{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60385/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60385","id":"gutenberg_60385","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60385","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Travel Writing","Folklore -- Polynesia","Polynesia"],"text":"Produced by Chris Whitehead, Linda Cantoni, Barry\nAbrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team\nat http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                             SOUTH SEA FOAM\n\n                         ---------------------\n\n                          A. SAFRONI-MIDDLETON\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n                             SOUTH SEA FOAM\n\n                        THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURES\n                        OF A MODERN DON QUIXOTE\n                          IN THE SOUTHERN SEAS\n\n                                   BY\n\n                          A. SAFRONI-MIDDLETON\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                               NEW  YORK\n                        GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                            COPYRIGHT, 1920,\n                       BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY\n\n\n\n\n                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n                              G. B. S.-M.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n\u201cOn the open window-sill of the universal soul the ancient \u00e6olian harp\nawakes.\u201d\u2014ANDREW MILLAR, _Robes of Pan_.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                PREFACE\n\n\nTHOUGH the adventures recorded in this book may set up the impression\nthat I am a kind of Don Quixote of the South Seas, I do not claim to\nhave sought to redress wrongs done to beauteous dusky maidens. It was\nthe ardent, adventurous spirit of youth that brought me to the side of\nsuch original characters as Fae Fae, Soogy, and Fanga, and gave me the\ncharming friendship of those pagan chiefs who have inspired me to write\nthis book. It is possible that many stay-at-homes will think I have\nromanced, will think it incredible that such characters as I have\nattempted to portray really existed. Well, all I can say is, that my\ngreatest literary effort in the following pages has been to keep to the\ntruth of the whole matter, even though such frankness should leave me,\nat the end of this volume, with a blackened name.\n\nAs I have introduced several Polynesian legends and myths in this book,\nI would like to make a few remarks with reference thereto. In recording\nmy memories of Island folk-lore I have to use, of course, my own order\nof intelligence\u2014as compared with that of the wild people who told the\nstories\u2014when I attempt to recreate the legendary lore, the poetry, and\nthe loveliness of the natural world as it must have appeared to the\nimagination of primitive minds believing in them. In doing this I merely\naccept the inevitable transmutation which all legends and myths of\nprimitive peoples must undergo when written down.\n\nMyths in their earliest stage were the poetic babblings of the children\nof nature. It is certain that folk-lore which comes to us in written\nform has been subjected to obvious transformation. All creation-myths\nand subtle moving legends that are representative of human passions and\nyearning, be they from the lore of the ancient Finns, Hindoos,\nBabylonians, Japanese, Egyptians, or Greeks, have been completely\ntransformed before they reached us. Legends are told, retold, and\nembellished in accordance with the storyteller\u2019s notion of what seems\ncompatible with and faithful to primitive conceptions, until, out of the\nimaginative fires of a dozen or so narrators, we get the poetic picture\nwhich the primitive mind probably conceived, but was unable to express.\nThere is little doubt, I imagine, that, if it were possible to trace our\ngreat epic poems to their remote original sources, we should find them\nbased on simple poetic superstition which had its origin in the minds of\nthe lowest tribes of primitive man. Thus, through the influence of mind\non mind, the world\u2019s great epic, when compared to that far-off original,\nwill resemble it as much as the nightingale\u2019s egg of this summer will\nresemble the full-fledged bird\u2019s midnight-song to next year\u2019s moon.\n\nSo much would I say for my method in writing my reminiscences of heathen\nfairy-land. As for idol-worship, I have written about it just as O\u2019Hara\nand I saw it with our own eyes, distinct and solid as are the biblical\nimages of stone in the churches of our own sacred creed.\n\nI make no attempt to trace outside influences on the mythologies of\nIsland creeds; indeed, no influences can be traced. The only influence I\nwas aware of, or ever heard discussed, was this, that with the advent of\nthe missionary, Island mythology and heathen legends were sponged off\nthe map of existence. The missionaries, naturally enough, could see no\nuse in preserving legendary creeds founded on idol-worship and\nsacrificial cannibalism, and all that was certainly \u201cnot the correct\nthing\u201d in a world where morals and manners differ so greatly from our\nown. In this way, both the old legends and the crude, primitive\nconceptions of religious worship have long since been swept away, and\nsometimes also the tribes that cherished these crude ideas were swept\naway with their creeds.\n\nIslands that twenty years ago had populations numbering many thousand,\nto-day have a scattered population of a hundred or so. The blue-blooded\nMarquesan tribes have been wiped out. The survivors are so mixed in\nblood that they do not seem the children of their fathers. So rapid has\nbeen the change that many old chiefs are still living who recall the\ndays when the voices of the winds and mountains were mutterings of the\nmighty gods of shadowland. Born under the influences of new conditions,\nthe natives of to-day do not look back beyond the _lotu_ times. Their\nimaginations are steeped in the atmosphere of the biblical stories they\nlearn in the mission-room. Having a sense of shame for the sins of their\nfathers, they deny even the far-off wonders of the tapu-groves. In these\ntapu-groves, and beneath the sacred banyan trees, there once stood the\nheathen temples (_mareas_), the dwelling-places of those terrible\npriests who, empowered by superstitious reverence, officiated at the\nsacrificial altars. These priests were more powerful in their profession\nthan cannibal chiefs or heathen kings. Looking at the ruins of the\naltars overgrown with weeds, it seems incredible that human hands were\nonce lifted in supplication to relentless captors before they were\nsacrificed to the bigotry of heathen gospel. It forces upon us the\nsimilarity of their fate and that of our old English martyrs. In the\nforest, hard by, slept the dead\u2014the dead who were the strange, wild\npeoples that once made every shadow a lurking god, their superstitious\neyes seeing the starlit forest\u2019s height as some mighty dark-branched\nbrain of a heathen deity\u2019s glittering thoughts.\n\nThe Polynesians believed that their great ancestors were metamorphosed\ninto stars; in this belief there is something of the Egyptian and\nHellenic touch. There are many star-legends concerning the origin of the\nconspicuous constellations of their lovely skies, legends that strangely\nresemble those of Greek mythology. As Circ\u00e9 turned Odysseus\u2019 comrades\ninto swine, so did the heathen goddesses turn Samoan warriors into\ncrabs, snakes, and cuttle-fish. Travellers have often been struck by\nthis resemblance in South-Sea mythology to the folk-lore of the western\nworld. The resemblance, I think, is easy enough to understand, for Man\nis man wherever one goes in this wide world. Be he black, tawny, or\nwhite, his innermost hopes and aspirations are much the same.\n\nThe South-Sea savage gazed with the same wondering eyes of hope on the\ntravelling sun, moon, and stars. To his childlike mind they were the\nmovements of his mighty deities and ancestors. He too peopled the\nvisible universe with gods and goddesses, as did the ancient Greeks; the\nphenomena of nature impressed his mind in much the same way as it has\nimpressed mankind from the remotest ages. The same kind of sorrow dwelt\nin the hearts of those old-time savages when they gazed on the dead\nchild in the forest. The sunsets blew the silent bugles of mysterious\nhues along their horizons, touching their lovely skylines with unheard\nbut visible melodies over the briefness of all living things. They too\ncrept out of their forests long ages ago, and stared with wonder on the\nrainbow that shone over their empurpled seas. Those old rainbows,\nsunsets, and stars left the first etherealized impressions of beauty in\nthe heart of primeval Man the world over. And those old rainbows,\nsunsets, and stars still exist, are shining to-day in Man\u2019s imagination,\nin all those longings for the beautiful that we call \u201cStrivings after\nArt.\u201d Thus there is a strong link, a twinship between us and those past\nsavage races. Their old symbols of the stars, drifting clouds, fading\nsunsets, and moons that once hung in the wide galleries of their heaven\nstill exist in all our poetic conceptions of that which is wild and\nbeautiful. Through the alchemy of man\u2019s transmuting mind, the wonders of\nthat old world are represented in all that is highest in our Art; the\nvery landscape-painting that hangs on our homestead walls to-day faintly\nexpresses the poetic light that once sparkled in the eyes of those who\nlived when the world dreamed in its savage childhood. The music\n_maestro_ to-day stands before the footlights, not of the stars, but\nbefore Man\u2019s artificial splendour of lamplit halls, a highly-cultured\nsavage, some wonderful embodiment of the genius who once blew in the\nmagical conch-shell\u2014that old barbarian musician who instinctively caught\nthe harmonies of creation from the resounding primeval seas, the winds\nin the forests, and the songs of the first birds, applying them as\nsympathetic symbols of sound that he might please the earnest longings,\nthe deepest dreams of that shaggy-haired, fierce audience that assembled\nin their barbarian forest halls. So it seems that nothing that pleases\nour eyes and senses belong to civilization or is of our own making. I\nimagine that it has all been derived from the first tremendous\nblackboard\u2014the primitive days and starlit nights of heathen lands. And,\nso, the first wild children of creation were our masters, who\nunconsciously studied in the great school of Art under God\u2019s mysterious\ntuition that we might feel the pride and glory of all that is beautiful\nand divine, with hope in this far-away New Day! We dwell to-day in a\nmaterialistic age of brassy-blare and \u201cadvanced thought.\u201d We have\nweighted ourselves with the thick armour of civilization, till we fight\non with curved spines, hardly listing where we may fall. The old\nmythological light of the stars is now switched on the pounding\nmachinery of our cities, instead of being fixed on our imaginations. We\ngrope in some darkness of our own making, as a thousand sects mumble in\ntheir beards about some dubious hope beyond the grave. We are chained\nprisoners in the stone cells of our own vaunted ambitions. No flower or\nsinging bird is a true symbol of hope, delight, or wonder; all that we\nsee is divested of the fairy-wings of that imagination that brings us\nwealth beyond our fleshly selves. The true poetry of life has gone for\never. The wild bird\u2019s song steams in our old stew-pot\u2014we like it better\nthat way! But one must suppose that all this is as it should be.\nNevertheless, we are the old savages, the Dark Ages, in a double sense,\ndreaming that we are the children of the Golden Age! The nursery tale\ntold to the children as they sat by some Kentish homestead\u2019s fireside\nlast night, was whispered into the ears of wondering children of the\nSouth Seas long ages ago.\n\nIn reference to the general style of my book, I have written on the\ntheory that autobiographical writing should be inspired, not by any idea\nof the apparent merits of those things which the author may feel that he\nhas done well, but from his indwelling regret over the many things which\nhe has never succeeded in doing at all. I imagine that it is so easy to\nconvince the world of our faults and so difficult to interest it by\nputting down on paper those virtues we all secretly hope we possess.\nHowever that may be, my reader can rest assured that my memoirs are\nbased on my happy meditations over all the great, worldly things that I\nhave never succeeded in doing, and so, whatever interest my book lacks,\nis not lacking through any fault of my own.\n\nI feel that it is necessary to admit here that I have been obliged to\ndig deep whilst resuscitating from the legendary dark the old mummies,\nthe gods and goddesses which I found buried in the pyramids of heathen\nmythology. It is I who have breathed the new breath of life into their\ndusty nostrils as I unrolled their spiced, rotting swathings so that\nthey might have some resemblance to the time when they had true\nvisionary existence before the wondering eyes of those wild, savage\npeoples of a mythological past. I have placed them, with a little\ndiffidence, on their crumbling feet, refashioning them with their unsewn\neyelids and mouths somewhat awry, on show in the temple of my memoirs,\nin full view, standing along the aisles of dim remembrance, faintly lit\nup, I hope, by the light of my own imagination.