly, above all, do they revere the great god Too-Keela-Keela,\nwhose representative (may the Lord in Heaven forgive me for the same) I\nmyself am at this present speaking. Having thus, for my sins, attained to\nthat impious honor.\n\n\"God save the king! Confound the Duke of York! To hell with all papists!\n\n\"It is the fashion of this people to hold that their gods must always be\nstrong and lusty. For they argue to themselves thus: that the continuance\nof the rain must needs depend upon the vigor and subtlety of its Soul,\nthe rain-god. So the continuance and fruitfulness of the trees and plants\nwhich yield them food must needs depend upon the health of the tree-god.\nAnd the life of the world, and the light of the sun, and the well-being\nof all things that in them are, must depend upon the strength and cunning\nof the high god of all, Too-Keela-Keela. Hence they take great care and\nwoorship of their gods, surrounding them with many rules which they call\nTaboo, and restricting them as to what they shall eat, and what drink,\nand wherewithal they shall seemly clothe themselves. For they think that\nif the King of the Rain at' anything that might cause the colick, or like\nhumor or distemper, the weather will thereafter be stormy and\ntempestuous; but so long as the King of the Rain fares well and retains\nhis health, so long will the weather over their island of Boo Parry be\nclear and prosperous.\n\n\"Furthermore, as I have larned from their theologians, being myself,\nindeed, the greatest of their gods, it is evident that they may not let\nany god die, lest that department of nature over which he presideth\nshould wither away and feail, as it were, with him. But reasonably no\ncare that mortal man can exercise will prevent the possibility of their\ngod--seeing he is but one of themselves--growing old and feeble and dying\nat last. To prevent which calamity, these gentile folk have invented (as\nI believe by the aid and device of Sathan) this horrid and most unnatural\npractice. The man-god must be killed so soon as he showeth in body or\nmind that his native powers are beginning to feail. And it is necessary\nthat he be killed, according to their faith, in this ensuing fashion.\n\n\"If the man-god were to die slowly by a death in the course of nature,\nthe ways of the world might be stopped altogether. Hence these savages\ncatch the soul of their god, as it were, ere it grow old and feeble, and\ntransfer it betimes, by a magic device, to a suitable successor. And\nsurely, they say, this suitable successor can be none other than him that\nis able to take it from him. This, then, is their horrid counsel and\ndevice--that each one of their gods should kill his antecessor. In doing\nthus, he taketh the old god's life and soul, which thereupon migrates and\ndwells within him. And by this tenure--may Heaven be merciful to me, a\nsinner--do I, Nathaniel Cross, of the county of Doorham, now hold this\ndignity of Too-Keela-Keela, having slain, therefor, in just quarrel, my\nantecessor in the high godship.\"\n\nAs he reached these words Methuselah paused, and choked in his throat\nslightly. The mere mechanical effort of continuing the speech he had\nlearned by heart two hundred years before, and repeated so often since\nthat it had become part of his being, was now almost too much for him.\nThe Frenchman was right. They were only just in time. A few days later,\nand the secret would have died with the bird that preserved it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nAN UNFINISHED TALE.\n\n\nFor a minute or two Methuselah mumbled inarticulately to himself. Then,\nto their intense discomfiture, he began once more: \"In the nineteenth\nyear of the reign of his most gracious majesty, King Charles the Second,\nI, Nathaniel Cross--\"\n\n\"Oh, this will never do,\" Felix cried. \"We haven't got yet to the secret\nat all. Muriel, do try to set him right. He must waste no breath. We\ncan't afford now to let him go all over it.\"\n\nMuriel stretched out her hand and soothed the bird gently as before.\n\"Having slain, therefore, my predecessor in the high godship,\" she\nsuggested, in the same singsong voice as the parrot's.\n\nTo her immense relief, Methuselah took the hint with charming docility.\n\n\"In the high godship,\" he went on, mechanically, where he had stopped.\n\"And this here is the manner whereby I obtained it. The Too-Keela-Keela\nfrom time to time doth generally appoint any castaway stranger that comes\nto the island to the post of Korong--that is to say, an annual god or\nvictim. For, as the year doth renew itself at each change of seasons, so\ndo these carribals in their gentilisme believe and hold that the gods of\nthe seasons--to wit, the King of the Rain, the Queen of the Clouds, the\nLord of Green Leaves, the King of Fruits, and others--must needs be\nsleain and renewed at the diverse solstices. Now, it so happened that I,\non my arrival in the island, was appointed Korong, and promoted to the\npost of King of the Rain, having a native woman assigned me as Queen of\nthe Clouds, with whom I might keep company. This woman being, after her\nkind, enamored of me, and anxious to escape her own fate, to be sleain by\nmy side, did betray to me that secret which they call in their tongue the\nGreat Taboo, and which had been betrayed to herself in turn by a native\nman, her former lover. For the men are instructed in these things in the\nmysteries when they coom of age, but not the women.\n\n\"And the Great Taboo is this: No man can becoom a Too-Keela-Keela unless\nhe first sleay the man in whom the high god is incarnate for the moment.\nBut in order that he may sleay him, he must also himself be a full\nKorong, only those persons who are already gods being capable for the\nhighest post in their hierarchy; even as with ourselves, none but he that\nis a deacon may become a priest, and none but he that is a priest may be\nmade a bishop. For this reason, then, the Too-Keela-Keela prefers to\nadvance a stranger to the post of Korong, seeing that such a person will\nnot have been initiated in the mysteries of the island, and therefore\nwill not be aware of those sundry steps which must needs be taken of him\nthat would inherit the godship.\n\n\"Furthermore, even a Korong can only obtain the highest rank of\nToo-Keela-Keela if he order all things according to the forms and\nceremonies of the Taboo parfectly. For these gentiles are very careful of\nthe levitical parts of their religion, deriving the same, as it seems to\nme, from the polity of the Hebrews, the fame of whose tabernacle must\nsure have gone forth through the ends of the woorld, and the knowledge of\nwhose temple must have been yet more wide dispersed by Solomon, his\nships, when they came into these parts to fetch gold from Ophir. And the\nceremony is, that before any man may sleay the 'arthly tenement of\nToo-Keela-Keela and inherit his soul, which is in very truth, as they do\nthink the god himself, he must needs fight with the person in whom\nToo-Keela-Keela doth then dwell, and for this reason: If the holder of\nthe soul can defend himself in fight, then it is clear that his strength\nis not one whit decayed, nor is his vigor feailing; nor yet has his\nassailant been able to take his soul from him. But if the Korong in open\nfight do sleay the person in whom Too-Keela-Keela dwells, he becometh at\nonce a Too-Keela-Keela himself--that is to say, in their tongue, the Lord\nof Lords, because he hath taken the life of him that preceded him.\n\n\"Yet so intricate is the theology and practice of these loathsome\nsavages, that not even now have I explained it in full to you, O\nshipwrecked mariner, for your aid and protection. For a Korong, though it\nbe a part of his privilege to contend, if he will, with Too-Keela-Keela\nfor the high godship and princedom of this isle, may only do so at\ncertain appointed times, places, and seasons. Above all things, it is\nnecessary that he should first find out the hiding-place of the soul of\nToo-Keela-Keela. For though the Too-Keela-Keela for the time that is, be\nanimated by the god, yet, for greater security, he doth not keep his soul\nin his own body, but, being above all things the god of fruitfulness and\ngeneration, who causes women to bear children, and the plant called taro\nto bring forth its increase, he keepeth his soul in the great sacred tree\nbehind his temple, which is thus the Father of All Trees, and the\nchiefest abode of the great god Too-Keela-Keela.\n\n\"Nor does Too-Keela-Keela's soul abide equally in every part of this\naforesaid tree; but in a certain bough of it, resembling a mistletoe,\nwhich hath yellow leaves, and, being broken off, groweth ever green and\nyellow afresh; which is the central mystery of all their Sathanic\nreligion. For in this very bough--easy to be discerned by the eye among\nthe green leaves of the tree--\" the bird paused and faltered.\n\nMuriel leaned forward in an agony of excitement. \"Among the green leaves\nof the tree--\" she went on soothing him.\n\nHer voice seemed to give the parrot a fresh impulse to speak. \"--Is\ncontained, as it were,\" he continued, feebly, \"the divine essence itself,\nthe soul and life of Too-Keela-Keela. Whoever, then, being a full Korong,\nbreaks this off, hath thus possessed himself of the very god in person.\nThis, however, he must do by exceeding stealth; for Too-Keela-Keela,\nor rather the man that bears that name, being the guardian and defender\nof the great god, walks ever up and down, by day and by night, in\nexceeding great cunning, armed with a spear and with a hatchet of stone,\naround the root of the tree, watching jealously over the branch which is,\nas he believes, his own soul and being. I, therefore, being warned of the\nTaboo by the woman that was my consort, did craftily, near the appointed\ntime for my own death, creep out of my hut, and my consort, having\ninduced one of the wives of Too-Keela-Keela to make him drunken with too\nmuch of that intoxicating drink which they do call kava, did proceed--did\nproceed--did proceed--In the nineteenth year of the reign of his most\ngracious majesty, King Charles the Second--\"\n\nMuriel bent forward once more in an agony of suspense. \"Oh, go on, good\nPoll!\" she cried. \"Go on. Remember it. Did proceed to--\"\n\nThe single syllable helped Methuselah's memory. \"--Did proceed to\nstealthily pluck the bough, and, having shown the same to Fire and Water,\nthe guardians of the Taboo, did boldly challenge to single combat the\nbodily tenement of the god, with spear and hatchet, provided for me in\naccordance with ancient custom by Fire and Water. In which combat,\nHeaven mercifully befriending me against my enemy, I did coom out\nconqueror; and was thereupon proclaimed Too-Keela-Keela myself, with\nceremonies too many and barbarous to mention, lest I raise your gorge at\nthem. But that which is most important to tell you for your own guidance\nand safety, O mariner, is this--that being the sole and only end I have\nin imparting this history to so strange a messenger--that after you have\nby craft plucked the sacred branch, and by force of arms over-cootn\nToo-Keela-Keela, it is by all means needful, whether you will or not,\nthat submitting to the hateful and gentile custom of this people--of this\npeople--Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll! God save--God save the king! Death\nto the nineteenth year of the reign of all arrant knaves and roundheads.\"\n\nHe dropped his head on his breast, and blinked his white eyelids more\nfeebly than ever. His strength was failing him fast. The Soul of all dead\nparrots was wearing out. M. Peyron, who had stood by all this time, not\nknowing in any way what might be the value of the bird's disclosures,\ncame forward and stroked poor Methuselah with his caressing hand. But\nMethuselah was incapable now of any further effort. He opened his blind\neyes sleepily for the last, last time, and stared around him with a blank\nstare at the fading universe. \"God save the king!\" he screamed aloud with\na terrible gasp, true to his colors still. \"God save the king, and to\nhell with all papists!\"\n\nThen he fell off his perch, stone dead, on the ground. They were never to\nhear the conclusion of that strange, quaint message from a forgotten age\nto our more sceptical century.\n\nFelix looked at Muriel, and Muriel looked at Felix. They could hardly\ncontain themselves with awe and surprise. The parrot's words were so\nhuman, its speech was so real to them, that they felt as though the\nEnglish Tu-Kila-Kila of two hundred years back had really and truly\nbeen speaking to them from that perch; it was a human creature indeed\nthat lay dead before them. Felix raised the warm body from the ground\nwith positive reverence. \"We will bury it decently,\" he said in French,\nturning to M. Peyron. \"He was a plucky bird, indeed, and he has carried\nout his master's intentions nobly.\"\n\nAs they spoke, a little rustling in the jungle hard by attracted their\nattention. Felix turned to look. A stealthy brown figure glided away in\nsilence through the tangled brushwood. M. Peyron started. \"We are\nobserved, monsieur,\" he said. \"We must look out for squalls! It is one\nof the Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila!\"\n\n\"Let him do his worst!\" Felix answered. \"We know his secret now, and can\nprotect ourselves against him. Let us return to the shade, monsieur, and\ntalk this all over. Methuselah has indeed given us something to-day very\nserious to think about.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTU-KILA-KILA STRIKES.\n\n\nAnd yet, when all was said and done, knowledge of Tu-Kila-Kila's secret\ndidn't seem to bring Felix and Muriel much nearer a solution of their own\ngreat problems than they had been from the beginning. In spite of all\nMethuselah had told them, they were as far off as ever from securing\ntheir escape, or even from the chance of sighting an English steamer.\n\nThis last was still the main hope and expectation of all three Europeans.