\n\nAs books of an autobiographical nature usually devote a chapter or so to\nincidents connected with the author\u2019s birth and childhood, and as some\nof the critics of my previous books wished to know something of my\ngenesis, I am pleased to say that I am still full of go, still following\nthe sea-birds and land-birds on my vagabond travels. Through my\nparentage I can claim the blood of three nations\u2014English, Scottish, and\na strain of Italian\u2014my mother being a descendant of Thomas Haynes Bayly,\nthe English ballad-writer; my father, a literary man, a descendant of\nCharles, the second Earl of Middleton, and a lady of the Italian Court:\nI believe this lady wrote some revolutionary songs, which were the\ndirect cause of her enforced flight from her own country. Having said\nthis much, I will retire as gracefully as possible by saying that I have\nonly stepped on the stage of this book as one of its humblest actors, as\na hollow-voiced prompter who would bolster up the reputations of his old\nfriends of the past with the weight of his fleshly self. And so I am\nhere in the spirit of good comradeship, the far-away echo of my violin\non the South-Sea buskin march assisting those who are scattered or dead,\nand no longer able to help themselves on this new stage of a shadowy\ndrama in which I have placed them.\n\n                                                                A. S.-M.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\n                                PART ONE\n\n                                                            PAGE\n       CHAPTER I. SAMOA: FIRST IMPRESSIONS                    23\n\n        Author\u2019s Heritage\u2014Arrives at\n        Samoa\u2014Disillusioned\u2014Illusive Romance\u2014Golden-skinned\n        Polynesian Maids\u2014Meets great Heathen Philosophers\u2014The\n        Samoan Chief, O Le Tao\n\n       CHAPTER II. TROUBADOURING IN TAHITI                    49\n\n        I ship with a genuine Old-time Crew\u2014Poetic\n        Nightmares\u2014Tattooed Manuscripts of the Seas!\u2014I learn the\n        Art of Forcible Expression\u2014Tar-pots\u2014The Storm\u2014Washed\n        Overboard\u2014Papeete\u2014Pokara\u2014How the first Coco-nuts\n        came\u2014Star Myths\n\n       CHAPTER III. POKARA\u2019S STORY                            92\n\n        Pokara tells me how the first Idol came to be Worshipped\n\n       CHAPTER IV. I MEET ALOA                               100\n\n        The Hut in the Mountains\u2014A Modern Fairy\u2014The\n        Escape\u2014Love\u2019s Hospitality\u2014The Stranger from the Infinite\n        Seas!\n\n       CHAPTER V. FAE FAE                                    106\n\n        I meet O\u2019Hara\u2014The Emotional Irish Temperament\u2014The\n        Tahitian Temperament\u2014O\u2019Hara and I go\n        Pearl-hunting\u2014Tapee, the Old-time Idol-worshipper\n\n       CHAPTER VI. ABDUCTION OF A PRINCESS                   115\n\n        O\u2019Hara in Love\u2014Fae Fae\u2019s Midnight Elopement\u2014Chased\u2014A\n        Melodramatic Race for Life\u2014The Innocence of\n        Eve\u2014Temptation\u2014The Lost Bride\u2014The Madness of\n        Romance\u2014Outbound for Honolulu\n\n       CHAPTER VII. THE HEATHEN\u2019S GARDEN OF EDEN             144\n\n        Tangalora the Samoan Scribe\u2014Where the Gods and Goddesses\n        first met in Council\u2014The Materials of which the first\n        Mortal Children were Fashioned\u2014The first Wondering\n        Men\u2014The first Women\u2014How the first Babies came to their\n        Mothers\n\n       CHAPTER VIII. IN OLD FIJI                             158\n\n        A Heathen Monastery\u2014A Scene of Primitive Heathenism\u2014My\n        unsolicited Professional Engagement\u2014I imbibe Kava\u2014I\n        am made \u201cTaboo\u201d\u2014Things that I may not Confess\u2014My\n        Escape\u2014Fanga Loma\u2014A Native Village\u2014The Enchantress of\n        the Forest\u2014Temptation\u2014In Suva again\n\n       CHAPTER IX. KASAWAYO AND THE SERPENT                  175\n\n        (A FIJIAN LEGEND FOR YOUNG AND OLD CHILDREN)\n\n        A Goddess in the Garb of Mortality\u2014A Garden of\n        Eden\u2014Temptation\u2014Kasawayo and Kora the Mortal\u2014The Battle\n        Flight to Shadowland\n\n\n                                PART TWO\n\n       CHAPTER X. O LE LANGI THE PAGAN POET                  203\n\n        A Pagan Poet\u2014Influence of Byron and Keats\u2014Star-myths\n        Enchanted Crab\n\n       CHAPTER XI. R. L. S. IN SAMOA                         214\n\n        O Le Langi\u2019s Influence\u2014Heathen Magic\u2014Poetic\n        Aspirations\u2014Ramao and Essimao-Samoan Types\u2014Robert Louis\n        Stevenson and the \u201cBeautiful White Woman\u201d\u2014O Le Langi\n        becomes a Part of the Forest\u2014\u201cHere lies O Le Langi\u201d\u2014A\n        Great Truth\n\n       CHAPTER XII. A MOHAMMEDAN BANQUET                     238\n\n        A Child of American Democracy\u2014Rajah\n        Barab\u2014Barbarossa\u2014Brown-Slave Traffic Methods\u2014Motavia\u2019s\n        Grave\u2014The Magic Casement\u2014The Splendour of Rose-coloured\n        Spectacles\u2014Mohammedanistic Desires\u2014Giovanni\u2019s Love\n        Affairs\u2014Exit Barab\n\n       CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD MARQUESAN QUEEN                  254\n\n        In Tai-o-hae\u2014I come across a widowed Marquesan Queen\u2014Am\n        received with Dignity\u2014The Artistic Tattoo on Loi\n        Vakamoa\u2019s Royal Person\u2014The Queen tells how she was\n        married to a certain Martin Smith of New South Wales\u2014An\n        aged Queen\u2019s Vanity\u2014A Heathen Necropolis\n\n       CHAPTER XIV. TISSEMOA AND THE CUTTLE-FISH             265\n\n        Impressionistic Scene in Nuka Hiva\u2014Tissemao listens to\n        the Luring Voice of a Cuttle-fish\u2014The Love-stricken\n        Cuttle-fish\u2014When Crabs are Brave\n\n       CHAPTER XV. CHARITY ORGANIZATION OF THE SOUTH SEAS    273\n\n        I fall from Space\u2014Court Violinist\u2014Arrive in Fiji\u2014With\n        the Great Missing\n\n       CHAPTER XVI. YORAKA\u2019S DAUGHTER                        287\n\n        The Wild White Girl\u2014The Wagner of Storms\u2014A Pagan\n        Citadel\u2014Pagan Democracy\u2014Ye Old Britisher\u2014A Battle in the\n        Dark\n\n       CHAPTER XVII. SOOGY, CHILD OF POETRY                  318\n\n        Poetry\u2019s Legitimate Child\u2014Music\u2019s Fairyland\u2014A Civilized\n        Old Man of the Sea\u2014A Clerical Hat is the Symbol of\n        Modern Religion\n\n       CHAPTER XVIII. RETROSPECT                             326\n\n        The Modern Old Man of the Sea\u2014Fifty Pounds!\u2014A Human\n        Octopus\u2014Adrift at Sea\u2014Sorrow\u2014Saved\u2014In Tonga\u2014Our Old\n        Man\u2019s last Hiding-place\u2014Retrospect\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                        TO YOU MEN OF THE CITIES\n\n\n Come! follow me o\u2019er the sun-bleached sands by the seas where the small\n    grog-shanty stands\n On the Wallaby track to Falaboo.\n Come! drink of the sunsets, rich old wine from the wandering sinful\n    days of mine,\n For \u2019tis only in dreams the world rings true.\n Come! dream of some magic, far-off day, some lone backyard in the Milky\n    way!\n I\u2019ll fiddle; how the wandering stars will dance!\n We\u2019ll sing together\u2014\u201cYo ho! yo ho!\u201d as on the mighty God-winds blow\n Through the dreams of my world of gay romance.\n\n\n I\u2019ve tramped the tracks to Malabo, I\u2019ve been the way the fallen go!\n When times were bad my fiddle wailed their grief\u2014\n Till, by the camp-fires on the steep, one by one they fell asleep:\n (I\u2019ve buried three, dead in their boots beneath\n The breadfruit trees, with all their dreams and Heaven knows what\n    thwarted schemes!)\n We\u2019d tramped the cities, then we sought the huts.\n And now?\u2014secure on heathen isles, my pals still sport their hopeful\n    smiles:\n We\u2019re looking thin on rum and coco-nuts!\n\n\n So read these pioneer strains of mine, and drink deep, friend, as men\n    do wine,\n Of sunsets on the ocean\u2019s foaming rim,\n Of far-away and long ago where the scented trade winds blow\n Till skylines sigh the stars full to the brim!\n As on I tramp through sun-parched days or camp beside the trackless\n    ways,\n Here with my fiddle in the jungle curl\u2019d,\n\n\n Weighed down with wealth!\u2014my tropic seas, my roof of stars above palm\n    trees,\n My home the hills and highways of the world!\n But\u2014if you men of far-off towns have got a few spare old half-crowns,\n Just buy my book, it\u2019s really not the worst\n Man ever wrote, but nearly so, and that\u2019s quite near enough, you know;\n So, be my friend\u2014and read it \u201ctill you burst.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               _Part One_\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                             SOUTH SEA FOAM\n\n                                PART ONE\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER I. SAMOA: FIRST IMPRESSIONS\n\n        Author\u2019s Heritage\u2014Arrives at\n        Samoa\u2014Disillusioned\u2014Illusive Romance\u2014Golden-skinned\n        Polynesian Maids\u2014Meets great Heathen Philosophers\u2014The\n        Samoan Chief, O Le Tao.\n\n\n     I\u2019d fiddled in Australia, lived on cheek,\n     Cursed all the gold-fields ever found down South,\n     Lived with mosquitoes down by Bummer\u2019s Creek\u2014\n     To say the least, I\u2019d felt down in the mouth.\n     I\u2019d tramped the seaboard cities with my fiddle\n     To make my fortune, but ne\u2019er solved the riddle.\n     I\u2019d got quite thin on nuts and grins and smiles,\n     So emigrated to the South Sea Isles\u2014\n     That Eldorado where men yawned and seemed to make their piles!\n\nEVEN the wind, my boon companion\u2014for are we not both born roamers?\u2014seems\nto blow chunks of old memories through the moonlit, tossing pines that\nare sighing to-night outside this wayside inn. It\u2019s here that we rest\nawhile, my fiddle and I, as I take up my pen to record some of the\nincidents from my early travels. Time, in its everlasting hurry, gives\nme the briefest space to say all I wish to say; and ere the month ends I\nshall be, once more, outbound on the western ocean.\n\nPersonally, I think that to have inherited a pair of rose-coloured\nspectacles from one\u2019s ancestors is to have been endowed at birth with\ninexhaustible wealth, as well as being born a king in one\u2019s own right.\nSuch an inheritance enables one to conjure up the finest illusions,\nhelps one to surmount apparently impossible heights, and also cheers one\nin each inevitable precipitous fall. I\u2019ve often blessed the fates in the\nthought that they so kindly enabled me to warm my hands and heart by an\nimaginary fire when the winds were blowing cold. So much would I say, in\ncomplete humbleness, about my special gift. Possibly the aforesaid gift\nis the only inherited privilege that entitles me to write this book\ndealing with my life and travels in the South Seas. So far as the\nworld\u2019s and my own opinion goes, I\u2019ve no violent claim to write more\nthan three books. For, true enough, it does not make for notoriety and a\nkeen interest in one\u2019s self from a wide public to have done the things\nthat I\u2019ve done. I seriously doubt if my effigy will be seen in Madame\nTussaud\u2019s waxwork show when I come to die. The plain fact is, that it is\nnot considered highly respectable to have slept in a wharf-dustbin in a\nstrange land, unashamed, and with the lid on! And to have knelt in the\ncomplete obeisance of idolatry before a wooden idol with a tattooed\nheathen poet, and deliberately worshipped at the old shrine of the\nstars, is, to say the least, _not quite the thing_. Neither does a\nwandering vagabond life, and a deep feeling of kinship with strange old\nshellbacks, ragged derelicts, and tattooed chiefs, lay a suitable\nfoundation for recording one\u2019s omissions and sins in polite form.\nHowever that may be, I believe that to have dined deeply on salt-horse\nand weevily hard-tack, and to have played the fiddle on the \u201cWallaby\ntrack\u201d from Maoriland to the Solomon Isles, is to have gathered an\noutfit of dire accomplishments that I hope may have inspired me with\nsomething to say.\n\nFirst of all, I will say that, though I had been smashing about the\nseaports from Shanghai to Callao, and had trekked across the Never-Never\nland, generally bound for Nowhere, I still had strange hopes that wild\npioneer life and romance, as I had read about it ere I ran away to sea,\nexisted somewhere in the world. I was down in the dumps, stranded in\nSydney, when the great opportunity presented itself. By the wharf, in\nthe harbour, lay a three-masted ship. When I went aboard I heard that\nshe was bound for the South Sea Islands\u2014the Isles of the Blest!\n\n\u201cAny chance of a job?\u201d I said to the chief mate. He solemnly shook his\nhead, then critically scanned me, then pointing towards the cuddy aft,\nreferred me to the skipper. Entering the gloom of the cuddy\u2019s small\nalley-way, I bumped up against the \u201cOld Man.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat yer wan?\u201d\n\n\u201cAny chance of a job, sir?\u201d I murmured in my very best longing-for-work\nvoice. The skipper stood stroking his whiskers, and, after scrutinizing\nme from head to feet, demanded to see my discharges.\n\n\u201cGit yer traps and come aboard.\u201d\n\nI was engaged as a member of the crew.\n\nNext day we were towed down the harbour by a tug, and by midnight had a\nsteady wind on the quarter, which took us out with all sails set into\nthe Pacific.\n\nIt was a monotonous, long voyage. The \u201cSaga,\u201d for that was the name of\nthe ship, wasn\u2019t a \u201cCutty Sark\u201d or a \u201cThermopylae\u201d for speed.[1] Anyway,\nthe length of the voyage helped to warm my ardent longing to arrive at\nthe palmy coral isles.\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  The \u201cCutty Sark\u201d and \u201cThermopylae\u201d were two of the fastest sailing\n  ships running from London to Sydney. The author sailed before the mast\n  from Sydney to San Francisco on the \u201cCutty Sark.\u201d\n\nI think I was the happiest member of the crew when, after much buffeting\nwith wild weather and stinking pork and maggoty hard-tack, our old\nwind-jammer hugged the outer reefs of the Samoan Isles. Ah, the music of\nthe long-drawn sounds of the surges beating over the barrier reefs! I\nhalf fancied I could hear the palms sighing lyrical melodies as the\nwinds crept like overflowing zephyrs from some great scented dream\nacross that pagan world. On the dim blue horizon rose ranges of\nmountains, apparently touching the tropic sky: they were, to me, the\npeaks of romance!\n\nThe dry tongues of the aged, seasoned sailors hung out as they rubbed\ntheir tarry hands and sniffed the distant grog-saloon. Old M\u2019Dougal, the\nship\u2019s carpenter, danced a jig and looked human for the first time. The\nDutch boatswain pulled his red beard, gave a terrific grin in the\nmoonlight, and muttered something about \u201cVoomen and vine.\u201d Then I got my\nfew belongings together, packed my violin carefully, and was ready to go\nashore.\n\nIt was quite dark when I found myself being rowed, or rather paddled,\nashore in an outrigger canoe. As I went gliding by the moon-ridden\nlagoons, I felt that at last I had surely entered some magical harbour\nof a fairy-land.\n\nEven when sunrise came like a silent crash of liquid gold over the wide\nPacific, touching the mountain peaks and the scattered bee-hive-shaped\nhuts of the forest townships, I was not disillusioned. All seemed as I\nhad so fondly anticipated; it was as I had read about it all. Men yarned\nand argued dogmatically as they stood, fierce-eyed, before the bar of\nthe wooden grog-shanty; there they stood, attired in large slouched\nhats, telling such mighty things about their thrilling travels that even\nold Homer, could he have heard, might well have sighed with envy!\n\nWhen dusk came and I heard the tribal drums beating the stars in far\naway up in the forest villages, I thought, \u201cHere at least I shall find\nrest from the hot-footed turbulency of civilized humanity; here I can\ndwell beneath the Eden-like shades of feathery palms, and listen to the\nwind-blown melodies as they come in from the sea and run across the\nisland trees.\u201d I revelled in such like thoughts. I felt that I had come\nacross a pagan world where no more should I hear servile mumblings of a\nconventional people. I would peer into savage bright eyes and listen to\nthe poetic lore of people who worshipped at the shrine of the stars and\ncounted their days by the fading moons. But when the fierce-eyed,\ntattooed chief, leaning on his war-club before the rough customers of\nthe grog-shanty\u2019s bar, looked straight into the eyes of an old\nshellback, and, bringing his club down with a crash, said, with much\nvehemence, that he preferred Solomon\u2019s Songs to the second chapter of\nthe Corinthians, I rubbed my eyes and thought I dreamed! My chagrin was\nimmense; those delectable palm-clad isles of primitive lore and romance\nhad come under the blighting influence of civilization and of\nmissionaries!\n\nI was in Apia, Samoa, R. L. S., attired in his velvet coat, walked into\nthe bar-room and then suddenly said, \u201cDamn!\u201d when the Beachcomber trod\non his toe, bowed, and said, \u201cBeg pawden, soir!\u201d I strolled afar and\ndiscovered that bright-eyed babies, nestling at the bosoms of their\nshaggy-haired, handsome mothers, slept as \u201csafe as houses\u201d in doorless,\nsmall-thatched dens under the moonlit palms. And, wandering on, I saw\nstar-eyed, nymph-like girls with tossing, coral-dyed hair, pass and\nrepass me on the lonely forest track, singing merrily in a musical\ntongue as they dived once more into the shadows of the coco-palms.[2]\nAll this was extremely pleasing. But one may imagine how my tenacious\nillusions were grossly shattered when the majestic ex-king Malaetoa of\nthe proud _O Le Solu_ Dynasty, last of his ancient line, followed me\ninto the isolated grog-shanty hard by, gazed into my eyes with fondest\naffection, and said, \u201cMine\u2019s a bitter!\u201d\n\nFootnote 2:\n\n  The Samoans are not tawny or mahogany-coloured, but are of a pleasing,\n  golden-skinned hue, sometimes fairer than Europeans.\n\nO, illusive Romance!\n\nNevertheless adventure abounded. Those semi-savage men sang weird\nsoulful songs, melodious ballads, about half-forgotten legends, and\nbattles long ago; and their love-songs were as pleasing as the beauty\nand innocence of their womenkind. I roamed those palm-clad shores for\ndays, and was considerably enlightened in an educational way, for I came\nacross clans of strange old heathens, who seemed to me to be the\ndisciples of the one true transcendent democracy. They were semi-naked\nheathen philosophers, old men clad in loin-cloths only. My pleasure was\nimmense when I observed them sitting by their coral cave doors, solemnly\nchewing nuts, apparently as happy as the sunny, livelong day. It was\nsunset, and when they all commenced to beat their drums violently,\nbeating the stars in, it seemed that their hoarse, quaintly musical\nvoices, wailed out, \u201cBehold! we are the people! Creation hath nobly\ntoiled through the ages till, lo! the blessed sun warms our aged bones\nas nature casts into our trembling hands digestible nuts and\nsweet-scented taro!\u201d\n\nCould I help liking the companionship of such happy, wise old\nphilosophers?\n\nMany of those old-time natives were endowed with wonderful poetic\nintellect. And I vow that such an intellect my old Samoan friend, O Le\nTao, possessed. I came across Tao about three weeks after arriving in\nUpolu. And I may say, that though I\u2019ve played the fiddle under a palm\ntree outside a barbarian queen\u2019s royal seraglio, and have been given the\n_Freedom of the pagan city_ in consequence, I can recall no one who was\nmore hospitable to me than O Le Tao. And so, before proceeding with the\nwild life and adventures which I experienced after leaving Samoa for\nTahiti, I would like just to touch on O Le Tao\u2019s character and genius by\nthe way. In fact, O Le Tao was interesting, if only on account of his\nphysiognomy, which strangely resembled the weird scenery of Samoa by\nmoonlight\u2014scenery that I feel is an eminently suitable background for\nintroducing him, and not in an impressionistic sketch either, but just\nas I knew him in his meditative old age.\n\nFirst, I would tell you that it was a lovely sight to see the tropical\norange flush of evening fade to a deep, fairy-like green on the sea\u2019s\nhorizon beyond the scimitar-shaped bay off Apia. Then, one by one, the\nstars peeped out, not down from the sky, but wistful-like up from the\nlagoons along the shore. It was an Olympian scene and one that I should\nimagine would inspire the most unimaginative observer. The native\nvillages were silent; the mountains, like mighty sentinels staring out\nto sea, stood with tangled forest beards, sighing down to their rugged\nknees. Moonlit lines of palms waved like majestic plumes against the\ncrystalline skies; a falling star seemed a pale ember blown out of the\nfar-off constellations. But for the tiny pagan city of huts, nestling as\nit were in the crevice of the mountain\u2019s hip, it might have been an\nuninhabited island world. Far down in the lower regions, in the vicinity\nof the mountain\u2019s vast feet, a canoe was paddled out from the hairy\ngrowths between those mighty toes. It was a savage, wrinkled old man of\nanother age, paddling off for the silent waters in a canoe, that was, to\nhim, a small argosy bearing him away to the wonders of shadowland! But\nit wasn\u2019t as weird as all that; it was simply the Samoan chief, O Le\nTao, stealing away under the cover of night to one of the neighbouring\nislets, so that he might worship his hidden idol. Though I cannot claim\nto have been there on that special night, I well know it was none other\nthan O Le Tao. And how I know this is my own secret. Possibly I\u2019ve been\na heathen too, and have prostrated myself before an idol; I\u2019m queer\nenough for anything. However that may be, I recall that I met O Le Tao\nnext day. I was travelling along in the vicinity of Mount Vala. I had\njust had an appetizing meal of Bass\u2019s Ale and monkey-nuts\u2014and was\nfeeling in good humour. Coco-palms, breadfruits, and other picturesque\ntrees sheltered me from the hot sunlight and my banana-leaf socks hardly\nswished as I softly trod the beautifully woven carpet of flower and fern\nthat Nature\u2019s patient hand had spread across the forest floor. The sea\nbreeze swept pungent whiffs, like iced wine, to my nostrils, as I\nfollowed the track made by soft-footed savages for ages. Suddenly I was\nstartled by seeing a frizzly, partially bald head protrude through the\nbamboos. It was O Le Tao\u2019s cranium.\n\n\u201cWhat you wanter here?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cTalofa! e maloto ea oe\u201d (I greet you, comrade, and hope you are well),\nI responded, as the chief\u2019s brow puckered up with suspicion.\n\n\u201cWhat you gotter there\u2014moosic?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d I responded, as he eyed my violin.\n\n\u201cYou no tafoa vale?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; I\u2019m a friend,\u201d I replied, as I handed him a mark. This largesse\nchanged his aggressive look into a broad smile of welcome. Following\nhim, I entered his hut. I sat on his best mat and drank refreshing\ncoco-nut milk. Suddenly we were disturbed by hearing loud grunts, heavy\nbreathing, and smashing of twigs. In another moment an aged Samoan woman\nentered the hut. She was a fine-looking old woman, and had kind eyes.\nShe was carrying a huge calabash of water beneath one arm. Its\ncumbersome weight did not deter her from further efforts\u2014in the other\nhand she held a coco-nut, a basketful of fish\u2014all alive O!\u2014on her back a\nbunch of bananas, and between her teeth two fishing rods. She was O Le\nTao\u2019s industrious better half. She too made me welcome. Then pretty\nCenerita, their daughter, arrived. She had pretty hair, and eyes that\noutshone the gleams of the three coco-nut-oil lamps, hanging from the\nhut\u2019s low roof that night; for it all ended in O Le Tao asking me to\nstay the night with them.\n\nWhen the hour was late, I felt very contented as I squatted by their\nhomestead\u2019s door by Cenerita\u2019s side. Then the old chief commenced to\ntell me about the grand old freebooting times.\n\nO Le Tao was over seventy years of age, and so was a reliable authority\non the old sins and wonders of the heathen period of his palmy isles.\n\nAs the old chief spoke on, and his wife, Cenerita, and I sat by the\ndoorway that faced the ocean, I too became transformed into a\nsemi-heathen, the Samoan underworld becoming some dim, far-off reality\nto my brain. The moon shone over the dark waters, and the voices coming\nfrom the dark shore caves just below seemed to drum out muffled echoes\nfrom the old gods of shadowland, as I listened to all that O Le Tao\ntold.\n\nCenerita had ceased to sing. We could faintly hear the _o le sanga_\n(red-winged nightingale) whistling its melodious song somewhere up in\nthe mountain breadfruits. And still O Le Tao spoke on in this wise:\n\n\u201cO Papalagi, you must know and believe that, in those far-off days, the\ngreat spirits of shadowland did walk about the native villages by night.\nOften would the gods knock at the doors of the great _Atuiis_ (high\nchiefs), bidding them strive for their mighty requirements; which were\nmany. And sad enough for us in the great sacrificial month!\u201d said O Le\nTao after a pause; then he continued: \u201cO white man, I must tell you that\nLao-mio was my kinsman\u2019s child and was a maid beautiful to gaze upon.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubtless,\u201d I said, as he continued.