\nM. Peyron, who was a bit of a mathematician, had accurately calculated\nthe time, from what Felix told him, when the Australasian would pass\nagain on her next homeward voyage; and, when that time arrived, it was\ntheir united intention to watch night and day for the faintest glimmer\nof her lights, or the faintest wreath of her smoke on the far eastern\nhorizon. They had ventured to confide their design to all three of\ntheir Shadows; and the Shadows, attached by the kindness to which they\nwere so little accustomed among their own people, had in every case\nagreed to assist them with the canoe, if occasion served them. So for a\ntime the two doomed victims subsided into their accustomed calm of\nmingled hope and despair, waiting patiently for the expected arrival of\nthe much-longed-for Australasian.\n\nIf she took that course once, why not a second time? And if ever she hove\nin sight, might they not hope, after all, to signal to her with their\nrudely constructed heliograph, and stop her?\n\nAs for Methuselah's secret, there was only one way, Felix thought, in\nwhich it could now prove of any use to them. When the actual day of their\ndoom drew nigh, he might, perhaps, be tempted to try the fate which\nNathaniel Cross, of Sunderland, had successfully courted. That might gain\nthem at least a little respite. Though even so he hardly knew what good\nit could do him to be elevated for a while into the chief god of the\nisland. It might not even avail him to save Muriel's life; for he did not\ndoubt that when the awful day itself had actually come the natives would\ndo their best to kill her in spite of him, unless he anticipated them by\nfulfilling his own terrible, yet merciful, promise.\n\nWeek after week went by--month after month passed--and the date when the\nAustralasian might reasonably be expected to reappear drew nearer and\nnearer. They waited and trembled. At last, a few days before the time\nM. Peyron had calculated, as Felix was sitting under the big shady tree\nin his garden one morning, while Muriel, now worn out with hope deferred,\nlay within her hut alone with Mali, a sound of tom-toms and beaten palms\nwas heard on the hill-path. The natives around fell on their faces or\nfled. It announced the speedy approach of Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nBy this time both the castaways had grown comparatively accustomed to\nthat hideous noise, and to the hateful presence which it preceded and\nheralded. A dozen temple attendants tripped on either side down the\nhillpath, to guard him, clapping their hands in a barbaric measure as\nthey went; Fire and Water, in the midst, supported and flanked the divine\numbrella. Felix rose from his seat with very little ceremony, indeed, as\nthe great god crossed the white taboo-line of his precincts, followed\nonly beyond the limit by Fire and Water.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila was in his most insolent vein. He glanced around with a\nhorrid light of triumph dancing visibly in his eyes. It was clear he had\ncome, intent upon some grand theatrical _coup_. He meant to take the\nwhite-faced stranger by surprise this time. \"Good-morning, O King of the\nRain,\" he exclaimed, in a loud voice and with boisterous familiarity.\n\"How do you like your outlook now? Things are getting on. Things are\ngetting on. The end of your rule is drawing very near, isn't it? Before\nlong I must make the seasons change. I must make my sun turn. I must\ntwist round my sky. And then, I shall need a new Korong instead of you, O\npale-faced one!\"\n\nFelix looked back at him without moving a muscle.\n\n\"I am well,\" he answered shortly, restraining his anger. \"The year turns\nround whether you will or not. You are right that the sun will soon begin\nto move southward on its path again. But many things may happen to all of\nus meanwhile. _I_ am not afraid of you.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he drew his knife, and opened the blade, unostentatiously,\nbut firmly. If the worst were really coming now, sooner than he expected,\nhe would at least not forget his promise to Muriel.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila smiled a hateful and ominous smile. \"I am a great god,\" he\nsaid, calmly, striking an attitude as was his wont. \"Hear how my people\nclap their hands in my honor! I order all things. I dispose the course of\nnature in heaven and earth. If I look at a cocoa-nut tree, it dies; if I\nglance at a bread-fruit, it withers away. We will see before long whether\nor not you are afraid of me. Meanwhile, O Korong, I have come to claim my\ndues at your hands. Prepare for your fate. To-morrow the Queen of the\nClouds must be sealed my bride. Fetch her out, that I may speak with her.\nI have come to tell her so.\"\n\nIt was a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and it fell with terrible effect\non Felix. For a moment the knife trembled in his grasp with an almost\nirresistible impulse. He could hardly restrain himself, as he heard those\nhorrible, incredible words, and saw the loathsome smirk on the speaker's\nface by which they were accompanied, from leaping then and there at the\nsavage's throat, and plunging his blade to the haft into the vile\ncreature's body. But by a violent effort he mastered his indignation and\nwrath for the present. Planting himself full in front of Tu-Kila-Kila,\nand blocking the way to the door of that sacred English girl's hut--oh,\nhow horrible it was to him even to think of her purity being contaminated\nby the vile neighborhood, for one minute, of that loathsome monster! He\nlooked full into the wretch's face, and answered very distinctly, in low,\nslow tones, \"If you dare to take one step toward the place where that\nlady now rests, if you dare to move your foot one inch nearer, if you\ndare to ask to see her face again, I will plunge the knife hilt-deep into\nyour vile heart, and kill you where you stand without one second's\ndeliberation. Now you hear my words and you know what I mean. My weapon\nis keener and fiercer than any you Polynesians ever saw. Repeat those\nwords once more, and by all that's true and holy, before they're out of\nyour mouth I leap upon you and stab you.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila drew back in sudden surprise. He was unaccustomed to be so\nbearded in his own sacred island. \"Well, I shall claim her to-morrow,\" he\nfaltered out, taken aback by Felix's unexpected energy. He paused for a\nsecond, then he went on more slowly: \"To-morrow I will come with all my\npeople to claim my bride. This afternoon they will bring her mats of\ngrass and necklets of nautilus shell to deck her for her wedding, as\nbecomes Tu-Kila-Kila's chosen one. The young maids of Boupari will adorn\nher for her lord, in the accustomed dress of Tu-Kila-Kila's wives. They\nwill clap their hands; they will sing the marriage song. Then early in\nthe morning I will come to fetch her--and woe to him who strives to\nprevent me!\"\n\nFelix looked at him long, with a fixed and dogged look.\n\n\"What has made you think of this devilry?\" he asked at last, still\ngrasping his knife hard, and half undecided whether or not to use it.\n\"You have invented all these ideas. You have no claim, even in the horrid\ncustoms of your savage country, to demand such a sacrifice.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila laughed loud, a laugh of triumphant and discordant\nmerriment. \"Ha, ha!\" he cried, \"you do not understand our customs, and\nwill you teach _me_, the very high god, the guardian of the laws and\npractices of Boupari? You know nothing; you are as a little child. I am\nabsolute wisdom. With every Korong, this is always our rule. Till the\nmoon is full, on the last month before we offer up the sacrifice, the\nQueen of the Clouds dwells apart with her Shadow in her own new temple.\nSo our fathers decreed it. But at the full of the moon, when the day has\ncome, the usage is that Tu-Kila-Kila, the very high god, confers upon her\nthe honor of making her his bride. It is a mighty honor. The feast is\ngreat. Blood flows like water. For seven days and nights, then, she lives\nwith Tu-Kila-Kila in his sacred abode, the threshold of Heaven; she eats\nof human flesh; she tastes human blood; she drinks abundantly of the\ndivine kava. At the end of that time, in accordance with the custom of\nour fathers, those great dead gods, Tu-Kila-Kila performs the high act of\nsacrifice. He puts on his mask of the face of a shark, for he is holy and\ncruel; he brings forth the Queen of the Clouds before the eyes of all his\npeople, attired in her wedding robes, and made drunk with kava. Then he\ngashes her with knives; he offers her up to Heaven that accepted her; and\nthe King of the Rain he offers after her; and all the people eat of their\nflesh, Korong! and drink of their blood, so that the body of gods and\ngoddesses may dwell within all of them. And when all is done, the high\ngod chooses a new king and queen at his will (for he is a mighty god),\nwho rule for six moons more, and then are offered up, at the end, in like\nfashion.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the ferocious light that gleamed in the savage's eye made\nFelix positively mad with anger. But he answered nothing directly. \"Is\nthis so?\" he asked, turning for confirmation to Fire and Water. \"Is it\nthe custom of Boupari that Tu-Kila-Kila should wed the Queen of the\nClouds seven days before the date appointed for her sacrifice?\"\n\nThe King of Fire and the King of Water, tried guardians of the etiquette\nof Tu-Kila-Kila's court, made answer at once with one accord, \"It is so,\nO King of the Rain. Your lips have said it. Tu-Kila-Kila speaks the\nsolemn truth. He is a very great god. Such is the custom of Boupari.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila laughed his triumph in harsh, savage outbursts.\n\nBut Felix drew back for a second, irresolute. At last he stood face to\nface with the absolute need for immediate action. Now was almost the\nmoment when he must redeem his terrible promise to Muriel. And yet, even\nso, there was still one chance of life, one respite left. The mystic\nyellow bough on the sacred banyan! the Great Taboo! the wager of battle\nwith Tu-Kila-Kila! Quick as lightning it all came up in his excited\nbrain. Time after time, since he heard Methuselah's strange message\nfrom the grave, had he passed Tu-Kila-Kila's temple enclosure and\nlooked up with vague awe at that sacred parasite that grew so\nconspicuously in a fork of the branches. It was easy to secure it, if no\nman guarded. There still remained one night. In that one short night he\nmust do his best--and worst. If all then failed, he must die himself with\nMuriel!\n\nFor two seconds he hesitated. It was hateful even to temporize with so\nhideous a proposition. But for Muriel's sake, for her dear life's sake,\nhe must meet these savages with guile for guile. \"If it be, indeed, the\ncustom of Boupari,\" he answered back, with pale and trembling lips, \"and\nif I, one man, am powerless to prevent it, I will give your message,\nmyself, to the Queen of the Clouds, and you may send, as you say, your\nwedding decorations. But come what will--mark this--you shall not see her\nyourself to-day. You shall not speak to her. There I draw a line--so,\nwith my stick in the dust, if you try to advance one step beyond, I stab\nyou to the heart. Wait till to-morrow to take your prey. Give me one more\nnight. Great god as you are, if you are wise, you will not drive an angry\nman to utter desperation.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila looked with a suspicious side glance at the gleaming steel\nblade Felix still fingered tremulously. Though Boupari was one of those\nrare and isolated small islands unvisited as yet by European trade, he\nhad, nevertheless, heard enough of the sailing gods to know that their\nskill was deep and their weapons very dangerous. It would be foolish to\nprovoke this man to wrath too soon. To-morrow, when taboo was removed,\nand all was free license, he would come when he willed and take his\nbride, backed up by the full force of his assembled people. Meanwhile,\nwhy provoke a brother god too far? After all, in a little more than a\nweek from now the pale-faced Korong would be eaten and digested!\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, sulkily, but still with the sullen light of revenge\ngleaming bright in his eye. \"Take my message to the queen. You may be my\nherald. Tell her what honor is in store for her--to be first the wife and\nthen the meat of Tu-Kila-Kila! She is a very fair woman. I like her well.\nI have longed for her for months. Tomorrow, at the early dawn, by the\nbreak of day, I will come with all my people and take her home by main\nforce to me.\"\n\nHe looked at Felix and scowled, an angry scowl of revenge. Then, as he\nturned and walked away, under cover of the great umbrella, with its\ndangling pendants on either side, the temple attendants clapped their\nhands in unison. Fire and Water marched slow and held the umbrella over\nhim. As he disappeared in the distance, and the sound of his tom-toms\ngrew dim on the hills, Toko, the Shadow, who had lain flat, trembling, on\nhis face in the hut while the god was speaking, came out and looked\nanxiously and fearfully after him.\n\n\"The time is ripe,\" he said, in a very low voice to Felix. \"A Korong may\nstrike. All the people of Boupari murmur among themselves. They say this\nfellow has held the spirit of Tu-Kila-Kila within himself too long. He\nwaxes insolent. They think it is high time the great God of Heaven should\nfind before long some other fleshly tabernacle.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nA RASH RESOLVE.\n\n\nThe rest of that day was a time of profound and intense anxiety. Felix\nand Muriel remained alone in their huts, absorbed in plans of escape, but\nmessengers of many sorts from chiefs and gods kept continually coming to\nthem. The natives evidently regarded it as a period of preparation. The\nEyes of Tu-Kila-Kila surrounded their precinct; yet Felix couldn't help\nnoticing that they seemed in many ways less watchful than of old, and\nthat they whispered and conferred very much in a mysterious fashion with\nthe people of the village. More than once Toko shook his head, sagely,\n\"If only any one dared break the Great Taboo,\" he said, with some terror\non his face, \"our people would be glad. It would greatly please them.