\n\n\u201cAnd of course she was daughter of great chief, so to fall in love with\na low-caste youth, as she did, was a terrible disgrace to me and my\npeople. Also the gods, Tangaloa, Tuli, Tane, and the goddesses of O E\nLangi (Elysium) were dark-browed with anger about it all. \u2019Tis true that\nthe low-caste youth was handsome to look upon, straight as a coco-palm,\nwith eyes like a katafa bird\u2019s. But such things do not make up for the\nlack of great blood and the pride of the gods in one\u2019s heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, certainly not,\u201d said I, as O Le Tao\u2019s wrinkled physiognomy revealed\nthe pride he felt over those old ancestors that he claimed. Then he\ncontinued:\n\n\u201cOne night, when we were all fast asleep in our village by Tewaka, we\ndid all leap suddenly up from our sleeping mats, for lo! the\nconch-shells of the gods in shadowland were blowing! True enough the\ngods and goddesses were rushing about the forests in great anger! We did\nknow that something terrible had occurred, for their voices sounded like\nto thunder and echoed to the mountain tops. As all my people did rush\nfrom their huts, the gods disappeared in the moonlight, but we were all\njust in time to see a canoe being fast paddled across the bay out to\nsea! Ah, Papalagi, \u2019twas great insult; for it was that low-caste youth\nKo-Ko, for that was his name, and Lao-mio, the high-caste maid, in\nflight together. For a moment we gazed dumb-struck, the horror of the\nscene before us being on the faces of all the chiefs. And the _O\ntausalas_ (high-class girls and women) weep to see so wicked a sight.\u201d\n\nSaying the foregoing, O Le Tao placed his wrinkled hand to his brow and\ngazed in deep reflection on the scene that was apparently before his\nmemory. Then, as his old wife handed him a goblet of kava (he swallowed\nit at a gulp), he cast his eyes skyward and continued:\n\n\u201cSuddenly we all recover our senses, and go rushing down to the shore.\nBut it was too late. The cunning Ko-Ko had severed the sennet tackles\nand had cast all our canoes adrift, so that we could not follow him. He\nwas very low-caste too, for, as the canoe turned round by the\npromontory, he did turn his face to us and waved his paddle jeeringly!\nAnd though my kinsmen and many of the tausalas did dance with much rage\non the shore at this act of Ko-Ko\u2019s, I did myself keep calm, as great\nchief should keep; crossing my arms on my breast, I did spit seaward. It\nwas then that we all turned, and rushing way back to the village we\nlooked into the hut wherein Lao-mio had slept. Lo, master, we found\n_all_ her clothes\u2014she had left them behind! \u2019Twas sad enough, this act\nof an erstwhile modest tausala maid, but we did all beat our chests when\nwe find the maid had left a note behind her too, and this note said: \u2018O\nstink chiefs of Samoa, I go away with my true love Ko-Ko, for his eyes\nare like unto the gods! And I would have you know, O meddling people of\nthe village, that my children shall bless me for having so god-like a\nhusband!\u2019\n\n\u201cAt reading this insult about the godliness of a low-caste, we did all\nbeat our limbs and bodies till the blood fell. And as we did this act we\nheard the mighty, far-off voices of the gods cursing our village, to\nthink that a high-caste tausala should elope with a cheeky low-caste\nlike Ko-Ko. The next day the great _toas_ (high chiefs) went away in\nsorrow to the sacred altars at Manono, and, paying obeisance to the\n_autiis_ (priests), asked them to find out what the gods would have them\ndo about the whole matter. After many libations of ceremonial kava and\nsacred offerings to the God of gods, the vassals of shadowland did say:\n\u2018You disgraced people of Manono must away go into the forest by Lauii;\nand when you are there you must play sweetest music on the vuvu and the\nmagic conch-shells while the moon shines over the sea. It is then that\nthe spirits will hear, and will tell you what is best to be done to\nenable you to catch the wicked lovers.\u2019\u201d\n\nSaying this, O Le Tao paused a moment, then, swelling his tattooed chest\nto its full proportions, and with his arms crossed high thereon, he\ngazed majestic-wise upon Cenerita, his wife, and my humble self. Then,\nturning his head and face round in the direction of the mountains, he\ngazed in such a manner that it was plainly evident he was about to\ndivulge something reflecting no small amount of glory upon his person.\nHe continued:\n\n\u201cWhen the village did hear that which the gods wished to be done, they\nall meet by the sacred banyans, and say, \u2018Who? Who in our village am\n_great_ enough to respond to the wishes of the gods?\u2019 And, Papalagi, I\nwould have you know that, whilst this talk go on, I sit in full\nhumbleness behind the assembled tribe in deep shadow of breadfruit\ntrees.\u201d (I nodded my head, intimating that I quite understood O Le Tao\u2019s\nhumility.) Then he coughed, and proceeded: \u201cFor awhile I keep my face\nbowed towards the earth; but still they call in one great voice again,\nand yet again! And so, knowing well that one cannot cast the power, the\nglory, and majesty from one\u2019s own person, I slowly did arise, and,\nstanding forth into the clear light of the moon\u2019s fullness, I say, \u2018Who\nis this that calls aloud for O Le Tao?\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd, in this wise, was I chosen above all others, O Papalagi!\n\n\u201cThat same night I and Lao-mio\u2019s father, who was a kinsman of mine, did\ngo away to seek the magic caves where dwelt the vassals of the gods of\nthe underworld. When we arrived by the seashore we perceive four young\ncoco-palms growing, that had not been there before. And, as we blew the\nconch-shells, the four coco-palms did commence to quiver in the light of\nthe moon, the plumes and bunches of nuts that sprouted at the tops\nstarting to swell visibly. Still we did blow and blow the vuvu and\nconch-shell; and still the coco-nuts swell and swell till they gleam in\nthe moonlight, and lo! they were the big faces of the gods! We did then\nnotice that the trunks of the palms were their legs. My kinsman and I\ndid lean one against the other, so great was our surprise to hear their\nvoices. For, lifting their shivering arms to the sky, they say, \u2018O great\nO Le Tao, and he too who am shadowed in your presence.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose the gods alluded to your kinsman?\u201d said I, interrupting the\nold chief.\n\n\u201cThat am so, Papalagi,\u201d said Tao, as I struck a match on my knee and\nintimated by a nod of my head that I wished him to proceed. Then he\ncontinued in this wise: \u201cThe gods looked down upon us and said, \u2018If you\nwould once more get Lao-mio the maid back to your village, you must go\nalong the coast and approach the caves wherein dwells the beautiful\ngoddess Pafuto. She will stand in your presence, and then lead you\nacross the sea to Savaii Isle so that you may get at the maid Lao-mio.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt saying these things they did look upon myself and my kinsman with\ndeep concern shining like a shadow on moonlit waters in their eyes, and\nthen, again said: \u2018You are mortals, and so we would tell you that,\nwhatever you do, you must not gaze upon the goddess Pafuto\u2019s face or\nform with amorous eyes, neither may you let your hearts hold such\nthoughts as one may have when gazing upon a beauteous mortal maid.\u2019\n\n\u201cWell, Papalagi, this wish of the gods did not trouble us; but pulling\nmy tappa robe around me I did at once commence to go with my kinsman to\nthe spot where we might see the great goddess. When we did at length\ncome to the sea, the moonlight lay fast asleep on the deep waters. The\n_o le manu ao_ (Samoan nightingale), hearing our approach, started\nsinging its midnight song to its favourite goddess _Langi_ (heaven). We\nlistened until our hearts were charmed very much, so much so that we\nboth felt that our hearts were fit to urge our voices to speak out those\nthings which the gods had told. And so I stepped forward, and say, \u2018O le\nsanga oa e magi langi.\u2019 At hearing me speak, the _o le manu_ at once\ncease its song. Silence did fall and run on silvery moonlight feet\nacross the forest. Then, lo, a shadow fell slantwise across the lagoon\nthat faced the sleeping ocean. We turn our eyes, and there, stepping\nforth from her big shore cave, was the goddess Pafuto!\n\n\u201cAh, Papalagi, never before did my eyes behold so beautiful a goddess.\nHer raiment was made from the finest wove seaweed. Her hair tresses,\nfalling like a golden river on the sunset mountains, made a wonderful\nmat for her nicest of feet.\u201d\n\nAt this moment the old chief\u2019s story was interrupted by the arrival of\nCenerita\u2019s fianc\u00e9, a handsome youth named Tamariki. As the youth sat at\nCenerita\u2019s feet, O Le Tao gave him a freezing look that he should\nintrude at such a moment. Then the old man placed his hand archwise over\nhis eyes in some memory of the dazzling beauty of the goddess Pafuto,\nand continued: \u201cThe goddess gaze on us with magical light stealing\nthrough her eyes, then she plucked a reed from the lagoon\u2019s edge and\nblew out a note of sweetest music. At once the _o le manu ao_ commenced\nto sing again, and out of the cavern to the right of us came floating a\n_taumualua_ (native boat). My kinsman and I at once did that which the\ngoddess commanded, for we at once jump into the taumualua. As we sat in\nthe magic canoe, she did softly step into it and give a magic sign. It\nwas with much sorrow that I did notice that the taumualua carry no\npaddles, for, Papalagi, I feel that the goddess may be for voyaging\n_beneath_ the sea instead of moving over the waters. But just as I did\nlook into my kinsman\u2019s eyes in sorrow, the goddess did stand upright\nbetween us. She was as tall as a mast and as straight. Uplifting her\nrobes and stretching her curved arms out like unto sails of a ship, the\nnight wind did at once commence to softly blow. It was a wonderful sight\nto see her robes gently fill out like big sails to the blowing airs as\nthe magical canoe start to move silently across the moonlit waters.\n\n\u201cAs we did glide over the sea we could distinctly see her shadow\nreflected in the water beside us, beside the imaged moon that was full\nof brightness. Ah, Papalagi, it was this uprightness of the goddess that\ndid bring about the fall of my kinsman. Alas, as she became like to\nsails of a taumualua, because of the uplifting of her robes there beside\nus, her graceful limbs were revealed to half a finger\u2019s length above the\nknees. Truly, Papalagi, it was a sight to tempt even the gods, let alone\nus poor mortals as we sat there, one each side of that wondrous figure,\nmy cheek almost touching the right flank, and my kinsman\u2019s the left\nknee.\n\n\u201cKnowing deep in our hearts what the gods had warned us about, we tried,\nmore than I may tell, not to behold or dream of her gracefulness and the\nsecret glory of such womanly loveliness, as we could have done had she\nbeen a mortal.\n\n\u201cSo, Papalagi, I did perspire overmuch through trying to kill those\nthoughts that _will_ afflict us poor mortals. I sighed and prayed, and\neven sang a short _lotu-song_ (hymn) to help stifle those thoughts that\ndare not rise from my heart. It was during this misery of mine in\nendeavouring to keep faith with the gods and our promises that I did\nnotice my kinsman breathing heavily. I look long upon him, and then see\nthat he was near to being _fauti_ (in a fit) for trying also to stay his\ndeeper thoughts. Much fright came to my soul at seeing the state of one\nwhom I loved much and who was near to me in blood. I did look eagerly\nacross the sea, and with much sorrow notice that we were still more than\na mile from the lonely shores of Savaii Isle. The promontory was just\nvisible far away to the north.\n\n\u201c\u2018What shall we do? What shall we do?\u2019 I mutter as I did see my\nkinsman\u2019s form writhe in the agony of his desires.\n\n\u201cAt this moment the goddess slightly swerved her outstretched arms\naround to the north-east so that she might catch the fairer wind. In\nthis sudden action of hers, her mass of beautiful hair fell about our\nshoulders, for she had slowly moved her head likewise, so that her face\nshould be turned to the south-west; so that, while her left arm point\nnorth-east, her face turn south-west. Whether it was this movement of\nthe changing winds that made her tresses fall and prove my kinsman\u2019s\nundoing, I know not. But it is certain that, as her masses of hair fell\ntenderwise on his face and shoulders, her eyes, inclined sideways, gazed\non him and on me in such a way as surely goddess never gazed to tempt\nmortals before. And then, alas, whether the knees moved through the soft\nswaying of the canoe or through the sudden veering of the night wind, I\nknow not, but my kinsman\u2019s lips did suddenly touch the left knee of the\ngoddess!\n\n\u201cIn a moment, as though lightning swept across the moonlit waters, a\nflash of light leapt from the goddess\u2019s eyes\u2014the canoe wherein we sat\nvanished\u2014was as nothing!\n\n\u201cFor longer time I did swim and swim. And when at length I sat on the\nshore, only the great goddess Pafuto sat beside me! It was then I knew\nthat my sad kinsman had been unable to control his mortal thoughts, and\nso was lying somewhere dead at the bottom of the _moana uli_ (the blue\nsea). Gazing upon me, the goddess said, \u2018O Le Tao, thou art a great\nchief. Thou hast seen mucher beauty of the goddesses of Langi in their\ntrue nakedness, and thou hast proven that thou lovest the light of\nheaven in their eyes only.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt hearing this, I felt much pride. Yet, true enough, my heart did\nquake overmuch, for well I knew how near I was to falling as my kinsman\nfell.\u201d\n\nThe old Samoan chief ceased for a moment. The night winds blew softly,\ndrifting the scents of ripe lemons and breaths of decaying flowers to\nour nostrils. Cenerita, under the influence of her parent\u2019s story,\npeered into the forest glooms. The grand chiefess, Madame O Le Tao,\npuffed her cigarette and revealed by the erect pose of her scraggy neck\nthat she realized the import of her position as O Le Tao\u2019s faithful\nspouse. The old chief, continuing his story, said:\n\n\u201cO Papalagi, when the goddess Pafuto said that to me which I have just\ntold you, I feel much proud and thankful for her mercy. I well knew that\nshe know in her heart that I too had been near to breaking my promise\nwhen the taumualua swayed. But, still, she know what great soul O Le Tao\nam!\u2014so she say no more. Indeed, it was at this moment that she did bend\nforward, softly touching me on the shoulder with her lips, and so did\nmake me _taboo_ (a sacred personage). When I did get back to the village\nand told the chiefs all that had happened, they, though much grieved to\nhear of my kinsman\u2019s death, thought little more of the flight of the\nlovers, Lao-mio and K-ko-ko. They did at once prepare great festival to\ncelebrate the glory that the goddess Pafuto had sent back such a great\none as I to still dwell amongst them.\u201d\n\nWhen he had made an end, the old chief lifted his shoulders\nmajestically, surveying me keenly the while with his dim eyes. It was\nthen that I realized how those island chiefs and the ancestors of\nknights and kings of all lands had first gained their power, their\npossessions, and mighty insignia. I instinctively knew that not only in\nthose wild isles were men gifted with an imagination that made them have\nfirm belief in all that they dreamed of over their own greatness. I half\nenvied O Le Tao\u2019s gifts\u2014gifts he had so well utilized. For as he sat\nthere I saw that he was enthroned on the heights of magnificent\nimagination and lived in the light of respect from all men\u2019s eyes.\n\nSuch was O Le Tao\u2019s story of the goddess Pafuto, as told me while the\nSamoan night doves moaned musically in the tamanu trees.\n\nDuring my stay the semi-heathen chief took me to many interesting\nplaces, showing me spots in the forests and along the shores where once\nsome great tribal battle had been fought, or some cave wherein, on\ncertain occasions, gods and goddesses met in midnight council. After\nthat, O Le Tao took Cenerita, Tamariki, and myself to a night dance in\nthe shore village near Monono. I am assured that Man cannot improve on\nNature\u2019s handiwork in building roomy halls for secret congregations of\nhuman beings who would indulge in heathenish capers that endeavour to\nexpress the inherent impulses of mankind. The gnarled pillars and\nflower-bespangled curtains of that wonderful forest opera-house,\ndecorated by Nature\u2019s artless, silent-moving hands, left nothing to be\ndesired even by the most critical _Maestro_ who might happen to perform\non the wide, branch-roofed stage. The moon hanging in the vaulted roof\nof space over the trees, was sufficient for all purposes. The acoustic\nproperties were perfect, the neighbouring hills echoing back each\norchestral crescendo and each encore in obsequious, weird diminuendos.\nIn the intervals of silence it would often seem that I heard some\nphantom-like accompaniment, and faint encores coming from the gods of\nshadowland, ere the barbaric orchestra of fifes, bone flutes, and drums\nonce more recommenced its terrific ensemble. I was more than astonished\nto see O Le Tao suddenly throw his stiff legs out as he commenced to\ndance with an elderly chiefess of enormous girth. A hundred dusky Eyes\nseemed to tempt a hundred willing Adams as the sarong-like robes swished\nto tripping feet when the whole audience began to dance before the\nfootlights of the stars! With the characteristic restraint of my race, I\nclenched my fist in a great mental, virtuous effort, but only to fail\nthrough my miserable fallibility, for, opening my closed eyelids, I\nstared with unblushing effrontery at the _prima donna\u2019s_ exquisitely\nwoven concert-robe\u2014the equivalent of the South Sea fig-leaf!\n\nShe still danced on, a fascinating being, with the golden light of some\nwitchery in her eyes. Her clustered tresses were distinctly visible by\nthe pale glimmerings of the moon that silvered the huge colonnades of\nthe stage. And, all the while she danced, she sang an ear-haunting\nmelody, swaying her limbs, a scarlet blossom nestling in the hollow of\nher bosom. \u201cAue! Aue! Talofa!\u201d came from the lips of the tiers of gay\nwarriors and great high chiefs who squatted in the royal boxes. When the\nhandsome young chief, Tusita Le Salu\u2014the head-dancer\u2019s affianced\u2014stepped\ndown from his perch in the breadfruit tree on the stage, the hubbub was\nimmense. He at once faced the dancer in a god-like style, and commenced\nto sing a duet with her. They danced and tumbled about in a marvellous\nway. And when she lifted the pretty blue sarong robe up to her knees, I\ndistinctly heard the aged O Le Tao groan through some pathetic\nrealization over his departed youth. Yet the most fastidious could have\ngazed with delight on that scene: the whole thing was fairy-like, the\ngirl\u2019s dancing creating an atmosphere that was full of poetic mystery\nand nothing more.\n\nThe festival\u2019s orchestra helped in no small way to enhance the poetic\nbeauty of the whole scene. The bamboo flutes and bone-clappers (made\nfrom the skeletons of dead chiefs) played a suitable accompaniment to\nthe many \u201cturns\u201d that I witnessed. The special music that was performed\non this occasion was something between a Marquesan _Tapriata_ and a\nSamoan _Siva dance_. Though I cannot reproduce the moaning of the\nresounding seas on the shore below or the echoes in the mountains, I\ngive here an impressionist piano-forte arrangement of the wild music I\nheard that night.\n\nIt is many years since O Le Tao departed for the legendary splendours of\nhis beloved shadowland: that much I certainly know. For, on a voyage\nbound for the Malay Archipelago, not so long ago, my ship put into\nSamoa, and, standing in the small village cemetery near Safuta, I gazed\nin sorrow on a little wooden cross, and distinctly made out these words,\nwritten in English and Samoan:\n\n              \u201cHere lieth the mortal remains of High Chief\n                                O LE TAO\n             Died, aged 83, in the year of our Lord, 1903.\u201d\n               \u201cIn my Father\u2019s House are Many Mansions.\u201d\n\nGazing on that grave, I realized the briefness of all living things, be\nthey great or small. There was something pathetic too in so humble a\ntomb for one who had dwelt in such imaginative splendour. For the island\nnightingale still sang its passionate song in the breadfruit, as the\nsame aged tamanu trees sighed in their glory by the sea. But, doubtless,\nthe children of a new age still whisper his name in wonder, telling how\nhe was favoured by the goddess Pafuto for the majesty and inborn virtue\nof his mighty heart.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen I left O Le Tao\u2019s hospitable homestead it was with feelings of\nregret, and it was a long time before I returned to Samoa. Brief as was\nmy stay with that old chief, it was of long enough duration to influence\nme; indeed, I might say that I became a semi-pagan too. Cenerita no\nlonger pointed in vain to the moonlit mountains, attempting to show my\nblind eyes the shadow-gods that she declared were stalking across the\nmoon-ridden hills\u2014I too saw them! I became a veritable heathen. My\npersonality became robed in the weird atmosphere of pagan dreams.\nCivilization fell from me like an immaculate tall hat knocked off one\u2019s\nhead with a brick. The stern, dull, drab colour of the world changed for\nme. The bright-winged _katafa_, the brown-robed _O Le mao_ bird, and\nbronzed-winged Samoan doves became warm-throated goddesses sitting in\nthe breadfruit trees over our heads, their eyes bright with discovery as\nI played heathenish melodies and Cenerita sang. I was happy enough, for\nI lived in a small native house all alone; it had two rooms and was\nallotted me by the kindness of O Le Tao. That hut was my tiny grand\nancestral hall. Just beyond my threshold waved the plumes of my\ncoat-of-arms\u2014a coco-nut tree crowned with a tawny bunch of fruit. My\nclock, far away over the wide waters of my blue demesne, chimed each\nsunset on the wave! Sometimes, when I played my violin far into the\nnight, I saw ghostly shadows moving under my lovely garden trees; then I\nknew that I had awakened the wild people of another world, who came to\nlisten with delight to the Tusitala of the \u201cmagic-stick\u201d from the lands\nbeyond the setting suns. Sometimes I would invite Tamariki, Cenerita,\nand a few more sweet-minded Samoan children to spend the evening with\nme. They would sing part-songs, melodies of which none knew the\ncomposer, wonderful strains that had been mysteriously blown into some\nold Samoan musician\u2019s soul from the moonlit ocean caves. Crude as some\nof those songs were, I heard the true note. Metaphorically speaking, I\nthrew all my music studies away. Away with such rubbish! No western\nmusic ever thrilled me as I was thrilled by the haunting poetry of wild\nsweet sounds such as I heard on those Samoan nights. It often seemed\nunbelievable, dream-like, when I sat on a fibre mat before the limelight\nof the stars and whiffed the odours of wild flowers and listened to the\nperfect strains of that great University of Samoan elemental musical\nart. Often when I heard the final chant of some musical genius I would\narise and cheer loudly, as the rough, tattooed audience beat their drums\nand whistled their encores. Sometimes a sun-varnished maid would stand\nbefore the forest audience and sing some masterpiece that expressed all\nthe impassioned melody of music\u2019s far-away, forgotten childhood. I would\nhear the seawinds sigh their long-drawn accompaniment across the lovely\nwild-stringed harp of forest trees; a cloud would pass away from the\nmoon and so lift a great silver curtain of ghostly light from the leafy,\ngnarled colonnades. And then the dusky, star-eyed _prima donna_ of the\nforest would bow with a grace that was seemingly quite out of place as\none listened to the wild hubbub of the fierce-eyed, tawny men who waved\ntheir arms as they cheered from the orchestral stalls of jungle, bush,\nand fern. Such sights, such experiences might well turn the brain of a\nmuch more sober head than I claim to possess.\n\n\n                      [Music:  MARQUESAN TAPRIATA.\n                      (Dance.)      A. S. M.\n                      _Andante_\n                      Piano _ff_\n                      _mf_  Drum effects\n\n                                          etc.\n                      _p_ Tambourine.\n\n                                 _f_    etc.\n                      ]\n\n         I\u2019d sooner be a pagan in this hut,\n         Wherein the singing spheres creep thro\u2019 my door,\n         And dance and dance upon my bedroom floor,\n         As \u2019tween the sheets I watch with eyes unshut,\n         And on my bed-rail, wailing o\u2019er the din,\n         A gnat plays on its tiny violin!\n\n         I\u2019m wrapt in some fine madness of a sense\n         That robes me with the magic of those things\n         That lend imagination lyric-wings,\n         Imparadising all my dreams intense.\n         \u2019Twill fade away, I know, and once again\n         I shall half-weep\u2014to find I am quite sane!\n\n         Alas! I\u2019ve worshipped stricken things called \u201cMen\u201d;\n         I\u2019ve travelled down their groves and found their light\n         Hid magic splendours of the glorious night\n         Of things unseen. And now?\u2014clear to my ken,\n         The sad old trees are whispering on the wind\n         The harmonies that _maestros_ seek to find!\n\n         Last night those old trees said: \u201cOh, brother, stay!\n         That song you played just now we seem to know,\n         We heard it sung a million years ago!\u201d\n         I said \u201cIt\u2019s mine!\u201d They sighed. I passed away;\n         And even the flowers along the lonely track\n         Said: \u201cPoor, brief thing with feet and weary back.\u201d\n\n         \u2019Twas then the River, old and full of tears,\n         Stopped by the hills and called, inquired of me\u2014\n         \u201cComrade, is this the right way to the sea?\u201d\n         I kissed its breast, I soothed its wandering fears\n         As on we tramped; then, at the close of day,\n         It said \u201cGood-bye, old friend,\u201d and crept away.\n\n         And now?\u2014a beauteous melody I hear,\n         As constellations tumbling from the skies,\n         Are dancing on the floor before my eyes;\n         Nor do I dream at all, for, sitting near,\n         A gnat plays perfectly the sweeping strain\n         That Man\u2019s ambitious mind strives for\u2014in vain!\n\n         I could cry out in spite to think for years\n         I\u2019ve sought applause, played to sad men and kings,\n         To find, at last, the universe, of all things,\n         Lo, hires a gnat to make the starry spheres\n         Trip to and fro, go gaily o\u2019er and o\u2019er\n         In perfect time across my bedroom floor!\n\n         And still they dance and dance, and still the trees\n         Sigh grand _adagios_ as that _maestro_\n         Sits on my bed-rail sweeping from its bow\n         The music of the grand infinite seas,\n         Till \u2019neath the sheets I hide my head for shame\n         To think, alas, a gnat achieves such fame!