\nThey are tired of this Tu-Kila-Kila. He has held the god in his breast\nfar, far too long. They would willingly see some other in place of him.\"\n\nBefore noon, the young girls of the village, bringing native mats and\nhuge strings of nautilus shells, trooped up to the hut, like bridesmaids,\nwith flowers in their hands, to deck Muriel for her approaching wedding.\nBefore them they carried quantities of red and brown tappa-cloth and\nvery fine net-work, the dowry to be presented by the royal bride to her\ndivine husband. Within the hut, they decked out the Queen of the Clouds\nwith garlands of flowers and necklets of shells, in solemn native\nfashion, bewailing her fate all the time to a measured dirge in their\nown language. Muriel could see that their sympathy, though partly\nconventional, was largely real as well. Many of the young girls seized\nher hand convulsively from time to time, and kissed it with genuine\nfeeling. The gentle young English woman had won their savage hearts\nby her purity and innocence. \"Poor thing, poor thing,\" they said,\nstroking her hand tenderly. \"She is too good for Korong! Too good for\nTu-Kila-Kila! If only we knew the Great Taboo like the men, we would tell\nher everything. She is too good to die. We are sorry she is to be\nsacrificed!\"\n\nBut when all their preparations were finished, the chief among them\nraised a calabash with a little scented oil in it, and poured a few drops\nsolemnly on Muriel's head. \"Oh, great god!\" she said, in her own tongue,\n\"we offer this sacrifice, a goddess herself, to you. We obey your words.\nYou are very holy. We will each of us eat a portion of her flesh at your\nfeast. So give us good crops, strong health, many children!\"\n\n\"What does she say?\" Muriel asked, pale and awestruck, of Mali.\n\nMali translated the words with perfect _sang-froid_. At that awful sound\nMuriel drew back, chill and cold to the marrow. How inconceivable was the\nstate of mind of these terrible people! They were really sorry for her;\nthey kissed her hand with fervor; and yet they deliberately and solemnly\nproposed to eat her!\n\nToward evening the young girls at last retired, in regular order, to the\nclapping of hands, and Felix was left alone with Muriel and the Shadows.\n\nAlready he had explained to Muriel what he intended to do; and Muriel,\nhalf dazed with terror and paralyzed by these awful preparations,\nconsented passively. \"But how if you never come back, Felix?\" she cried\nat last, clinging to him passionately.\n\nFelix looked at her with a fixed look. \"I have thought of that,\" he said.\n\"M. Peyron, to whom I sent a message by flashes, has helped me in my\ndifficulty. This bowl has poison in it. Peyron sent it to me to-day. He\nprepared it himself from the root of the kava bean. If by sunrise\nto-morrow you have heard no news, drink it off at once. It will instantly\nkill you. You shall _not_ fall alive into that creature's clutches.\"\n\nBy slow degrees the evening wore on, and night approached--the last night\nthat remained to them. Felix had decided to make his attempt about one in\nthe morning. The moon was nearly full now, and there would be plenty\nof light. Supposing he succeeded, if they gained nothing else, they would\ngain at least a day or two's respite.\n\nAs dusk set in, and they sat by the door of the hut, they were all\nsurprised to see Ula approach the precinct stealthily through the\njungle, accompanied by two of Tu-Kila-Kila's Eyes, yet apparently on some\nstrange and friendly message. She beckoned imperiously with one finger to\nToko to cross the line. The Shadow rose, and without one word of\nexplanation went out to speak to her. The woman gave her message in\nshort, sharp sentences. \"We have found out all,\" she said, breathing\nhard. \"Fire and Water have learned it. But Tu-Kila-Kila himself knows\nnothing. We have found out that the King of the Rain has discovered the\nsecret of the Great Taboo. He heard it from the Soul of all dead parrots.\nTu-Kila-Kila's Eyes saw, and learned, and understood. But they said\nnothing to Tu-Kila-Kila. For my counsel was wise; I planned that they\nshould not, with Fire and Water. Fire and Water and all the people of\nBoupari think, with me, the time has come that there should arise among\nus a new Tu-Kila-Kila. This one let his blood fall out upon the dust of\nthe ground. His luck has gone. We have need of another.\"\n\n\"Then for what have you come?\" Toko asked, all awestruck. It was terrible\nto him for a woman to meddle in such high matters.\n\n\"I have come,\" Ula answered, laying her hand on his arm, and holding her\nface close to his with profound solemnity--\"I have come to say to the\nKing of the Rain, 'Whatever you do, that do quickly.' To-night I will\nengage to keep Tu-Kila-Kila in his temple. He shall see nothing. He\nshall hear nothing. I know not the Great Taboo; but I know from him this\nmuch--that if by wile or guile I keep him alone in his temple to-night,\nthe King of the Rain may fight with him in single combat; and if the King\nof the Rain conquers in the battle, he becomes himself the home of the\ngreat deity.\"\n\nShe nodded thrice, with her hands on her forehead, and withdrew as\nstealthily as she had come through the jungle. The Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila,\nfalling into line, remained behind, and kept watch upon the huts with the\nclosest apparent scrutiny.\n\nMore than ever they were hemmed in by mystery on mystery.\n\nThe Shadow went back and reported to Felix. Felix, turning it over in his\nown mind, wondered and debated. Was this true, or a trap to lure him to\ndestruction?\n\nAs the night wore on, and the hour drew nigh, Muriel sat beside her\nfriend and lover, in blank despair and agony. How could she ever allow\nhim to leave her now? How could she venture to remain alone with Mali in\nher hut in this last extremity? It was awful to be so girt with\nmysterious enemies. \"I must go with you, Felix! I must go, too!\" she\ncried over and over again. \"I daren't remain behind with all these awful\nmen. And then, if he kills either of us, he will kill us at least both\ntogether.\"\n\nBut Felix knew he might do nothing of the sort. A more terrible chance\nwas still in reserve. He might spare Muriel. And against that awful\npossibility he felt it his duty now to guard at all hazard.\n\n\"No, Muriel,\" he said, kissing her, and holding her pale hand, \"I must go\nalone. You can't come with me. If I return, we will have gained at least\na respite, till the Australasian may turn up. If I don't, you will at any\nrate have strength of mind left to swallow the poison, before\nTu-Kila-Kila comes to claim you.\"\n\nHour after hour passed by slowly, and Felix and the Shadow watched the\nstars at the door, to know when the hour for the attempt had arrived. The\neyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, peering silent from just beyond the line, saw them\nwatching all the time, but gave no sign or token of disapproval. With\nheads bent low, and tangled hair about their faces, they stood like\nstatues, watching, watching sullenly. Were they only waiting till he\nmoved, Felix wondered; and would they then hasten off by short routes\nthrough the jungle to warn their master of the impending conflict?\n\nAt last the hour came when Felix felt sure there was the greatest chance\nof Tu-Kila-Kila sleeping soundly in his hut, and forgetting the defence\nof the sacred bough on the holy banyan-tree. He rose from his seat with a\ngesture for silence, and moved forward to Muriel. The poor girl flung\nherself, all tears, into his arms. \"Oh, Felix, Felix,\" she cried, \"redeem\nyour promise now! Kill us both here together, and then, at least, I shall\nnever be separated from you! It wouldn't be wrong! It can't be wrong! We\nwould surely be forgiven if we did it only to escape falling into the\nhands of these terrible savages!\"\n\nFelix clasped her to his bosom with a faltering heart. \"No, Muriel,\" he\nsaid, slowly. \"Not yet. Not yet. I must leave no opening on earth untried\nby which I can possibly or conceivably save you. It's as hard for me\nto leave you here alone as for you to be left. But for your own dear\nsake, I must steel myself. I must do it.\"\n\nHe kissed her many times over. He wiped away her tears. Then, with a\ngentle movement, he untwined her clasping arms. \"You must let me go, my\nown darling,\" he said, \"You must let me go, without crossing the border.\nIf you pass beyond the taboo-line to-night, Heaven only knows what,\nperhaps, may happen to you. We must give these people no handle of\noffence. Good-night, Muriel, my own heart's wife; and if I never come\nback, then good-by forever.\"\n\nShe clung to his arm still. He disentangled himself, gently. The Shadow\nrose at the same moment, and followed in silence to the open door. Muriel\nrushed after them, wildly. \"Oh, Felix, Felix, come back,\" she cried,\nbursting into wild floods of hot, fierce tears. \"Come back and let me die\nwith you! Let me die! Let me die with you!\"\n\nFelix crossed the white line without one word of reply, and went forth\ninto the night, half unmanned by this effort. Muriel sank, where she\nstood, into Mali's arms. The girl caught her and supported her. But\nbefore she had fainted quite away, Muriel had time vaguely to see and\nnote one significant fact. The Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, who stood watching\nthe huts with lynx-like care, nodded twice to Toko, the Shadow, as he\npassed between them; then they stealthily turned and dogged the two men's\nfootsteps afar off in the jungle.\n\nMuriel was left by herself in the hut, face to face with Mali.\n\n\"Let us pray, Mali,\" she cried, seizing her Shadow's arm.\n\nAnd Mali, moved suddenly by some half-obliterated impulse, exclaimed in\nconcert, in a terrified voice, \"Let us pray to Methodist God in heaven!\"\n\nFor her life, too, hung on the issue of that rash endeavor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nA STRANGE ALLY.\n\n\nIn Tu-Kila-Kila's temple-hut, meanwhile, the jealous, revengeful god,\nenshrined among his skeletons, was having in his turn an anxious and\ndoubtful time of it. Ever since his sacred blood had stained the dust of\nearth by the Frenchman's cottage and in his own temple, Tu-Kila-Kila,\nfor all his bluster, had been deeply stirred and terrified in his inmost\nsoul by that unlucky portent. A savage, even if he be a god, is always\nsuperstitious. Could it be that his own time was, indeed, drawing nigh?\nThat he, who had remorselessly killed and eaten so many hundreds of human\nvictims, was himself to fall a prey to some more successful competitor?\nHad the white-faced stranger, the King of the Rain, really learned the\nsecrets of the Great Taboo from the Soul of all dead parrots? Did that\nmysterious bird speak the tongue of these new fire-bearing Korongs,\nwhose doom was fixed for the approaching solstice? Tu-Kila-Kila wondered\nand doubted. His suspicions were keen, and deeply aroused. Late that\nnight he still lurked by the sacred banyan-tree, and when at last he\nretired to his own inner temple, white with the grinning skulls of the\nvictims he had devoured, it was with strict injunctions to Fire and\nWater, and to his Eyes that watched there, to bring him word at once of\nany projected aggression on the part of the stranger.\n\nWithin the temple-hut, however, Ula awaited him. That was a pleasant\nchange. The beautiful, supple, satin-skinned Polynesian looked more\nbeautiful and more treacherous than ever that fateful evening. Her great\nbrown limbs, smooth and glossy as pearl, were set off by a narrow girdle\nor waistband of green and scarlet leaves, twined spirally around her.\nArmlets of nautilus shell threw up the dainty plumpness of her soft,\nround forearm. A garland hung festooned across one shapely shoulder;\nher bosom was bare or but half hidden by the crimson hibiscus that\nnestled voluptuously upon it. As Tu-Kila-Kila entered, she lifted her\nlarge eyes, and, smiling, showed two even rows of pearly white teeth. \"My\nmaster has come!\" she cried, holding up both lissome arms with a gesture\nto welcome him. \"The great god relaxes his care of the world for a while.\nAll goes on well. He leaves his sun to sleep and his stars to shine, and\nhe retires to rest on the unworthy bosom of her, his mate, his meat, that\nis honored to love him.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila was scarcely just then in a mood for dalliance. \"The Queen\nof the Clouds comes hither to-morrow,\" he answered, casting a somewhat\ncontemptuous glance at Ula's more dusky and solid charms. \"I go to\nseek her with the wedding gifts early in the morning. For a week she\nshall be mine. And after that--\" he lifted his tomahawk and brought it\ndown on a huge block of wood significantly.\n\nUla smiled once more, that deep, treacherous smile of hers, and showed\nher white teeth even deeper than ever. \"If my lord, the great god, rises\nso early to-morrow,\" she said, sidling up toward him voluptuously, \"to\nseek one more bride for his sacred temple, all the more reason he should\ntake his rest and sleep soundly to-night. Is he not a god? Are not his\nlimbs tired? Does he not need divine silence and slumber?\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila pouted. \"I could sleep more soundly,\" he said, with a snort,\n\"if I knew what my enemy, the Korong, is doing. I have set my Eyes to\nwatch him, yet I do not feel secure. They are not to be trusted. I shall\nbe happier far when I have killed and eaten him.\" He passed his hand\nacross his bosom with a reflective air. You have a great sense of\nsecurity toward your enemy, no doubt, when you know that he slumbers,\nwell digested, within you.