\n\nAfter leaving O Le Tao I came across a kind of South Sea Mozart. He was\na young Samoan of about fourteen years. He possessed a cheap German\nfiddle, and on its frayed strings extemporized melodies of the weirdest\nbeauty.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that song, Pango-Pango?\u201d said I.\n\nHe shook his curly head and said, \u201cMe knower not, nice songer camer me\nout of win\u2019 (wind) of the forest, from moan of sea-cave and stars of big\nsky-land.\u201d\n\nSaying that, he once more placed his fiddle (\u2019cello style) between his\nknees, and performed a melody that might well have haunted the brain of\na Brahms, a Schubert, or an Elgar. He was a handsome little fellow, with\nbeautiful bird-like eyes. He was absolutely unconscious of the gift he\npossessed. He seemed, to me, the sun-varnished, perfect-limbed\npersonification of Music itself, Music\u2019s youth, light-winged,\npassionate, beautiful with elemental sweetness, the ecstasy of\nmelancholy and inartistic carelessness. He played to his shadow in the\nlagoons. There was a fascinating witchery in all his ways. Yet I doubt\nwhether such a soul as Pango\u2019s could ever develop into that stage of\nmusic which men call \u201cClassic.\u201d His genius was the genius of youth, and\ncould never grow old, and, rusting, develop into the austere\nossification of the fashionable musical cranium, that awful unvibrant\ncurvature of the musical spine that seems the melody of beauteous youth.\nPango was as natural in his art as are the flowers and birds on the\nhillside. He could never have attained that decrepitude of imagination\nthat invests itself in a robe of artistries, making sad old men and\nwomen imagine they hear the beautiful by having their unresponsive\nspines forcibly shaken by the thunderous crash, the multitudinous rumble\nand groan of artificial musical art. Ah, memory of Pango! Though a true\nmusician, he would have been nowhere as a music-hall composer. Nor could\nhe place suggestive words to music. He lacked British spiciness, too.\nBut I vow that he _did_ put the stars and forest streams to music as he\nsat out on the promontory\u2019s edge by moonlight, looking like some young\nGrecian god as he hummed and played a strain that sounded like infinity\nin pain. To my great regret I lost sight of Pango-Pango for quite a year\nafter that. The fact is, I left Samoa. How I left, and of the wonders of\nthe sea, I will tell in the next chapter.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER II. TROUBADOURING IN TAHITI\n\n        I ship with a genuine Old-time Crew\u2014Poetic\n        Nightmares\u2014Tattooed Manuscripts of the Seas!\u2014I learn the\n        Art of Forcible Expression\u2014Tar-pots\u2014The Storm\u2014Washed\n        Overboard\u2014Papeete\u2014Pokara\u2014How the first Coco-nuts\n        came\u2014Star Myths.\n\n\nTHERE are many sceptics who may disbelieve my account of the crew of the\n\u201cZangwahee,\u201d but away with such people!\n\nAbout a week after losing sight of Pango-Pango I went across to Savaii\nIsle. I had heard that there was an old sailing-ship anchored off\nMatautu, and that she was bound on a long voyage across the Pacific. I\nshall never forget the wonder I felt on first sighting the \u201cZangwahee\u201d\nas she lay out in the bay. \u201cLooks like an old Spanish galleon,\u201d I\nthought, as I stared at the yellowish canvas sails and the antiquated\nrigging imaged in the dark-toned waters of the bay. For a moment I eyed\nthe outlines of that craft with intense curiosity. The beautifully\ncarven emblematical figure-head (a goddess with outstretched praying\nhands) kept my eyes spellbound. The poetry of the artist\u2019s brain, the\nmagic that had inspired the human hands to carve such outlines, seemed\nto enter my soul, as the light of the setting sun touched the\nsaffron-hued sails and glimmered across the silent, blue lagoons. The\nmovements of a man\u2019s form on her deck made me realize the truth; for in\nsome credulous fancy I had half thought that she was some long-lost\ntreasure-trove ship that had lain there for centuries!\n\n\u201cWhere you bound for?\u201d I cried, hailing a weird-looking seadog who had\nsuddenly stared over the bulwark side.\n\nPlacing his hand to his lips, he yelled back, \u201cBound for Tarhoyti!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere the h\u2014\u2014\u2019s Tarhoyti?\u201d I yelled back. But no response came; the old\nsailor simply pulled his dilapidated cap over his eyes and spat\nmelancholy-wise into the ocean. In a few moments I had taken one of the\nbeach canoes and paddled out to the \u201cZangwahee.\u201d Clambering up the rope\ngangway, I went on board. As I stood on deck, I stared in astonishment.\nThe crew, who were busy coiling up the ropes on deck, all stood up, and\nlooked like rows of mummies clad in rags. They were wrinkled and\nsun-tanned to a yellowish hue! They might have been the crew of the\n\u201cFlying Dutchman,\u201d so weird did they look, those old-time sailormen. And\ntalk about blasphemous oaths, when I meekly asked if they thought there\nwas any chance of a job!\n\n\u201cCaptain Vanderdecken aboard?\u201d I said, hoping to break the ice by such\nan evident bit of humour on my part. One old sailorman, who had a Rip\nVan Winkle look about him, stared at my blue serge suit of the\nnineteenth century, and then, touching his cap respectfullike, said,\n\u201cThar\u2019s the Ole Man aft; cawn\u2019t ye see \u2019im?\u201d\n\nLooking aft, I got a bit of a shock, I can tell you. The skipper looked\nas ancient as his ship! He had a monstrous grey beard and O, the\nexpression on his face! I might have made a bolt over the side but for\nthe fact that he had already spotted me. Going straight aft, I looked\nhim in the face and said, \u201cAny chance of a job, sir?\u201d\n\nMetaphorically speaking, he picked me up by the heels, smelt me, looked\nat my teeth, screwed my neck round twice, examined my spine, thumped me\non the ribs, and said, \u201cUM!\u201d\n\nI fancied I saw the dust of ages on his bony neck as a whiff of wind\ncame across the Pacific and divided the tresses of his beard. Then he\nlooked down on the deck and said, \u201cWha\u2019s thawt?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy violin, sir,\u201d I responded, as curiosity toned down much of the funk\nI was in.\n\n\u201cHo ho! He he! Haw haw!\u201d he yelled, as he gazed on the deck at my\nfiddle-case. In obedience to his commands, I at once took my instrument\nfrom its case and commenced to play! It was like seeing God smile as his\nwrinkled face lit up with delight. \u201cYoom\u2019ll do,\u201d he said. Then, taking\nhold of me by the scruff of the neck, he pitched me headlong down the\nalley-way into the dingy cuddy (saloon). Alighting gently on a rather\nsoft-plushed settee of prehistoric pattern, I murmured my thanks. You\nsee, I had sailed on sailing ships and well knew that the treatment I\nwas receiving was of marked courtesy in comparison with that which I had\nexperienced whilst on the Clipper Lines.\n\nSo did I become a member of a crew who, I should think, were the last of\nthe genuine old seadogs.\n\nNext day the yards were squared to a stiff, fair breeze, and to the\nstrain of some old Spanish chanty I found myself bound for Tahiti! My\ndescription of this voyage and the crew may appear like some gross\nexaggeration; but I can assure the reader that I could not possibly\ndescribe that crew and their ancient craft _without_ appearing to\nexaggerate. I even remember the thrill that went through me when I saw\nthe ancient-looking yellowish sails belly to the Pacific wind as we\npassed beyond the barrier reefs and caught the outer foam. But alas! the\nthrill passed away when I sat down in the forecastle with those\nmarvellous old shellbacks and had my first meal.\n\nI might say that the salt-horse and biscuits of the \u201cZangwahee\u201d were as\nancient as the crew appeared to be. Perhaps it was natural enough that\nthere should be an affinity between the ancient members of that crew (a\nfew members belonged to my own century) and the horses that had\napparently roamed the primeval Arabian plains! Only a great poet could\ndescribe the antique \u201cMenu\u201d of that forecastle. I have a brilliant\nimagination, and so it was easy enough for me to imagine that the corn\nthat those biscuits were made of had ripened in Assyrian cornfields! I\nonly had to eat a foc\u2019sle biscuit to enter at once the realms of\nenchantment. Just as good wine intoxicates the brain, the fumes of those\ncast-iron mouldy biscuits created a gassy atmosphere in my stomach and\ninspired my brain with weird poetic fancies. I imagined I saw Ruth\nstanding amid the \u201calien corn\u201d; and, taking another nibble, I had\nvisions of old rivers flowing by ancient walls, and of the desert towers\nof the Pharaohs! I saw tired harvest girls, sickle in hand, sleeping by\ntheir garnered heaps under Assyrian suns. Yes, reader, such dreams were\nmine when I had poetic nightmares after partaking of the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d\nforecastle menu of salt-horse and hard-tack.\n\nThough I could fill reams with the wonders of the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d menu and\nall that my brain fancied, I have only space to set down the stern facts\nthat apply to the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d crew. As I\u2019ve said, they were\nhairy-chested men, real seadogs of another age. To see their\nthick-bearded lips and their crooked noses, as they sang and climbed\naloft, made me half fancy that I had been blown across a century into\nthe Nelson period. Notwithstanding the old skipper\u2019s rough exterior, I\nfound him quite human. Surely few young men who have gone to sea have\nhad the experiences I have had, for that old skipper would get blind\ndrunk, and, lying in his bunk, roar mighty encores as I played\nselections on my violin to him! He loved sea hymns, and, when I played\n\u201cFor those in peril on the sea,\u201d he would mumble deep in his beard, his\neyes becoming wet with tears! Though I liked that strange old captain\n(and I believed he liked me), my chief delight was to come off watch and\nsit in the forecastle with the crew as they tugged their beards, shook\ntheir fists, cursed the mate, the skipper, and the Universe! As they sat\non their sea-chests in the dim-lit forecastle, they looked exactly what\nthey were\u2014genuine high priests who worshipped at the altar of monstrous\nyarns and the best rum!\n\nSome of them had fine, fierce, kind eyes, and bearded lips that never\ntired of yelling forth the wild mystery of the sea and oaths of\ninexhaustible beauty! They were able to express, in one neat phrase, the\npictorial ruggedness of their adventurous, unholy careers. They were\ntrue sea-poets\u2014possessing forcible descriptive genius that enabled one\nto conjure up weird visions of the wondrous countries they had seen and\nthe \u201ccharming\u201d women they had known. And I vow that they made their\nverse scan, subtle verse devoid of any direct influence from the idyllic\nschool of romanticism. Some hailed from \u2019Frisco, Japan, Callao, New\nYork, London Town, Norway, etc., so there was a splendid mixture of the\nworld\u2019s maritime literature. Consequently that forecastle\u2019s audience\nmade a terrific school of the \u201cSturm und Drang\u201d persuasion, a school\nthat fairly hummed with the unrestraint of Rousseau\u2019s _Confessions_, at\nthe same time favouring Mallarm\u00e9 and Browning for concentrated\nexpression. A forcible accent came on their rhymes too! One epic\npunch-rhyme would make one\u2019s eyes see stars! What hairy fists they had!\nBut those older hands seldom quarrelled. O Le Tao\u2019s frame was as bare as\nan egg when compared to the hieroglyphics and tattooed sea-heraldry\ninscribed on their carcases. I had never seen such living art before,\nsuch brazen display as they revealed when they sat by their bunks and\nundressed in that forecastle. Watching by the mingy oil-lamp that hung\nfrom the fo\u2019c\u2019sle roof-beam, I seemed to be witnessing some life-like,\nwondrous Madame Tussaud\u2019s waxwork of the sea, as one by one they pulled\ntheir coats and vests off, revealing their herculean, muscular frames in\nthe nude! What a sight I beheld!\u2014the tattooed storied history of their\nadventurous careers! On one old sea-weary sailor\u2019s chest was engraved,\nin curves of red and blue, a goddess-like girl, the one great romantic\nlove of his youth. She was exquisitely designed, and one unloosed tress\nfell down to her bare shoulders. I was fascinated as, leaning forward, I\nmade out the faint words inscribed beneath the feet\u2014\u201cMy Lucille,\u201d then\nagain, over the crown of hair, \u201cMizpah.\u201d Others were veritable living\nvolumes, depicting all those things that influence sailormen in the\nseaports of the world: shapely-limbed maids of Shanghai, Tokio, Callao,\n\u2019Frisco, New York, and London Town adorned their figures. \u201cMy True love\nHarriet,\u201d Lucille, Unita, Mary Ann, Bill\u2019s Alice, Ducky-Sarah, Angelina,\nUna, Fan-Tan, all were there, pug-nosed, and some, alas, indelicately\nunderclad. I do not exaggerate when I say that I was initiated into the\nstoried, tragical history of the oceans, of wrecks, the morals and\npoetic characteristics of strange womenkind in distant lands, and the\nshattered hopes of faithful sailormen, as I studied those weather-beaten\nmanuscripts of the seas. For many of those tattooesque designs were\nsentimental symbols telling of fidelity in love, some deep faith in\n\u201cAlice, dated 1879,\u201d and lo, the recorded disillusionment with the later\ndate\u20141880\u2014the design of a heart with a dagger through it, revealing\nsomething of the bitterness brought to those old sailors\u2019 hearts through\nthe faithlessness of those old loves whose names were tattooed on their\nmassive, hairy chests and muscular arms! It would indeed be a weird\nchapter of memoirs that told of my brazen explorations, of my astonished\nexclamations, as I curiously scanned and studied the tattooesque history\nof those violent old manuscripts. Many of the inscriptions had faded\nwith age. Old Hans, who had sailed the seas fifty years, before I was\nborn, would yarn for hours as I frequently interrupted to stare at his\nchest, his arms, wrists, and fingers.\n\n\u201cWho was she?\u201d I\u2019d ask.\n\nHe would shake his head sadly and tell me how Unita jilted him; how\nKum-Kum slept in Tokio, and Leila in Kensal Green, and Singa-Samber in\nsome old cemetery in the South Seas. Once he put forth his tarry\nthumbnail, and by the mingy gleams of the fo\u2019c\u2019sle\u2019s hanging oil-lamp\nhelped me to trace out a faint figure on his big wrinkled chest, and,\nlo! I plainly discerned the face, legs, and shoulders of some old pal\nhanging on a foreign gibbet! I often thought that I must be dreaming it\nall, as they sat there in the shadows, yarning away, as the Pacific\ncombers banged against the vessel\u2019s side, and we rolled along on our\nlonely course bound for old Papeete. It took some time before that crew\nacknowledged me as one of their legitimate members, for they were often\ncantankerous devils.\n\nAh, memory of it all\u2014and my first oath! For, though I had been many\nvoyages and roughed it \u201con the wallaby\u201d with old sundowners in Australia\nand New Zealand, I had not blossomed into a true sea-poet of the great\nunromantic school of the oceans. No unfledged _prima donna_, no\nd\u00e9butante, ever rehearsed her first part as I did, I know. _I\u2019d_ show\nthem how to swear! After deep meditation, I gathered together the finest\nswear words extant. Over and over again I repeated those vile phrases\nuntil they fell glibly, naturally, from my tongue\u2014full-blooded\nadjectives that resolved into monstrous illegitimate pronouns that I may\nnot print here! I longed to publish those words, so to speak, to inflict\nthem, sear them on the soul of one of those cantankerous old seadogs,\nfor they played many scurvy tricks upon me, such tricks as must remain\nunrecorded. Though many opportunities presented themselves before I got\nthe swear-phrases off by heart, I had to wait quite four days before I\ncould get my own back in a legitimate way. At last the desired moment\ncame. It was just at sunset. I was standing on deck gazing on the\nhorizon, admiring the expanse of peace, the ineffable beauty of\nawakening stars and approaching night. Suddenly the modern sailor, who\nhailed from a local pub, Houndsditch, London, walked out of the\nforecastle, looked at me as I stared over the bulwark, then yawned, and\ndabbed me negligently\u2014smash! in the mouth with a coal-tar brush, and\ncalmly asked me if \u201cMe mother knew I was out?\u201d\n\nI clapped my hand to my tar-smeared face; then I let forth my pent-up\nvolley of oaths, which I well punctuated with a splendid driving blow on\nthat son of Houndsditch\u2019s nasal organ. The applause and calls of encore\nfrom the whole crew, who had rushed up to see the fight, were terrific.\nThey cheered and cheered. Then I gave them something more to cheer\nabout\u2014I picked up the nearest tar-pot\u2014there was a row of them by the\ngalley door\u2014and crash! it fitted like a cap over my opponent\u2019s cranium,\nhiding his brow, eyes, nose, and mouth too! It was splendid. The cheer\nthat followed that unrehearsed act of mine soothed my ruffled nerves\nconsiderably. I was declared the winner, and, metaphorically speaking,\nwas awarded on the spot the Nobel prize for swearing! I gained and\nmaintained the highest respect from those seasoned sailormen. They\nnudged me in the ribs when \u201cHoundsditch\u201d passed me on deck, and reviewed\nmy contributions to ocean-poetry in the most friendly spirit as I swore\nand swore. So have I slowly and painfully educated myself that I may\ncompete with my fellow-man and fight the world with my sleeves up. I\nrecall that I was quite comfortable on board after that fight. Ah! I\noften think to myself, that if I were a king or a millionaire, how I\nshould purchase thousands of tar-pots, and fix them\u2014crash!\u2014over the\nheads of some people I know. But why digress to record one\u2019s personal\nviciousness? Except for the incidents recorded it was a monotonous\nvoyage; and I was delighted when we caught a good trade wind and, with\nall sails set, the \u201cZangwahee\u201d fairly danced and bowed as she did her\nten knots toward old Papeete.\n\nI had been to Papeete before, so knew what I was up against. I wasn\u2019t\ntouring the world with a camera and a thousand a year; and, though\n\u201cSouth Sea palm-clad isles and wine-dark seas\u201d sounds poetic and\ncomfortable like, you have to rough it a bit if you\u2019ve only got\nfourpence halfpenny in the exchequer. But these facts didn\u2019t trouble me\novermuch, since I could play the fiddle and swear.\n\nThe cook of the \u201cZangwahee\u201d was a most grotesque character. He swore\nlike the much-maligned trooper, banged his pots and pans about, and\nbehaved like a lunatic when we stood by the galley door and held our\nnoses, as we cynically praised the terrible effluvia of the cooking\nsalt-horse. He, too, belonged to another age. He was sun-tanned to a\nyellowish hue, and had a large, drooping nose with bristly hair on the\nend. He would purse his lips up and, giving me a contemptuous glance as\nI smelt the galley odours, would say: \u201cYou call yerself a saylorman! yer\nGod-damned galoot, clear art of it!\u201d But in the end he and I became\nquite chummy. He would sit by his galley doorway and tell about the good\nold days, curse the modern sailormen and seafaring ways, as I agreed\nwith all he had to say. \u201cYou orter been a-living in _our_ time, when men\n_was_ sailors,\u201d he\u2019d say, as I softly pressed him to take another sip of\nrum from the flask which I always carried, so that I might with ease\nbribe those dogmatic seafarers. After that he would cook a small bit of\nsalted horse in fresh water instead of sea-water for my especial\nbenefit. He even gave me fresh-made biscuits at times. So did I manage\nto exist on the \u201cZangwahee\u201d; otherwise I should have been buried over\nthe side and gone out of this story years ago. When rum was plentiful,\nthe cook would stop on deck dancing half the night. Through being\nbow-legged, he looked like some mammoth frog clad in an apron, as he\nshuffled in a jig in the moonlight, close by his galley door. The songs\nhe sang were quite tuneless, consequently he sang and sang. He would\nfold his arms on his breast and open his mouth like a puppet, as I\nplayed the violin and he danced. I\u2019ve never played an obligato to a\nfrog\u2019s solo; but for tune and _tempo_ give me the frog! (I don\u2019t think\nit\u2019s usually known, but the Polynesian swamp frog was the original\ninventor of the syncopated accent of the modern cake-walk.) Its chant\ngoes:\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n              [Music:\n\n                                             _Bis_\n              Clack, click,  click. Clack,  click, clack.\n              ]\n\nAnd to sit in a South Sea forest by moonlight and hear an old marsh-frog\nconduct an orchestra composed of the weird denizens of the forest\u2014the\nSamoan nightingale wrapt in its green and bluish velvet robe, singing\nexquisitely as _prima donna_, the mosquitoes buzzing on their weird\nflutes, while the grey, swallow-tailed gnat, sitting on the tall\nfern-spray, sweeps majestic strains from its wondrous violin, as the old\nforest trees waltz\u2014is a musical treat and sight to be ever remembered.\n\nIt is wonderful what we mortals can see and hear when we keep our inward\nears and eyes wide open. Of course, such sights were as nothing to me; I\nhad long since realized that the great truths of this world exist\noutside the realms that men persist in erroneously dubbing \u201cReality.\u201d\n\nIt was an engrossing spectacle to watch those old-time sailors\ndance on deck by moonlight. The very winds in the sails seemed to\nsing an eerie accompaniment, as the weird old shellbacks jigged\nand tossed their arms to the moon. I\u2019d play the fiddle, as the\nstrain of \u201cOh, oh for Rio Grande!\u201d came ghost-like from the\ndancers\u2019 bearded lips. It looked as though they were the ragged\nphantom crew of a ghostly ship, as they shuffled on deck, their\nsea-boots going \u201cTip-er-te-tap-tum-per-te-thump-thump!\u201d their eyes\nbright with merriment, as they opened their big, tuneless mouths\nand joined in the chorus. Then a cloud would suddenly pass across\nthe moon\u2019s face, and lo, puff! they had all vanished, gone, blown\noverboard!\n\nI\u2019d stare aghast, and see lumps of ragged clothes and misty stuff, like\nremnants of old beards, swept off on the night winds, as their\nparchment-like hands clutched in vain at the clouds in space!\n\nSome unimaginative folk might have sworn that it was nothing more than\nhovering albatrosses asleep on the wing, floating on the wind. But\nstill, it\u2019s a weird place is the South Sea.\n\nHowever, in the morning, there they were, all in their bunks, fast\nasleep, or half awake, dipping their swollen heads in buckets of cool\nsea-water\u2014as real as real could be!\n\nWith all that voyage\u2019s discomforts I found it in no way monotonous. For\nthat forecastle was a wonderful breathing library of stirring adventure.\nThe characters of the books walked about, talked, and took mighty oaths\nif one dared to doubt their veracity.\n\nI often marvelled how any shipping-office officials came to engage such\nancient-looking sailormen. They looked infirm and useless. I sometimes\nhalf fancy that I dreamed them, or that I am quite a thousand years old,\nas they come to me in some memory of the night, and dance till I\ndistinctly hear their sea-boots tapping on my bedroom floor in this old\ninn. Olaf was clean-shaven, and was so wrinkled and tanned that he\nlooked like some neptuonic mummy clad in modern duck-pants and a belt.\nSteffan wore a peculiar-shaped bristly beard round his neck only, which\nlooked like an old, frayed, grey woolly scarf, a fixture round his\nthroat. Hans, the boatswain, who always said \u201cThou canst,\u201d and \u201cthee,\u201d\nand \u201cshiver-me-timbers,\u201d would look straight into the mate\u2019s eyes and\nsay, \u201cAvast there, you lubber!\u201d He had one enormous tooth that protruded\nfrom his compressed lips, which seemed ever grinning, were he awake or\nasleep. At other times he would remind me of a wonderfully carved\nheathen idol, a kind of South Sea Laoco\u00f6n that I had once seen in a\ntambu-house in New Guinea. For he would stand on deck bathing in a large\ntub that hardly reached to his knees, his muscles and veins swollen,\nvividly standing out as though through some mental and physical agony,\nwhile he stared on the skyline, then once again scanned his tanned arms\nand chest, whereon were tattooed the strange names of women he had\nknown! Olwyn Saga, who wore a beard that brushed against his hips and\nwhere through the winds whistled eerie melodies when storms blew, had\ncornflower-blue eyes that had ogled the women of Shanghai and Callao\nbefore any modern sailor was born.\n\nEven the skipper would tug his huge beard in a kind of meditative way\nwhenever he met Olwyn on deck. As for the mate, a Scot, he almost\napologized before shouting out his orders to those grand old fathers of\nthe sea. Even their songs sounded like echoes from another age, as the\nold fo\u2019c\u2019sle dog, Moses, sat upright before them, tears coursing down\nhis cheeks as the strains seemingly awakened memories of other days. And\nwhen Olwyn jigged in the forecastle by night, the hands would sit\nhuddled on their sea-chests, their chins leaning on their horny hands as\nthey dreamily watched. And I would fiddle a weird obligato,\nshivery-like, as I stood beneath the fo\u2019c\u2019sle\u2019s oil-lamp, playing, not\nto Olwyn\u2019s dancing figure, but to his shadow that mimicked him as it\nbobbed up and down in the gloom of the bunks and wooden bulwark side,\nfirst to port and then to starboard, as, folding his arms under his\nbeard, he slewed round and round! Only the shuffling sounds of the big\nsea-boots, \u201cTump-er-te-tump-er-thump-er-te-thump,\u201d told of the reality,\nas I, avoiding Olwyn and staring at his silently moving shadow in the\ngloom, was enabled to feed my imagination and extemporize an eerie\naccompaniment to a melody that had been sung on the Spanish Main a\ncentury before.\n\nIt was in the hush of the hot, calm, tropic night, when the \u201cZangwahee\u201d\nwallowed in the swell and plomped till the hanging canvas seemed to be\ndrumming to the destiny of the marching stars, that I blessed those aged\nsailormen. For, as they yarned and yarned, telling of their far-off\nexperiences, my admiration for them became unbounded. They were either\nthe most glorious old liars that ever existed, or had lived in Olympian\ntimes when nothing was impossible and only the marvellous occurred.