\n\nUla raised herself on her elbow, and gazed snake-like into his face, \"My\nlord's Eyes are everywhere,\" she said, reverently, with every mark of\nrespect. \"He sees and knows all things. Who can hide anything on earth\nfrom his face? Even when he is asleep, his Eyes watch well for him. Then\nwhy should the great god, the Measurer of Heaven and Earth, the King of\nMen, fear a white-faced stranger? To-morrow the Queen of the Clouds will\nbe yours, and the stranger will be abased: ha, ha, he will grieve at it!\nTo-night, Fire and Water keep guard and watch over you. Whoever would\nhurt you must pass through Fire and Water before he reach your door. Fire\nwould burn, Water would drown. This is a Great Taboo. No stranger dare\nface it.\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila lifted himself up in his thrasonic mood. \"If he did,\" he\ncried, swelling himself, \"I would shrivel him to ashes with one flash of\nmy eyes. I would scorch him to a cinder with one stroke of my lightning.\"\n\nUla smiled again, a well-satisfied smile. She was working her man up.\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila is great,\" she repeated, slowly. \"All earth obeys him. All\nheaven fears him.\"\n\nThe savage took her hand with a doubtful air. \"And yet,\" he said, toying\nwith it, half irresolute, \"when I went to the white-faced stranger's hut\nthis morning, he did not speak fair; he answered me insolently. His words\nwere bold. He talked to me as one talks to a man, not to a great god.\nUla, I wonder if he knows my secret?\"\n\nUla started back in well-affected horror. \"A white-faced stranger from\nthe sun know your secret, O great king!\" she cried, hiding her face in a\nsquare of cloth. \"See me beat my breast! Impossible! Impossible! No\none of your subjects would dare to tell him so great a taboo. It would be\nrank blasphemy. If they did, your anger would utterly consume them!\"\n\n\"That is true,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, practically, \"but I might not discover\nit. I am a very great god. My Eyes are everywhere. No corner of the world\nis hid from my gaze. All the concerns of heaven and earth are my care,\nAnd, therefore; sometimes, I overlook some detail.\"\n\n\"No man alive would dare to tell the Great Taboo!\" Ula repeated,\nconfidently. \"Why, even I myself, who am the most favored of your\nwives, and who am permitted to bask in the light of your presence--even\nI, Ula--I do not know it. How much less, then, the spirit from the sun,\nthe sailing god, the white-faced stranger!\"\n\nTu-Kila-Kila pursed up his brow and looked preternaturally wise, as the\nsavage loves to do. \"But the parrot,\" he cried, \"the Soul of all dead\nparrots! _He_ knew the secret, they say:--I taught it him myself in an\nancient day, many, many years ago--when no man now living was born, save\nonly I--in another incarnation--and _he_ may have told it. For the\nstrangers, they say, speak the language of birds; and in the language of\nbirds did I tell the Great Taboo to him.\"\n\nUla pooh-poohed the mighty man-god's fears. \"No, no,\" she cried, with\nconfidence; \"he can never have told them. If he had, would not your Eyes\nthat watch ever for all that happens on heaven or earth, have straightway\nreported it to you? The parrot died without yielding up the tale. Were it\notherwise, Toko, who loves and worships you, would surely have told me.\"\n\nThe man-god puckered his brows slightly, as if he liked not the security.\n\"Well, somehow, Ula,\" he said, feeling her soft brown arms with his\ndivine hand, slowly, \"I have always had my doubts since that day the Soul\nof all dead parrots bit me. A vicious bird! What did he mean by his\nbite?\" He lowered his voice and looked at her fixedly. \"Did not his\nspilling my blood portend,\" he asked, with a shudder of fear, \"that\nthrough that ill-omened bird I, who was once Lavita, should cease to be\nTu-Kila-Kila?\"\n\nUla smiled contentedly again. To say the truth, that was precisely the\ninterpretation she herself had put on that terrific omen. The parrot had\nspilled Tu-Kila-Kila's sacred blood upon the soil of earth. According to\nher simple natural philosophy, that was a certain sign that through the\nparrot's instrumentality Tu-Kila-Kila's life would be forfeited to the\ngreat eternal earth-spirit. Or, rather, the earth-spirit would claim the\nblood of the man Lavita, in whose body it dwelt, and would itself migrate\nto some new earthly tabernacle.\n\nBut for all that, she dissembled. \"Great god,\" she cried, smiling, a\nbenign smile, \"you are tired! You are thirsty! Care for heaven and\nearth has wearied you out. You feel the fatigue of upholding the sun in\nheaven. Your arms must ache. Your thews must give under you. Drink of the\nsoul-inspiring juice of the kava! My hands have prepared the divine cup.\nFor Tu-Kila-Kila did I make it--fresh, pure, invigorating!\"\n\nShe held the bowl to his lips with an enticing smile. Tu-Kila-Kila\nhesitated and glanced around him suspiciously. \"What if the white-faced\nstranger should come to-night?\" he whispered, hoarsely. \"He may have\ndiscovered the Great Taboo, after all. Who can tell the ways of the\nworld, how they come about? My people are so treacherous. Some traitor\nmay have betrayed it to him.\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" the beautiful, snake-like woman answered, with a strong\ngesture of natural dissent. \"And even if he came, would not kava, the\ndivine, inspiriting drink of the gods, in which dwell the embodied souls\nof our fathers--would not kava make you more vigorous, strong for the\nfight? Would it not course through your limbs like fire? Would it not\npour into your soul the divine, abiding strength of your mighty mother,\nthe eternal earth-spirit?\"\n\n\"A little,\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, yielding, \"but not too much. Too much\nwould stupefy me. When the spirits, that the kava-tree sucks up from the\nearth, are too strong within us, they overpower our own strength, so that\neven I, the high god--even I can do nothing.\"\n\nUla held the bowl to his lips, and enticed him to drink with her\nbeautiful eyes. \"A deep draught, O supporter of the sun in heaven,\" she\ncried, pressing his arm tenderly. \"Am I not Ula? Did I not brew it for\nyou? Am I not the chief and most favored among your women? I will sit at\nthe door. I will watch all night. I will not close an eye. Not a footfall\non the ground but my ear shall hear it.\"\n\n\"Do.\" Tu-Kila-Kila said, laconically. \"I fear Fire and Water. Those gods\nlove me not. Fain would they make me migrate into some other body. But I\nmyself like it not. This one suits me admirably. Ula, that kava is\nstronger than you are used to make it.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" Ula cried, pressing it to his lips a second time, passionately.\n\"You are a very great god. You are tired; it overcomes you. And if you\nsleep, I will watch. Fire and Water dare not disobey your commands. Are\nyou not great? Your Eyes are everywhere. And I, even I, will be as one of\nthem.\"\n\nThe savage gulped down a few more mouthfuls of the intoxicating liquid.\nThen he glanced up again suddenly with a quick, suspicious look. The\ncunning of his race gave him wisdom in spite of the deadly strength of\nthe kava Ula had brewed too deep for him. With a sudden resolve, he rose\nand staggered out. \"You are a serpent, woman!\" he cried angrily, seeing\nthe smile that lurked upon Ula's face. \"To-morrow I will kill you. I will\ntake the white woman for my bride, and she and I will feast off your\ncarrion body. You have tried to betray me, but you are not cunning\nenough, not strong enough. No woman shall kill me. I am a very great god.\nI will not yield. I will wait by the tree. This is a trap you have set,\nbut I do not fall into it. If the King of the Rain comes, I shall be\nthere to meet him.\"\n\nHe seized his spear and hatchet and walked forth, erect, without one sign\nof drunkenness. Ula trembled to herself as she saw him go. She was\nplaying a deep game. Had she given him only just enough kava to\nstrengthen and inspire him?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nWAGER OF BATTLE.\n\n\nFelix wound his way painfully through the deep fern-brake of the jungle,\nby no regular path, so as to avoid exciting the alarm of the natives, and\nto take Tu-Kila-Kila's palace-temple from the rear, where the big tree,\nwhich overshadowed it with its drooping branches, was most easily\napproachable. As he and Toko crept on, bending low, through that dense\ntropical scrub, in deathly silence, they were aware all the time of a\nlow, crackling sound that rang ever some paces in the rear on their trail\nthrough the forest. It was Tu-Kila-Kila's Eyes, following them stealthily\nfrom afar, footstep for footstep, through the dense undergrowth of bush,\nand the crisp fallen leaves and twigs that snapped light beneath their\nfootfall. What hope of success with those watchful spies, keen as beagles\nand cruel as bloodhounds, following ever on their track? What chance of\nescape for Felix and Muriel, with the cannibal man-gods toils laid round\non every side to insure their destruction?\n\nSilently and cautiously the two men groped their way on through the dark\ngloom of the woods, in spite of their mute pursuers. The moonlight\nflickered down athwart the trackless soil as they went; the hum of\ninsects innumerable droned deep along the underbrush. Now and then the\nstartled scream of a night jar broke the monotony of the buzz that was\nworse than silence; owls boomed from the hollow trees, and fireflies\ndarted dim through the open spaces. At last they emerged upon the cleared\narea of the temple. There Felix, without one moment's hesitation, with a\nfirm and resolute tread, stepped over the white coral line that marked\nthe taboo of the great god's precincts. That was a declaration of open\nwar; he had crossed the Rubicon of Tu-Kila-Kila's empire. Toko stood\ntrembling on the far side; none might pass that mystic line unbidden and\nlive, save the Korong alone who could succeed in breaking off the bough\n\"with yellow leaves, resembling a mistletoe,\" of which Methuselah, the\nparrot, had told Felix and Muriel, and so earn the right to fight for his\nlife with the redoubted and redoubtable Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nAs he stepped over the taboo-line, Felix was aware of many native eyes\nfixed stonily upon him from the surrounding precinct. Clearly they were\nawaiting him. Yet not a soul gave the alarm; that in itself would have\nbeen to break taboo. Every man or woman among the temple attendants\nwithin that charmed circle stood on gaze curiously. Close by, Ula, the\nfavorite wife of the man-god, crouched low by the hut, with one finger\non her treacherous lips, bending eagerly forward, in silent expectation\nof what next might happen. Once, and once only, she glanced at Toko\nwith a mute sign of triumph; then she fixed her big eyes on Felix in\ntremulous anxiety; for to her as to him, life and death now hung\nabsolutely on the issue of his enterprise. A little farther back the King\nof Fire and the King of Water, in full sacrificial robes, stood smiling\nsardonically. For them it was merely a question of one master more or\nless, one Tu-Kila-Kila in place of another. They had no special interest\nin the upshot of the contest, save in so far as they always hated most\nthe man who for the moment held by his own strong arm the superior\ngodship over them. Around, Tu-Kila-Kila's Eyes kept watch and ward in\nsinister silence. Taboo was stronger than even the commands of the high\ngod himself. When once a Korong had crossed that fatal line, unbidden and\nunwelcomed by Tu-Kila-Kila, he came as Tu-Kila-Kila's foe and would-be\nsuccessor; the duty of every guardian of the temple was then to see fair\nplay between the god that was and the god that might be--the Tu-Kila-Kila\nof the hour and the Tu-Kila-Kila who might possibly supplant him.\n\n\"Let the great spirit itself choose which body it will inhabit,\" the King\nof Fire murmured in a soft, low voice, glancing toward a dark spot at the\nfoot of the big tree. The moonlight fell dim through the branches on the\nplace where he looked. The glibbering bones of dead victims rattled\nlightly in the wind. Felix's eyes followed the King of Fire's, and saw,\nlying asleep upon the ground, Tu-Kila-Kila himself, with his spear and\ntomahawk.\n\nHe lay there, huddled up by the very roots of the tree, breathing deep\nand regularly. Right over his head projected the branch, in one part of\nwhose boughs grew the fateful parasite. By the dim light of the moon,\nstraggling through the dense foliage, Felix could see its yellow leaves\ndistinctly. Beneath it hung a skeleton, suspended by invisible cords,\nhead downward from the branches. It was the skeleton of a previous Korong\nwho had tried in vain to reach the bough, and perished. Tu-Kila-Kila had\nmade high feast on the victim's flesh; his bones, now collected together\nand cunningly fastened with native rope, served at once as a warning and\nas a trap or pitfall for all who might rashly venture to follow him.\n\nFelix stood for one moment, alone and awe-struck, a solitary civilized\nman, among those hideous surroundings. Above, the cold moon; all about,\nthe grim, stolid, half-hostile natives; close by, that strange,\nserpentine, savage wife, guarding, cat-like, the sleep of her cannibal\nhusband; behind, the watchful Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, waiting ever in the\nbackground, ready to raise a loud shout of alarm and warning the moment\nthe fatal branch was actually broken, but mute, by their vows, till that\nmoment was accomplished. Then a sudden wild impulse urged him on to the\nattempt. The banyan had dropped down rooting offsets to the ground, after\nthe fashion of its kind, from its main branches. Felix seized one of\nthese and swung himself lightly up, till he reached the very limb on\nwhich the sacred parasite itself was growing.\n\nTo get to the parasite, however, he must pass directly above\nTu-Kila-Kila's head, and over the point where that ghastly grinning\nskeleton was suspended, as by an unseen hair, from the fork that bore it.\n\nHe walked along, balancing himself, and clutching, as he went, at the\nneighboring boughs, while Tu-Kila-Kila, overcome with the kava, slept\nstolidly and heavily on beneath him. At last he was almost within grasp\nof the parasite. Could he lunge out and clutch it? One try--one effort!\nNo, no; he almost lost footing and fell over in the attempt. He couldn't\nkeep his balance so. He must try farther on. Come what might, he must go\npast the skeleton.\n\nThe grisly mass swung again, clanking its bones as it swung, and groaned\nin the wind ominously. The breeze whistled audibly through its hollow\nskull and vacant eye-sockets. Tu-Kila-Kila turned uneasily in his sleep\nbelow. Felix saw there was not one instant of time to be lost now. He\npassed on boldly; and as he passed, a dozen thin cords of paper mulberry,\nstretched every way in an invisible network among the boughs, too small\nto be seen in the dim moonlight, caught him with their toils and almost\noverthrew him. They broke with his weight, and Felix himself, tumbling\nblindly, fell forward. At the cost of a sprained wrist and a great jerk\non his bruised fingers, he caught at a bough by his side, but wrenched it\naway suddenly. It was touch and go. At the very same moment, the skeleton\nfell heavily, and rattled on the ground beside Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nBefore Felix could discover what had actually happened, a very great\nshout went up all round below, and made him stagger with excitement.\nTu-Kila-Kila was awake, and had started up, all intent, mad with wrath\nand kava. Glaring about him wildly, and brandishing his great spear in\nhis stalwart hands, he screamed aloud, in a perfect frenzy of passion and\ndespair: \"Where is he, the Korong? Bring him on, my meat! Let me devour\nhis heart! Let me tear him to pieces. Let me drink of his blood! Let me\nkill him and eat him!\"\n\nSick and desperate at the accident, Felix, in turn, clinging hard to his\nbough with one hand, gazed wildly about him to look for the parasite. But\nit had gone as if by magic. He glanced around in despair, vaguely\nconscious that nothing was left for it now but to drop to the ground\nand let himself be killed at leisure by that frantic savage. Yet even as\nhe did so, he was aware of that great cry--a cry as of triumph--still\nrending the air. Fire and Water had rushed forward, and were holding back\nTu-Kila-Kila, now black in the face from rage, with all their might. Ula\nwas smiling a malicious joy. The Eyes were all agog with interest and\nexcitement. And from one and all that wild scream rose unanimous to the\nstartled sky: \"He has it! He has it! The Soul of the Tree! The Spirit of\nthe World! The great god's abode. Hold off your hands, Lavita, son of\nSami! Your trial has come. He has it! He has it!\"\n\nFelix looked about him with a whirling brain. His eye fell suddenly.\nThere, in his own hand, lay the fateful bough. In his efforts to steady\nhimself, he had clutched at it by pure accident, and broken it off\nunawares with the force of his clutching. As fortune would have it, he\ngrasped it still. His senses reeled. He was almost dead with excitement,\nsuspense, and uncertainty, mingled with pain of his wrenched wrist. But\nfor Muriel's sake he pulled himself together. Gazing down and trying hard\nto take it all in--that strange savage scene--he saw that Tu-Kila-Kila\nwas making frantic attempts to lunge at him with the spear, while the\nKing of Fire and the King of Water, stern and relentless, were holding\nhim off by main force, and striving their best to appease and quiet him.\n\nThere was an awful pause. Then a voice broke the stillness from beyond\nthe taboo-line:\n\n\"The Shadow of the King of the Rain speaks,\" it said, in very solemn,\nconventional accents. \"Korong! Korong! The Great Taboo is broken. Fire\nand Water, hold him in whom dwells the god till my master comes. He has\nthe Soul of all the spirits of the wood in his hands. He will fight for\nhis right. Taboo! Taboo! I, Toko, have said it.\"\n\nHe clapped his hands thrice.\n\nTu-Kila-Kila made a wild effort to break away once more. But the King of\nFire, standing opposite him, spoke still louder and clearer. \"If you\ntouch the Korong before the line is drawn,\" he said, with a voice of\nauthority, \"you are no Tu-Kila-Kila, but an outcast and a criminal. All\nthe people will hold you with forked sticks, while the Korong burns you\nalive slowly, limb by limb, with me, who am Fire, the fierce, the\nconsuming. I will scorch you and bake you till you are as a bamboo in the\nflame. Taboo! Taboo! Taboo! I, Fire, have said it.\"\n\nThe King of Water, with three attendants, forced Tu-Kila-Kila on one\nside for a moment. Ula stood by and smiled pleased compliance. A temple\nslave, trembling all over at this conflict of the gods, brought out a\ncalabash full of white coral-sand. The King of Water spat on it and\nblessed it. By this time a dozen natives, at least, had assembled outside\nthe taboo-line, and stood eagerly watching the result of the combat. The\ntemple slave made a long white mark with the coral-sand on one side of\nthe cleared area. Then he handed the calabash solemnly to Toko. Toko\ncrossed the sacred precinct with a few inaudible words of muttered charm,\nto save the Taboo, as prescribed in the mysteries. Then he drew a similar\nline on the ground on his side, some twenty yards off. \"Descend, O my\nlord!\" he cried to Felix; and Felix, still holding the bough tight in his\nhand, swung himself blindly from the tree, and took his place by Toko.\n\n\"Toe the line!\" Toko cried, and Felix toed it.\n\n\"Bring up your god!\" the Shadow called out aloud to the King of Water.\nAnd the King of Water, using no special ceremony with so great a duty,\ndragged Tu-Kila-Kila helplessly along with him to the farther taboo-line.\n\nThe King of Water brought a spear and tomahawk. He handed them to Felix.\n\"With these weapons,\" he said, \"fight, and merit heaven. I hold the bough\nmeanwhile--the victor takes it.\"\n\nThe King of Fire stood out between the lists. \"Korongs and gods,\" he\nsaid, \"the King of the Rain has plucked the sacred bough, according to\nour fathers' rites, and claims trial which of you two shall henceforth\nhold the sacred soul of the world, the great Tu-Kila-Kila. Wager of\nBattle decides the day. Keep toe to line. At the end of my words, forth,\nforward, and fight for it. The great god knows his own, and will choose\nhis abode. Taboo, Taboo, Taboo! I, Fire, have spoken it.\"\n\nScarcely were the words well out of his mouth, when, with a wild whoop of\nrage, Tu-Kila-Kila, who had the advantage of knowing the rules of the\ngame, so to speak, dashed madly forward, drunk with passion and kava, and\ngave one lunge with his spear full tilt at the breast of the startled and\nunprepared white man. His aim, though frantic, was not at fault. The\nspear struck Felix high up on the left side. He felt a dull thud of pain;\na faint gurgle of blood. Even in the pale moonlight his eye told him at\nonce a red stream was trickling--out over his flannel shirt. He was\npricked, at least. The great god had wounded him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nVICTORY--AND AFTER?\n\n\nThe great god had wounded him. But not to the heart. Felix, as good luck\nwould have it, happened to be wearing buckled braces. He had worn them on\nboard, and, like the rest of his costume, had, of course, never since\nbeen able to discard them. They stood him in good stead now. The buckle\ncaught the very point of the bone-tipped spear, and broke the force of\nthe blow, as the great god lunged forward. The wound was but a graze, and\nTu-Kila-Kila's light shaft snapped short in the middle.\n\nMadder and wilder than ever, the savage pitched it away, yelling, rushed\nforward with a fierce curse on his angry tongue, and flung himself, tooth\nand nail, on his astonished opponent.\n\nThe suddenness of the onslaught almost took the Englishman's breath away.\nBy this time, however, Felix had pulled together his ideas and taken in\nthe situation. Tu-Kila-Kila was attacking him now with his heavy stone\naxe. He must parry those deadly blows. He must be alert, but watchful. He\nmust put himself in a posture of defence at once. Above all, he must keep\ncool and have his wits about him.\n\nIf he could but have drawn his knife, he would have stood a better chance\nin that hand-to-hand conflict. But there was no time now for such tactics\nas those. Besides, even in close fight with a bloodthirsty savage, an\nEnglish gentleman's sense of fair play never for one moment deserts him.\nFelix felt, if they were to fight it out face to face for their lives,\nthey should fight at least on a perfect equality. Steel against stone was\na mean advantage. Parrying Tu-Kila-Kila's first desperate blow with the\nhaft of his own hatchet, he leaped aside half a second to gain breath and\nstrength. Then he rushed on, and dealt one deadly downstroke with the\nponderous weapon.\n\nFor a minute or two they closed, in perfectly savage single combat.\nFire and Water, observant and impartial, stood by like seconds to see\nthe god himself decide the issue, which of the two combatants should be\nhis living representative. The contest was brief but very hard-fought.\nTu-Kila-Kila, inspired with the last frenzy of despair, rushed wildly\non his opponent with hands and fists, and teeth and nails, dealing his\nblows in blind fury, right and left, and seeking only to sell his life\nas dearly as possible. In this last extremity, his very superstitions\ntold against him. Everything seemed to show his hour had come. The\nparrot's bite--the omen of his own blood that stained the dust of\nearth--Ula's treachery--the chance by which the Korong had learned the\nGreat Taboo--Felix's accidental or providential success in breaking off\nthe bough--the length of time he himself had held the divine honors--the\nprobability that the god would by this time begin to prefer a new and\nstronger representative--all these things alike combined to fire the\ndrunk and maddened savage with the energy of despair. He fell upon his\nenemy like a tiger upon an elephant. He fought with his tomahawk and his\nfeet and his whole lithe body; he foamed at the mouth with impotent rage;\nhe spent his force on the air in the extremity of his passion.\n\nFelix, on the other hand, sobered by pain, and nerved by the fixed\nconsciousness that Muriel's safety now depended absolutely on his perfect\ncoolness, fought with the calm skill of a practised fencer. Happily he\nhad learned the gentle art of thrust and parry years before in England;\nand though both weapon and opponent were here so different, the lesson of\nquickness and calm watchfulness he had gained in that civilized school\nstood him in good stead, even now, under such adverse circumstances.\nTu-Kila-Kila, getting spent, drew back for a second at last, and panted\nfor breath. That faint breathing-space of a moment's duration sealed his\nfate. Seizing his chance with consummate skill, Felix closed upon the\nbreathless monster, and brought down the heavy stone hammer point blank\nupon the centre of his crashing skull. The weapon drove home. It cleft a\ngreat red gash in the cannibal's head. Tu-Kila-Kila reeled and fell.\nThere was an infinitesimal pause of silence and suspense. Then a great\nshout went up from all round to heaven, \"He has killed him! He has\nkilled him! We have a new-made god! Tu-Kila-Kila is dead! Long live\nTu-Kila-Kila!\"\n\nFelix drew back for a moment, panting and breathless, and wiped his wet\nbrow with his sleeve, his brain all whirling. At his feet, the savage lay\nstretched, like a log. Felix gazed at the blood-bespattered face\nremorsefully. It is an awful thing, even in a just quarrel, to feel that\nyou have really taken a human life! The responsibility is enough to\nappall the bravest of us. He stooped down and examined the prostrate body\nwith solemn reverence. Blood was flowing in torrents from the wounded\nhead. But Tu-Kila-Kila was dead--stone-dead forever.\n\nHot tears of relief welled up into Felix's eyes. He touched the body\ncautiously with a reverent hand. No life. No motion.\n\nJust as he did so, the woman Ula came forward, bare-limbed and beautiful,\nall triumph in her walk, a proud, insensitive savage. One second she\ngazed at the great corpse disdainfully. Then she lifted her dainty foot,\nand gave it a contemptuous kick. \"The body of Lavita, the son of Sami,\"\nshe said, with a gesture of hatred. \"He had a bad heart. We will cook it\nand eat it.\" Next turning to Felix, \"Oh, Tu-Kila-Kila,\" she cried,\nclapping her hands three times and bowing low to the ground, \"you are a\nvery great god. We will serve you and salute you. Am not I, Ula, one of\nyour wives, your meat? Do with me as you will. Toko, you are henceforth\nthe great god's Shadow!\"\n\nFelix gazed at the beautiful, heartless creature, all horrified. Even on\nBoupari, that cannibal island, he was hardly prepared for quite so low a\ndepth of savage insensibility. But all the people around, now a hundred\nor more, standing naked before their new god, took up the shout in\nconcert. \"The body of Lavita, the son of Sami,\" they cried. \"A carrion\ncorpse! The god has deserted it. The great soul of the world has entered\nthe heart of the white-faced stranger from the disk of the sun; the King\nof the Rain; the great Tu-Kila-Kila. We will cook and eat the body of\nLavita, the son of Sami. He was a bad man. He is a worn-out shell.\nNothing remains of him now. The great god has left him.\"\n\nThey clapped their hands in a set measure as they recited this hymn.\nThe King of Fire retreated into the temple. Ula stood by, and whispered\nlow with Toko. There was a ceremonial pause of some fifteen minutes.\nPresently, from the inner recesses of the temple itself, a low noise\nissued forth as of a rising wind. For some seconds it buzzed and hummed,\ndroningly. But at the very first note of that holy sound Ula dropped her\nlover's hand, as one drops a red-hot coal, and darted wildly off at\nfull speed, like some frightened wild beast, into the thick jungle. Every\nother woman near began to rush away with equally instantaneous signs of\nhaste and fear. The men, on the other hand, erect and naked, with their\nhands on their foreheads, crossed the taboo-line at once. It was the\nsummons to all who had been initiated at the mysteries--the sacred\nbull-roarer was calling the assembly of the men of Boupari.\n\nFor several minutes it buzzed and droned, that mystic implement, growing\nlouder and louder, till it roared like thunder. One after another, the\nmen of the island rushed in as if mad or in flight for their lives before\nsome fierce beast pursuing them. They ran up, panting, and dripping with\nsweat; their hands clapped to their foreheads; their eyes starting wildly\nfrom their staring sockets; torn and bleeding and lacerated by the thorns\nand branches of the jungle, for each man ran straight across country from\nthe spot where he lay asleep, in the direction of the sound, and never\npaused or drew breath, for dear life's sake, till he stood beside the\ncorpse of the dead Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nAnd every moment the cry pealed louder and louder still. \"Lavita, the son\nof Sami, is dead, praise Heaven! The King of the Rain has slain him, and\nis now the true Tu-Kila-Kila!\"\n\nFelix bent irresolute over the fallen savage's bloodstained corpse. What\nnext was expected of him he hardly knew or cared. His one desire now was\nto return to Muriel--to Muriel, whom he had rescued from something worse\nthan death at the hateful hands of that accursed creature who lay\nbreathless forever on the ground beside him.\n\nSomebody came up just then, and seized his hand warmly. Felix looked up\nwith a start. It was their friend, the Frenchman. \"Ah, my captain, you\nhave done well,\" M. Peyron cried, admiring him. \"What courage! What\ncoolness! What pluck! What soldiership! I couldn't see all. But I was in\nat the death! And oh, _mon Dieu_, how I admired and envied you!\"\n\nBy this time the bull-roarer had ceased to bellow among the rocks. The\nKing of Fire stood forth. In his hands he held a length of bamboo-stick\nwith a lighted coal in it. \"Bring wood and palm-leaves,\" he said, in a\ntone of command. \"Let me light myself up, that I may blaze before\nTu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\nHe turned and bowed thrice very low before Felix. \"The accepted of\nHeaven,\" he cried, holding his hands above him. \"The very high god! The\nKing of all Things! He sends down his showers upon our crops and our\nfields. He causes his sun to shine brightly over us. He makes our pigs\nand our slaves bring forth their increase. All we are but his meat. We,\nhis people, praise him.\"\n\nAnd all the men of Boupari, naked and bleeding, bent low in response.\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila is great,\" they chanted, as they clapped their hands. \"We\nthank him that he has chosen a fresh incarnation. The sun will not fade\nin the heavens overhead, nor the bread-fruits wither and cease to bear\nfruit on earth. Tu-Kila-Kila, our god, is great. He springs ever young\nand fresh, like the herbs of the field. He is a most high god. We, his\npeople, praise him.\"\n\nFour temple attendants brought sticks and leaves, while Felix stood\nstill, half dazed with the newness of these strange preparations. The\nKing of Fire, with his torch, set light to the pile. It blazed merrily on\nhigh. \"I, Fire, salute you,\" he cried, bending over it toward Felix.\n\n\"Now cut up the body of Lavita, the son of Sami,\" he went on, turning\ntoward it contemptuously. \"I will cook it in my flame, that Tu-Kila-Kila\nthe great may eat of it.\"\n\nFelix drew back with a face all aglow with horror and disgust. \"Don't\ntouch that body!\" he cried, authoritatively, putting his foot down firm.\n\"Leave it alone at once. I refuse to allow you.\" Then he turned to\nM. Peyron. \"The King of the Birds and I,\" he said, with calm resolve, \"we\ntwo will bury it.\"\n\nThe King of Fire drew back at these strange words, nonplussed. This\nwas, indeed, an ill-omened break in the ceremony of initiation of a new\nTu-Kila-Kila, to which he had never before in his life been accustomed.\nHe hardly knew how to comport himself under such singular circumstances.\nIt was as though the sovereign of England, on coronation-day, should\nrefuse to be crowned, and intimate to the archbishop, in his full\ncanonicals, a confirmed preference for the republican form of Government.\nIt was a contingency that law and custom in Boupari had neither, in their\nwisdom, foreseen nor provided for.\n\nThe King of Water whispered low in the new god's ear. \"You must eat of\nhis body, my lord,\" he said. \"That is absolutely necessary. Every one of\nus must eat of the flesh of the god; but you, above all, must eat his\nheart, his divine nature. Otherwise you can never be full Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\n\"I don't care a straw for that,\" Felix cried, now aroused to a full sense\nof the break in Methuselah's story and trembling with apprehension. \"You\nmay kill me if you like; we can die only once; but human flesh I can\nnever taste; nor will I, while I live, allow you to touch this dead man's\nbody. We will bury it ourselves, the King of the Birds and I. You may\ntell your people so. That is my last word.\" He raised his voice to the\ncustomary ceremonial pitch. \"I, the new Tu-Kila-Kila,\" he said, \"have\nspoken it.\"\n\nThe King of Fire and the King of Water, taken aback at his boldness,\nconferred together for some seconds privately. The people meanwhile\nlooked on and wondered. What could this strange hitch in the divine\nproceedings mean? Was the god himself recalcitrant? Never in their lives\nhad the oldest men among them known anything like it.\n\nAnd as they whispered and debated, awe-struck but discordant, a shout\narose once more from the outer circle--a mighty shout of mingled\nsurprise, alarm, and terror. \"Taboo! Taboo! Fence the mysteries. Beware!\nOh, great god, we warn you. The mysteries are in danger! Cut her down!\nKill her! A woman! A woman!\"\n\nAt the words, Felix was aware of somebody bursting through the dense\ncrowd and rushing wildly toward him. Next moment, Muriel hung and sobbed\non his shoulder, while Mali, just behind her, stood crying and moaning.\n\nFelix held the poor startled girl in his arms and soothed her. And\nall around another great cry arose from five hundred lips: \"Two women\nhave profaned the mysteries of the god. They are Tu-Kila-Kila's\ntrespass-offering. Let us kill them and eat them!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nSUSPENSE.\n\n\nIn a moment, Felix's mind was fully made up. There was no time to think;\nit was the hour for action. He saw how he must comport himself toward\nthis strange wild people. Seating Muriel gently on the ground, Mali\nbeside her, and stepping forward himself, with Peyron's hand in his, he\nbeckoned to the vast and surging crowd to bespeak respectful silence.\n\nA mighty hush fell at once upon the people. The King of Fire and the King\nof Water stood back, obedient to his nod. They waited for the upshot of\nthis strange new development.\n\n\"Men of Boupari,\" Felix began, speaking with a marvellous fluency in\ntheir own tongue, for the excitement itself supplied him with eloquence;\n\"I have killed your late god in the prescribed way; I have plucked the\nsacred bough, and fought in single combat by the established rules of\nyour own religion. Fire and Water, you guardians of this holy island, is\nit not so? You saw all things done, did you not, after the precepts of\nyour ancestors?\"\n\nThe King of Fire bowed low and answered: \"Tu-Kila-Kila speaks, indeed,\nthe truth. Water and I, with our own eyes, have seen it.\"\n\n\"And now,\" Felix went on, \"I am myself, by your own laws, Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\nThe King of Fire made a gesture of dissent. \"Oh, great god, pardon me,\"\nhe murmured, \"if I say aught, now, to contradict you; but you are not a\nfull Tu-Kila-Kila yet till you have eaten of the heart of the god, your\npredecessor.\"\n\n\"Then where is now the spirit of Tu-Kila-Kila, the very high god, if I am\nnot he?\" Felix asked, abruptly, thus puzzling them with a hard problem in\ntheir own savage theology.\n\nThe King of Fire gave a start, and pondered. This was a detail of his\ncreed that had never before so much as occurred to him. All faiths have\ntheir _cruces_. \"I do not well know,\" he answered, \"whether it is in the\nheart of Lavita, the son of Sami, or in your own body. But I feel sure it\nmust now be certainly somewhere, though just where our fathers have never\ntold us.\"\n\nFelix recognized at once that he had gained a point. \"Then look to it\nwell,\" he said, austerely. \"Be careful how you act. Do nothing rash. For\neither the soul of the god is in the heart of Lavita, the son of Sami;\nand then, since I refuse to eat it, it will decay away, as Lavita's body\ndecays, and the world will shrivel up, and all things will perish,\nbecause the god is dead and crumbled to dust forever. Or else it is in my\nbody, who am god in his place; and then, if anybody does me harm or hurt,\nhe will be an impious wretch, and will have broken taboo, and Heaven\nknows what evils and misfortunes may not, therefore, fall on each and all\nof you.\"\n\nA very old chief rose from the ranks outside. His hair was white and\nhis eyes bleared. \"Tu-Kila-Kila speaks well,\" he cried, in a loud but\nmumbling voice. \"His words are wise. He argues to the point. He is very\ncunning. I advise you, my people, to be careful how you anger the\nwhite-faced stranger, for you know what he is; he is cruel; he is\npowerful. There was never any storm in my time--and I am an old man--so\ngreat in Boupari as the storm that rose when the King of the Rain ate the\nstorm-apple. Our yams and our taros even now are suffering from it. He is\na mighty strong god. Beware how you tamper with him!\"\n\nHe sat down, trembling. A younger chief rose from a nearer rank, and\nsaid his say in turn. \"I do not agree with our father,\" he cried,\npointing to the chief who had just spoken. \"His word is evil; he is much\nmistaken. I have another thought. My thought is this. Let us kill and eat\nthe white-faced stranger at once, by wager of battle; and let whosoever\nfights and overcomes him receive his honors, and take to wife the fair\nwoman, the Queen of the Clouds, the sun-faced Korong, whom he brought\nfrom the sun with him.\"\n\n\"But who will then be Tu-Kila-Kila?\" Felix asked, turning round upon him\nquickly. Habituation to danger had made him unnaturally alert in such\nutmost extremities.\n\n\"Why, the man who slays you,\" the young chief answered, pointedly,\ngrasping his heavy tomahawk with profound expression.\n\n\"I think not,\" Felix answered. \"Your reasoning is bad. For if I am not\nTu-Kila-Kila, how can any man become Tu-Kila-Kila by killing me? And if I\nam Tu-Kila-Kila, how dare you, not being yourself Korong, and not having\nbroken off the sacred bough, as I did, venture to attack me? You wish to\nset aside all the customs of Boupari. Are you not ashamed of such gross\nimpiety?\"\n\n\"Tu-Kila-Kila speaks well,\" the King of Fire put in, for he had no cause\nto love the aggressive young chief, and he thought better of his chances\nin life as Felix's minister. \"Besides, now I think of it, he _must_ be\nTu-Kila-Kila, because he has taken the life of the last great god, whom\nhe slew with his hands; and therefore the life is now his--he holds it.\"\n\nFelix was emboldened by this favorable opinion to strike out a fresh line\nin a further direction. He stood forward once more, and beckoned again\nfor silence. \"Yes, my people,\" he said calmly, with slow articulation,\n\"by the custom of your race and the creed you profess I am now indeed,\nand in every truth, the abode of your great god, Tu-Kila-Kila. But,\nfurthermore, I have a new revelation to make to you. I am going to\ninstruct you in a fresh way. This creed that you hold is full of errors.\nAs Tu-Kila-Kila, I mean to take my own course, no islander hindering me.\nIf you try to depose me, what great gods have you now got left? None,\nsave only Fire and Water, my ministers. King of the Rain there is none;\nfor I, who was he, am now Tu-Kila-Kila. Tu-Kila-Kila there is none, save\nonly me; for the other, that was, I have fought and conquered. The Queen\nof the Clouds is with me. The King of the Birds is with me. Consider,\nthen, O friends, that if you kill us all, you will have nowhere to turn;\nyou will be left quite godless.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" the people murmured, looking about them, half puzzled. \"He\nis wise. He speaks well. He is indeed a Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\nFelix pressed his advantage home at once. \"Now listen,\" he said, lifting\nup one solemn forefinger. \"I come from a country very far away, where the\ncustoms are better by many yams than those of Boupari. And now that I am\nindeed Tu-Kila-Kila--your god, your master--I will change and alter some\nof your customs that seem to me here and now most undesirable. In the\nfirst place--hear this!--I will put down all cannibalism. No man shall\neat of human flesh on pain of death. And to begin with, no man shall cook\nor eat the body of Lavita, the son of Sami. On that I am determined--I,\nTu-Kila-Kila. The King of the Birds and I, we will dig a pit, and we will\nbury in it the corpse of this man that was once your god, and whom his\nown wickedness compelled me to fight and slay, in order to prevent more\ncruelty and bloodshed.\"\n\nThe young chief stood up, all red in his wrath, and interrupted him,\nbrandishing a coral-stone hatchet. \"This is blasphemy,\" he said. \"This is\nsheer rank blasphemy. These are not good words. They are very bad\nmedicine. The white-faced Korong is no true Tu-Kila-Kila. His advice\nis evil--and ill-luck would follow it. He wishes to change the sacred\ncustoms of Boupari. Now, that is not well. My counsel is this: let us eat\nhim now, unless he changes his heart, and amends his ways, and partakes,\nas is right, of the body of Lavita, the son of Sami.\"\n\nThe assembly swayed visibly, this way and that, some inclining to the\nconservative view of the rash young chief, and others to the cautious\nliberalism of the gray-haired warrior. Felix noted their division, and\nspoke once more, this time still more authoritatively than ever.\n\n\"Furthermore,\" he said, \"my people, hear me. As I came in a ship\npropelled by fire over the high waves of the sea, so I go away in one. We\nwatch for such a ship to pass by Boupari. When it comes, the Queen of the\nClouds--upon whose life I place a great Taboo; let no man dare to touch\nher at his peril; if he does, I will rush upon him and kill him as I\nkilled Lavita, the son of Sami. When it comes, the Queen of the Clouds,\nthe King of the Birds, and I, we will go away back in it to the land\nwhence we came, and be quit of Boupari. But we will not leave it fireless\nor godless. When I return back home again to my own far land, I will send\nout messengers, very good men, who will tell you of a God more powerful\nby much than any you ever knew, and very righteous. They will teach you\ngreat things you never dreamed of. Therefore, I ask you now to disperse\nto your own homes, while the King of Birds and I bury the body of Lavita,\nthe son of Sami.\"\n\nAll this time Muriel had been seated on the ground, listening with\nprofound interest, but scarcely understanding a word, though here and\nthere, after her six months' stay in the island, a single phrase was\ndimly intelligible to her. But now, at this critical moment she rose,\nand, standing upright by Felix's side in her spotless English purity\namong those assembled savages, she pointed just once with her uplifted\nfinger to the calm vault of heaven, and then across the moonlit horizon\nof the sea, and last of all to the clustering huts and villages of\nBoupari. \"Tell them,\" she said to Felix, with blanched lips, but without\none sign of a tremor in her fearless voice, \"I will pray for them to\nHeaven, when I go across the sea, and will think of the children that I\nloved to pat and play with, and will send out messengers from our home\nbeyond the waves, to make them wiser and happier and better.\"\n\nFelix translated her simple message to them in its pure womanly\ngoodness. Even the natives were touched. They whispered and hesitated.\nThen after a time of much murmured debate, the King of Fire stood forward\nas a mediator. \"There is an oracle, O Korong,\" he said, \"not to prejudge\nthe matter, which decides all these things--a great conch-shell at a\nsacred grove in the neighboring island of Aloa Mauna. It is the holiest\noracle of all our holy religion. We gods and men of Boupari have taken\ncounsel together, and have come to a conclusion. We will put forth a\ncanoe and send men with blood on their faces to inquire at Aloa Mauna of\nthe very great oracle. Till then, you are neither Tu-Kila-Kila, nor not\nTu-Kila-Kila. It behooves us to be very careful how we deal with gods.\nOur people will stand round your precinct in a row, and guard you with\ntheir spears. You shall not cross the taboo line to them, nor they to\nyou: all shall be neutral. Food shall be laid by the line, as always,\nmorn, noon, and night; and your Shadows shall take it in; but you shall\nnot come out. Neither shall you bury the body of Lavita, the son of Sami.\nTill the canoe comes back it shall lie in the sun and rot there.\"\n\nHe clapped his hands twice.\n\nIn a moment a tom-tom began to beat from behind, and the people all\ncrowded without the circle. The King of Fire came forward ostentatiously\nand made taboo. \"If, any man cross this line,\" he said in a droning\nsing-song, \"till the canoe return from the great oracle of our faith on\nAloa Mauna, I, Fire, will scorch him into cinder and ashes. If any woman\ntransgress, I will pitch her with palm oil, and light her up for a lamp\non a moonless night to lighten this temple.\"\n\nThe King of Water distributed shark's-tooth spears. At once a great\nserried wall hemmed in the Europeans all round, and they sat down to\nwait, the three whites together, for the upshot of the mission to Aloa\nMauna.\n\nAnd the dawn now gleamed red on the eastern horizon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nAT SEA: OFF BOUPARI.\n\n\nThirteen days out from Sydney, the good ship Australasian was nearing the\nequator.\n\nIt was four of the clock in the afternoon, and the captain (off duty)\npaced the deck, puffing a cigar, and talking idly with a passenger on\nformer experiences.\n\nEight bells went on the quarter-deck; time to change watches.\n\n\"This is only our second trip through this channel,\" the captain\nsaid, gazing across with a casual glance at the palm-trees that\nstood dark against the blue horizon. \"We used to go a hundred miles\nto eastward, here, to avoid the reefs. But last voyage I came\nthrough this way quite safely--though we had a nasty accident on the\nroad--unavoidable--unavoidable! Big sea was running free over the\nsunken shoals; caught the ship aft unawares, and stove in better than\nhalf a dozen portholes. Lady passenger on deck happened to be leaning\nover the weather gunwale; big sea caught her up on its crest in a jiffy,\nlifted her like a baby, and laid her down again gently, just so, on the\nbed of the ocean. By George, sir, I was annoyed. It was quite a romance,\npoor thing; quite a romance; we all felt so put out about it the rest\nof that voyage. Young fellow on board, nephew of Sir Theodore Thurstan,\nof the Colonial Office, was in love with Miss Ellis--girl's name was\nEllis--father's a parson somewhere down in Somersetshire--and as soon as\nthe big sea took her up on its crest, what does Thurstan go and do, but\nhe ups on the taffrail, and, before you could say Jack Robinson, jumps\nover to save her.\"\n\n\"But he didn't succeed?\" the passenger asked, with languid interest.\n\n\"Succeed, my dear sir? and with a sea running twelve feet high like that?\nWhy, it was pitch dark, and such a surf on that the gig could hardly go\nthrough it.\" The captain smiled, and puffed away pensively. \"Drowned,\"\nhe said, after a brief pause, with complacent composure. \"Drowned.\nDrowned. Drowned. Went to the bottom, both of 'em. Davy Jones's locker.\nBut unavoidable, quite. These accidents _will_ happen, even on the\nbest-regulated liners. Why, there was my brother Tom, in the Cunard\nservice--same that boast they never lost a passenger; there was my\nbrother Tom, he was out one day off the Newfoundland banks, heavy swell\nsetting in from the nor'-nor'-east, icebergs ahead, passengers battened\ndown--Bless my soul, how that light seems to come and go, don't it?\"\n\nIt was a reflected light, flashing from the island straight in the\ncaptain's eyes, small and insignificant as to size, but strong for all\nthat in the full tropical sunshine, and glittering like a diamond from a\nvague elevation near the centre of the island.\n\n\"Seems to come and go in regular order,\" the passenger observed,\nreflectively, withdrawing his cigar. \"Looks for all the world just like\nnaval signalling.\"\n\nThe captain paused, and shaded his eyes a moment. \"Hanged if that isn't\njust what it _is_,\" he answered, slowly. \"It's a rigged-up heliograph,\nand they're using the Morse code; dash my eyes if they aren't. Well, this\n_is_ civilization! What the dickens can have come to the island of\nBoupari? There isn't a darned European soul in the place, nor ever has\nbeen. Anchorage unsafe; no harbor; bad reef; too small for missionaries\nto make a living, and natives got nothing worth speaking of to trade in.\"\n\n\"What do they say?\" the passenger asked, with suddenly quickened\ninterest.\n\n\"How the devil should I tell you yet, sir?\" the captain retorted with\ncholeric grumpiness. \"Don't you see I'm spelling it out, letter by\nletter? O, r, e, s, c, u, e, u, s, c, o, m, e, w, e, l, l, a, r, m, e,\nd--Yes. yes, I twig it.\" And the captain jotted it down in his note-book\nfor some seconds, silently.\n\n\"Run up the flag there,\" he shouted, a moment later, rushing hastily\nforward. \"Stop her at once, Walker. Easy, easy. Get ready the gig. Well,\nupon my soul, there _is_ a rum start anyway.\"\n\n\"What does the message say?\" the passenger inquired, with intense\nsurprise.\n\n\"Say? Well, there's what I make it out,\" the captain answered, handing\nhim the scrap of paper on which he had jotted down the letters. \"I missed\nthe beginning, but the end's all right. Look alive there, boys, will you.\nBring out the Winchester. Take cutlasses, all hands. I'll go along myself\nin her.\"\n\nThe passenger took the piece of paper on which he read, \"and send a boat\nto rescue us. Come well armed. Savages on guard. Thurstan, Ellis.\"\n\nIn less than three minutes the boat was lowered and manned, and the\ncaptain, with the Winchester six-shooter by his side, seated grim in the\nstern, took command of the tiller.\n\nOn the island it was the first day of Felix and Muriel's imprisonment in\nthe dusty precinct of Tu-Kila-Kila's temple. All the morning through,\nthey had sat under the shade of a smaller banyan in the outer corner; for\nMuriel could neither enter the noisome hut nor go near the great tree\nwith the skeletons on its branches; nor could she sit where the dead\nsavage's body, still festering in the sun, attracted the buzzing blue\nflies by thousands, to drink up the blood that lay thick on the earth in\na pool around it. Hard by, the natives sat, keen as lynxes, in a great\ncircle just outside the white taboo-line, where, with serried spears,\nthey kept watch and ward over the persons of their doubtful gods or\nvictims. M. Peyron, alone preserving his equanimity under these adverse\ncircumstances, hummed low to himself in very dubious tones; even he\nfelt his French gayety had somewhat forsaken him; this revolution in\nBoupari failed to excite his Parisian ardor.\n\nAbout one o'clock in the day, however, looking casually seaward--what was\nthis that M. Peyron, to his great surprise, descried far away on the dim\nsouthern horizon? A low black line, lying close to the water? No, no; not\na steamer!\n\nToo prudent to excite the natives' attention unnecessarily, the\ncautious Frenchman whispered, in the most commonplace voice on earth to\nFelix: \"Don't look at once; and when you do look, mind you don't exhibit\nany agitation in your tone or manner. But what do you make that out to\nbe--that long black haze on the horizon to southward?\"\n\nFelix looked, disregarding the friendly injunction, at once. At the same\nmoment, Muriel turned her eyes quickly in the self-same direction.\nNeither made the faintest sign of outer emotion; but Muriel clenched her\nwhite hands hard, till the nails dug into the palm, in her effort to\nrestrain herself, as she murmured very low, in an agitated voice, \"_Un\nvapeur, un vapeur_!\"\n\n\"So I think,\" M. Peyron answered, very low and calm. \"It is, indeed, a\nsteamer!\"\n\nFor three long hours those anxious souls waited and watched it draw\nnearer and nearer. Slowly the natives, too, began to perceive the\nunaccustomed object. As it drew abreast of the island, and the decisive\nmoment arrived for prompt action, Felix rose in his place once more\nand cried aloud, \"My people, I told you a ship, propelled by fire, would\ncome from the far land across the sea to take us. The ship has come; you\ncan see for yourselves the thick black smoke that issues in huge puffs\nfrom the mouth of the monster. Now, listen to me, and dare not to disobey\nme. My word is law; let all men see to it. I am going to send a message\nof fire from the sun to the great canoe that walks upon the water. If any\nman ventures to stop me from doing it the people from the great canoe\nwill land on this isle and take vengeance for his act, and kill with the\nthunder which the sailing gods carry ever about with them.\"\n\nBy this time the island was alive with commotion. Hundreds of natives,\nwith their long hair falling unkempt about their keen brown faces,\nwere gazing with open eyes at the big black ship that ploughed her way\nso fast against wind and tide over the surface of the waters. Some of\nthem shouted and gesticulated with panic fear; others seemed half\ninclined to waste no time on preparation or doubt, but to rush on at\nonce, and immolate their captives before a rescue was possible. But\nFelix, keeping ever his cool head undisturbed, stood on the dusty mound\nby Tu-Kila-Kila's house, and taking in his hand the little mirror he had\nmade from the match-box, flashed the light from the sun full in their\neyes for a moment, to the astonishment and discomfiture of all those\ngaping savages. Then he focussed it on the Australasian, across the surf\nand the waves, and with a throbbing heart began to make his last faint\nbid for life and freedom.\n\nFor four or five minutes he went flashing on, uncertain of the effect,\nwhether they saw or saw not. Then a cry from Muriel burst at once upon\nhis ears. She clasped her hands convulsively in an agony of joy. \"They\nsee us! They see us!\"\n\nAnd sure enough, scarcely half a minute later, a British flag ran gayly\nup the mainmast, and a boat seemed to drop down over the side of the\nvessel.\n\nAs for the natives, they watched these proceedings with considerable\nsurprise and no little discomfiture--Fire and Water, in particular,\nwhispering together, much alarmed, with many superstitious nods and\ntaboos, in the corner of the enclosure.\n\nGradually, as the boat drew nearer and nearer, divided counsels prevailed\namong the savages. With no certainly recognized Tu-Kila-Kila to marshal\ntheir movements, each man stood in doubt from whom to take his orders. At\nlast, the King of Fire, in a hesitating voice, gave the word of command.\n\"Half the warriors to the shore to repel the enemy; half to watch round\nthe taboo-line, lest the Korongs escape us! Let Breathless Fear, our\nwar-god, go before the face of our troops, invisible!\"\n\nAnd, quick as thought, at his word, the warriors had paired off, two and\ntwo, in long lines; some running hastily down to the beach, to man the\nwar-canoes, while others remained, with shark's tooth spears still set in\na looser circle, round the great temple-enclosure of Tu-Kila-Kila.\n\nFor Muriel, this suspense was positively terrible. To feel one was so\nclose to the hope of rescue, and yet to know that before that help\narrived, or even as it came up, those savages might any moment run their\nghastly spears through them.\n\nBut Felix made the best of his position still. \"Remember,\" he cried, at\nthe top of his voice, as the warriors started at a run for the water's\nedge, \"your Tu-Kila-Kila tells you, these new-comers are his friends.\nWhoever hurts them, does so at his peril. This is a great Taboo. I bid\nyou receive them. Beware for your lives. I, Tu-Kila-Kila the Great, have\nsaid it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nTHE DOWNFALL OF A PANTHEON.\n\n\nThe Australasian's gig entered the lagoon through the fringing reef by\nits narrow seaward mouth, and rowed steadily for the landing place on the\nmain island.\n\nA little way out from shore, amid loud screams and yells, the natives\ncame up with it in their laden war-canoes. Shouting and gesticulating and\nbrandishing their spears with the shark's tooth tips, they endeavored to\nstop its progress landward by pure noise and bravado.\n\n\"We must be careful what we do, boys,\" the captain observed, in a quiet\nvoice of seamanlike resolution to his armed companions. \"We mustn't\nfrighten the savages too much, or show too hostile a front, for fear they\nshould retaliate on our friends on the island.\" He held up his hand, with\nthe gold braid on the wrist, to command silence; and the natives, gazing\nopen-mouthed, looked and wondered at the gesture. These sailing gods were\ncertainly arrayed in most gorgeous vestments, and their canoe, though\ndevoid of a grinning figure-head, was provided with a most admirable and\nwell-uniformed equipment.\n\nA coral rock jutted high out of the sea to the left hard by. Its summit\nwas crowded with a basking population of sea-gulls and pelicans. The\ncaptain gave the word to \"easy all.\" In a second the gig stopped short,\nas those stout arms held her. He rose in his place and lifted the\nsix-shooter. Then he pointed it ostentatiously at the rock, away from the\nnative canoes, and held up his hand yet again for silence. \"We'll give\n'em a taste of what we can do, boys,\" he said, \"just to show 'em, not to\nhurt 'em.\" At that he drew the trigger twice. His first two chambers were\nloaded on purpose with duck-shot cartridges. Twice the big gun roared;\ntwice the fire flashed red from its smoking mouth. As the smoke cleared\naway, the natives, dumb with surprise, and perfectly cowed with terror,\nsaw ten or a dozen torn and bleeding birds float mangled upon the water.\n\n\"Now for the dynamite!\" the captain said, cheerily, proceeding to lower a\nsmall object overboard by a single wire, while he held up his hand a\nthird time to bespeak silence and attention.\n\nThe natives looked again, with eyes starting from their heads. The\ncaptain gave a little click, and pointed with his finger to a spot on\nthe water's top, a little way in front of him. Instantly, a loud report,\nand a column of water spurted up into the air, some ten or twelve feet,\nin a boisterous fountain. As it subsided again, a hundred or so of the\nbright-colored fish that browse among the submerged, coral-groves of\nthese still lagoons, rose dead or dying to the seething, boiling surface.\n\nThe captain smiled. Instantly the natives set up a terrified shout.\n\"It is even as he said,\" they cried. \"These gods are his ministers!\nThe white-faced Korong is a very great deity! He is indeed the true\nTu-Kila-Kila. These gods have come for him. They are very mighty. Thunder\nand lightning and waterspouts are theirs. The waves do as they bid. The\nsea obeys them. They are here to take away our Tu-Kila-Kila from our\nmidst. And what will then become of the island of Boupari? Will it not\nsink in the waves of the sea and disappear? Will not the sun in heaven\ngrow dark, and the moon cease to shed its benign light on the earth, when\nTu-Kila-Kila the Great returns at last to his own far country?\"\n\n\"That lot'll do for 'em, I expect,\" the captain said cheerily, with a\nconfident smile. \"Now forward all, boys. I fancy we've astonished the\nnatives a trifle.\"\n\nThey rowed on steadily, but cautiously, toward the white bank of sand\nwhich formed the usual landing-place, the captain holding the six-shooter\nin readiness all the time, and keeping an eye firmly fixed on every\nmovement of the savages. But the warriors in the canoes, thoroughly cowed\nand overawed by this singular exhibition of the strangers' prowess,\npaddled on in whispering silence, nearly abreast of the gig, but at a\nsafe distance, as they thought, and eyed the advancing Europeans with\nquiet looks of unmixed suspicion.\n\nAt last, the adventurous young chief, who had advised killing Felix\noff-hand on the island, mustered up courage to paddle his own canoe a\nlittle nearer, and flung his spear madly in the direction of the gig. It\nfell short by ten yards. He stood eying it angrily. But the captain,\ngrimly quiet, raising his Winchester to his shoulder without one second's\ndelay, and marking his man, fired at the young chief as he stood, still\nhalf in the attitude of throwing, on the prow of his canoe, an easy aim\nfor fire-arms. The ball went clean through the savage's breast, and then\nricochetted three times on the water afar off. The young chief fell stone\ndead into the sea like a log, and sank instantly to the bottom.\n\nIt was a critical moment. The captain felt uncertain whether the natives\nwould close round them in force or not. It is always dangerous to fire a\nshot at savages. But the Boupari men were too utterly awed to venture on\ndefence. \"He was Tu-Kila-Kila's enemy,\" they cried, in astonished tones.\n\"He raised his voice against the very high god. Therefore, the very high\ngod's friends have smitten him with their lightning. Their thunderbolt\nwent through him, and hit the water beyond. How strong is their hand!\nThey can kill from afar. They are mighty gods. Let no man strive to fight\nagainst the friends of Tu-Kila-Kila.\"\n\nThe sailors rowed on and reached the landing-place. There, half of them,\nheaded by the captain, disembarked in good order, with drawn cutlasses,\nwhile the other half remained behind to guard the gig, under the third\nofficer. The natives also disembarked, a little way off, and, making\nhumble signs of submission with knee and arm, endeavored, by pantomime,\nto express the idea of their willingness to guide the strangers to their\nfriends' quarters.\n\nThe captain waved them on with his hand. The natives, reassured, led the\nway, at some distance ahead, along the paths through the jungle. The\ncaptain had his finger on his six-shooter the while; every sailor grasped\nhis cutlass and kept his revolver ready for action. \"I don't half like\nthe look of it,\" the captain observed, partly to himself. \"They seem to\nbe leading us into an ambuscade or something. Keep a sharp lookout\nagainst surprise from the jungle, boys; and if any native shows fight\nshoot him down instantly.\"\n\nAt last they emerged upon a clear space in the front, where a great group\nof savages stood in a circle, with serried spears, round a large wattled\nhut that occupied the elevated centre of the clearing.\n\nFor a minute or two the action of the savages was uncertain. Half of the\ndefenders turned round to face the invaders angrily; the other half stood\nirresolute, with their spears still held inward, guarding a white line of\nsand with inflexible devotion.\n\nThe warriors who had preceded them from the shore called aloud to their\nfriends by the temple in startled tones. The captain and sailors had no\nidea what their words meant. But just then, from the midst of the circle,\nan English voice cried out in haste, \"Don't fire! Do nothing rash! We're\nsafe. Don't be frightened. The natives are disposed to parley and\npalaver. Take care how you act. They're terribly afraid of you.\"\n\nJust outside the taboo-line the captain halted. The gray-headed old\nchief, who had accompanied his fellows to the shore, spoke out in\nPolynesian. \"Do not resist them,\" he said, \"my people. If you do, you\nwill be blasted by their lightning like a bare bamboo in a mighty\ncyclone. They carry thunder in their hands. They are mighty, mighty gods.\nThe white-faced Korong spoke no more than the truth. Let them do as they\nwill with us. We are but their meat. We are as dust beneath their sole,\nand as driven mulberry-leaves before the breath of the tempest.\"\n\nThe defenders hesitated still a little. Then, suddenly losing heart, they\nbroke rank at last at a point close by where the captain of the\nAustralasian stood, one man after another falling aside slowly and\nshamefacedly a pace or two. The captain, unhesitatingly, overstepped the\nwhite taboo-line. Next instant, Felix and Muriel were grasping his hand\nhard, and M. Peyron was bowing a polite Parisian reception.\n\nForthwith, the sailors crowded round them in a hollow square. Muriel and\nFelix, half faint with relief from their long and anxious suspense,\nstaggered slowly down the seaward path between them. But there was no\nneed now for further show of defence. The islanders, pressing near and\nflinging away their weapons, followed the procession close, with tears\nand lamentations. As they went on, the women, rushing out of their huts\nwhile the fugitives passed, tore their hair on their heads, and beat\ntheir breasts in terror. The warriors who had come from the shore\nrecounted, with their own exaggerative additions, the miracle of the\nsix-shooter and the dynamite cartridge. Gradually they approached the\nlanding-place on the beach. There the third officer sat waiting in the\ngig to receive them. The lamentations of the islanders now became\npositively poignant. \"Oh, my father,\" they cried aloud, \"my brother, my\nrevered one, you are indeed the true Tu-Kila-Kila. Do not go away like\nthis and desert us! Oh, our mother, great queen, mighty goddess, stop\nwith us! Take not away your sun from the heavens, nor your rain from the\ncrops. We acknowledge we have sinned; we have done very wrong; but the\nchief sinner is dead; the wrong-doer has paid; spare us who remain; spare\nus, great deity; do not make the bright lights of heaven become dark over\nus. Stay with your worshippers, and we will give you choice young girls\nto eat every day, we will sacrifice the tenderest of our children to feed\nyou.\"\n\nIt is an awful thing for any race or nation when its taboos fail all at\nonce, and die out entirely. To the men of Boupari, the Tu-Kila-Kila of\nthe moment represented both the Moral Order and the regular sequence of\nthe physical universe. Anarchy and chaos might rule when he was gone. The\nsun might be quenched, and the people run riot. No wonder they shrank\nfrom the fearful consequence that might next ensue. King and priest, god\nand religion, all at one fell blow were to be taken away from them!\n\nFelix turned round on the shore and spoke to them again. \"My people,\" he\nsaid, in a kindly tone--for, after all, he pitied them--\"you need have no\nfear. When I am gone, the sun will still shine and the trees will still\nbear fruit every year as formerly. I will send the messengers I promised\nfrom my own land to teach you. Until they come, I leave you this as a\ngreat Taboo. Tu-Kila-Kila enjoins it. Shed no human blood; eat no human\nflesh. Those who do will be punished when another fire-canoe comes from\nthe far land to bring my messengers.\"\n\nThe King of Fire bent low at the words. \"Oh, Tu-Kila-Kila,\" he said, \"it\nshall be done as you say. Till your messengers come, every man shall live\nat peace with all his neighbors.\"\n\nThey stepped into the gig. Mali and Toko followed before M. Peyron as\nnaturally as they had always followed their masters on the island before.\n\n\"Who are these?\" the captain asked, smiling.\n\n\"Our Shadows,\" Felix answered. \"Let them come. I will pay their passage\nwhen I reach San Francisco. They have been very faithful to us, and they\nare afraid to remain, lest the islanders should kill them for letting us\ngo or for not accompanying us.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" the captain answered. \"Forward all, there, boys! Now, ahead\nfor the ship. And thank God, we're well out of it!\"\n\nBut the islanders still stood on the shore and wept, stretching their\nhands in vain after the departing boat, and crying aloud in piteous\ntones, \"Oh, my father, return! Oh, my mother, come back! Oh, very great\ngods, do not fly and desert us!\"\n\nSeven weeks later Mr. and Mrs. Felix Thurstan, who had been married in\nthe cathedral at Honolulu the very morning the Australasian arrived\nthere, sat in an eminently respectable drawing-room in a London square,\nwhere Mrs. Ellis, Muriel's aunt by marriage, was acting as their hostess.\n\n\"But how dreadful it is to think, dear,\" Mrs. Ellis remarked for the\ntwentieth time since their arrival, with a deep-drawn sigh, \"how dreadful\nto think that you and Felix should have been all those months alone on\nthe island together without being married!\"\n\nMuriel looked up with a quiet smile toward Felix. \"I think, Aunt Mary,\"\nshe said, dreamily, \"if you'd been there yourself, and suffered all those\nfears, and passed through all those horrors that we did together, you'd\nhave troubled your head very little indeed about such conventionalities,\nas whether or not you happened to be married.... Besides,\" she added,\nafter a pause, with a fine perception of the inexorable stringency of\nMrs. Grundy's law, \"we weren't quite without chaperons, either, don't you\nknow; for our Shadows, of course, were always with us.\"\n\nWhereat Felix smiled an equally quiet smile. \"And terrible as it all\nwas,\" he put in, \"I shall never regret it, because it made Muriel know\nhow profoundly I loved her, and it made me know how brave and trustful\nand pure a woman could be under such awful conditions.\"\n\nBut Mrs. Ellis sat still in her chair and smiled uncomfortably. It\naffected her spirits. Taboos, after all, are much the same in England as\nin Boupari.","title":"The Great Taboo","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":75293}