\nTreasure-troves, typhoons, scented merchandise from the Indies,\nfaithless lovers, dusky beauties on mysterious uncharted isles, and God\nknows what else, haunted my dreams, as I, at last, fell asleep, with\ntheir voices still mumbling in my ears. Old Hans, who smoked a filthy\nterra-cotta clay pipe and gassed me into insensibility on nights of sad\nrememberings, took a fancy to me. I became quite interested in the\nlonesome dog-watches. I\u2019d sit by his bunk, and he\u2019d point to the faded\npictures of the foreign women he\u2019d known and shake his head. \u201cWhen did\nshe die, Hans?\u201d I\u2019d say, as I pointed to one of the faded outlines of\nhis bunk\u2019s photographs.\n\n\u201cShe?\u2014why, shipmate, she died ages ago!\u201d Then I\u2019d hear all about the\nreality of that shadowy outline on the wooden wall. So did I become\nfamiliar with the inner dramas of those old sailors\u2019 lives. Sometimes\nI\u2019d hear things that made a shiver go down my spine, or, rather, down\nwhere the remnants of my spinal column remained, for the mate had surely\nbroken it in three places (I had experienced so much in my travels that\nit did not seem strange that I should go off to sea in search of romance\nand lose my spine).\n\n\u201cYou must be mighty old, Hans, to have experienced such things,\u201d I\nventured to say, as he yarned on one night. Then, so that he might see\nthat I wasn\u2019t as green as he appeared to think I was, I added, \u201cMight\nyou have met Abraham or any of the Pharaohs in your time?\u201d\n\nFor a moment he puffed his antique pipe, his fingers toiling away as he\nstitched the fragments of his ancient clothing together; for quite a\nwhile longer his chin pressed his white beard against his chest, as he\nsat in an attitude of deep thought. Then I distinctly observed an amused\ntwinkle shoot into his pale blue eyes, as, solemnly shaking his head, he\nreplied, \u201cNo, I\u2019ve never \u2019eard of them coves; they muster \u2019ave been born\n_after_ my time!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean to tell me that you\u2019re older than Abraham?\u201d I said quietly.\n\nHans looked steadily at me, then gave me a solemn nudge in the ribs. And\nthen I knew that old Hans had been a bit of a humorist in his youth,\nages ago! I didn\u2019t cotton to Steffan as keenly as I did to Hans. The\nfact is, he would get drunk and shout all through the night, mind you:\n\n                 Blow! blow! bully boys, blow\u2014O!\n                 We\u2019re bound, bound for Callao\u2014O!\n                 We, the sailormen of long ago\u2014O!\n                 So let the winds roar what they know\u2014O!\n                 Blow! blow! bully boys, blow\u2014O!\n\nThen he\u2019d finish up by expectorating a stream of tobacco juice right\nthrough the port-hole on the figure-head\u2019s dishevelled hair! (It is only\nthe callow youth who sees the poetry and romance of carven wood.) But\neven Steffan became emotional when he opened his sea-chest and took\nforth his old tattered love-letters. It seemed unbelievable as I\nlistened to the soft, sweet things romantic girls of eastern lands had\nwritten in praise of Steffan\u2019s eyes, tender ways, and figure! Then he\nwould fold each tattered yellow fragment up, and moan with the winds\noutside in the foremast rigging, as tears coursed down his wrinkled\ncheeks! I think it was when the skipper mustered the crew for prayers,\naft in the cuddy, that those old sailormen appeared the most emotional.\nIt was quite evident by their voices that they believed in a Supreme\nBeing\u2019s watchful care over the lot of old sailormen. I would play the\nfiddle as they stood by the cuddy\u2019s table, prayer-book in hand, lifting\ntheir sea-weary eyes mournfully, as their voices rose and fell. What\nvoices! Mellow and sombre with years, the deep bass notes seemed to come\nfrom beneath the deck under their feet and echo through their beards.\nThe skipper, divested of all his erstwhile blasphemy, would hit the\ncuddy\u2019s table with his knuckles as he tried to keep the _tempo_ and the\nlanguage the same (they sang in various tongues). And one night, when\nthey all stood singing with their huddled backs bent, and the cuddy\u2019s\ndim lamp swung to and fro sending glimmerings over their wrinkled faces,\nI seemed to have suddenly passed into a bygone age. \u201cHoundsditch\u201d and\nthe two other modern sailors were mysteriously blown, like cobweb\nfigures, out of the saloon by a puff of wind. Only those eight\nhairy-chested, tattooed figures stood there, looking like misty things\nwith hollow eyes and eerie grey beards, as they sang a hymn that\nstrangely echoed up in the wailing sails. The tap, tap of the skipper\u2019s\nknuckles on the cuddy table sounded afar off. I heard only the long, low\nplunge of the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d bows as she roamed onward and the praying\nhands of the figure-head swerved, dived, or softly lifted towards the\ntropic skies, while I stared across the little swaying table, fiddling\nto the voices of those old sailors, as we sailed the dim, starlit seas\nof romance!\n\nOne night, while we were playing cards in the dogwatch, something struck\nthe \u201cZangwahee\u201d like a tremendous hammer-blow. We were carrying a lot of\ncanvas at the time. The \u201cZangwahee\u201d heeled over and tumbled us in a heap\non the port side of the forecastle. The boatswain\u2019s dog, old Moses, a\nhuge, fluffy fellow with fine brown eyes that were full of wisdom,\nrushed out on deck and barked at the stars. Moses was always alert,\nbeing the first to obey the mate\u2019s orders. In a moment we had followed\nMoses on deck in a regular stampede. The mate was yelling and swearing\nlike a madman.\n\n\u201cWhere the blazing h\u2014\u2014 are ye, mon? Take in sail; she\u2019ll have the masts\nripped out of her!\u201d (The mate seldom gave direct orders to those old\nsailormen who had run the Easter down and doubled Cape Horn before he\nwas at his mother\u2019s breast!)\n\nThat typhoon had struck us without the slightest warning. The\n\u201cZangwahee\u201d was already diving, as I clambered aloft with the rest of\nthe crew. The seas, calm as a sheet of glass when the sun went down,\nwere heaving angrily as the wind howled across the night. It was a\nmarvellous and grand sight, for there wasn\u2019t a cloud in the sky. The\nstars were flickering as though the typhoon\u2019s wild breath reached to the\nremote outer spaces of infinity. As I crawled along the foot-ropes\naloft, I looked down on the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d swaying decks and distinctly\nsaw old Moses barking as he stared aloft, his hairy nose sniffing the\nstars. I looked seaward and saw the ramping seas rolling away to the dim\nnight skylines like travelling mountains. As we fisted the canvas, the\nold skipper roared his orders from the poop; his beard blew upward and\nwent over his shoulders as the wind struck him. Of course, up there\naloft we got the full force of the blast. I clung on like grim death. We\nhad to keep our faces to leeward, otherwise it were impossible to\nbreathe at all, as the wind struck us like a solid mass. I cursed that\ntyphoon. I hadn\u2019t any diplomas for ability in going aloft on dark nights\nwhile typhoons blew. Besides, I had a swollen face through toothache. I\nfelt as though I was being tossed about in space, lost in an infinity of\nwind and darkness, with only the stars around me.\n\n\u201c\u2018Old \u2019ard! yer son of a gun!\u201d roared an old salt, as I clutched the\ncanvas with one hand and grabbed his beard with the other when the\n\u201cZangwahee\u201d nearly turned turtle. It was Olwyn Saga, and for a moment I\nhad thought that a kind, vast white beard had been thrust out of space,\nuntil I heard the mouth give a muffled oath. Only one who has been aloft\non a sailing-ship in really bad weather knows the sensation one feels\nwhen one hangs on to the taut ropes of a stick that seems to wobble in\nspace, a stick with a dozen singing sailors clinging to it, using\nfrightful oaths as they apparently grab the stars and curse, when they\nshould be thinking of the supreme possibility of suddenly appearing\nbefore their Maker.\n\n\u201cAvast there! Shiver-me-timbers! What yer doing, yer young B\u2014\u2014!\u201d seemed\nto groan a sepulchral bearded voice from out the stars!\n\n\u201cNothing,\u201d I wailed, as the vessel, pooping a tremendous sea, seemed to\ndive over the rim of the world into an abyss. I had instinctively\nclutched the nearest solid portion of the visible universe\u2014the seat of\nthe aged boatswain\u2019s pants! And still those old salts sang some strange\nchanty as we see-sawed to and fro in space. The moon had just risen,\nblood-red on the horizon, sending a wild glow over the storm-tossed\nwaters. And, as I looked down from my perch in space, I saw the\ntremendous seas lifting their oily backs, like mammoth monsters, as they\nchased and charged the staggering ship. The skipper was still on the\npoop, using his hands as a siren, as he yelled to the winds apparently.\nSuddenly a tremendous smudge seemed to obliterate the world, a smudge\nthat incarnadined the ocean. The \u201cZangwahee\u201d rose like a leaping stag,\nthen fell. Even the seasoned salts clinging beside me ceased their\neternal chanty at that awful moment. Crash! the \u201cZangwahee\u201d had\napparently collided with the blood-red moon! I distinctly saw the\noutstretched praying hands of the emblematical figure-head as the\njibboom dived and then stabbed the moon, and I went head-over-heels and\nfell softly into the moon\u2019s ghostly fires! So did it all seem to me, as\nthe \u201cZangwahee\u201d nearly foundered, and I, in some inexplicable\ndouble-somersault, had a swift glimpse of the horizon, as she fell\nbetween the mountainous seas and I was jerked into old Olwyn\u2019s arms. I\nsaw the great living walls of foam-lashed waters flying past us. For one\nmoment the foretop-gallant yard seemed exactly level with the foaming\npinnacles of the mountains of water that were travelling S.W. But for\nOlwyn\u2019s providential grip on me, I should surely have fallen from aloft,\nthat I know. I thanked Heaven when everything was snug aloft and we all\ncarefully descended the rattlings. I recall that I had barely got my\nbare feet on the bulwark side, prior to jumping down on deck, when\nanother sea struck us. Again it seemed that we had foundered and that\nthe waters were thundering over our heads, ramping along, shrieking with\ndelight as we awaited the trump of doom. When the \u201cZangwahee\u201d once more\nrighted herself, we picked the skipper up as he lay by the galley\namidships. He had been washed off the poop. By some miracle the man at\nthe wheel had been able to stick to his post, and so had managed to keep\nthe \u201cZangwahee\u201d from falling broadside on into the tremendous seas. The\nchief mate helped to carry the skipper aft and lay him in his bunk. His\nleg had been broken. Suddenly old Hans wailed out in a horror-stricken\nvoice, \u201cBy the soul of Neptune, if my old Moses ain\u2019t gone overboard!\u201d\n\nThe huddled crew stood by the cuddy\u2019s alley-way, white-faced as they\nstared over the wild waters. The swollen moon\u2019s wild red light, sweeping\nthe mountainous seas, made a glow that somehow harmonized with the\nintense inner drama, the sorrow of that moment. The faithful eyes of\nthat comrade, who had stood sentinel by their bunks, were out there,\nstaring blindly in the engulfing cataclysms of those terrible night\nwaters.\n\n\u201cShiver-me-timbers!\u201d breathed forth those ancient men, as it came\nagain\u2014a faint, deep, baying sound out of the night, \u201cWough! Wough!\u201d\n\nThat familiar sound touched the very heart-strings of those ancient\nsailormen. \u201cGod \u2019elp us all, me shipmate\u2019s overboard!\u201d said Hans to the\nchief mate. The \u201cZangwahee\u201d rose on a mountainous sea; then once more we\nshipped heavy water. The torn sails of the mizzen-yard flapped, booming\nlike big drums, as those old seadogs stood there looking into each\nother\u2019s eyes. As for old Hans, he had never looked so appealingly or\nspoken in so abject a way to a modern officer before.\n\nFor a moment the clear eyes of \u201cScotty,\u201d for so they called the mate,\nstared on Hans. He was hesitating. In that supreme moment he was the\ntrue monarch of that buffeting little empire of wooden planks on an\ninfinity of water. His humble subjects awaited the order that would\nprove if his heart glittered with the true stuff that would stamp him as\na man in their eyes.\n\nThough the first force of the typhoon had blown itself out, the\n\u201cZangwahee\u201d was pitching terrifically, and to lower a boat on such a\nnight was a risky thing.\n\n\u201c\u2019E\u2019s been a good shipmate to us, sor,\u201d said another, as Hans watched\nthe mate\u2019s face and clutched his vast beard that had blown backward\nright over his shoulder.\n\n\u201cI dinna ken what to do, mon; the skapper wouldnae think on\u2019t, I know,\u201d\nsaid the mate, as he lifted his oilskin cap and scratched his red head.\nThen he looked into Hans\u2019s eyes and said quietly, \u201cAll right, mon, lower\nNo. 3 starboard boat.\u201d\n\nPossibly the mate remembered that old Moses had always obeyed him and\npulled the blanket off his bunk true to time when the midnight hot\ncoffee was ready. Even at that supreme moment a faint, deep, anguished\nbaying called to him out of the night. It was as though Moses\u2019 wondrous\ninstinct knew that he was something of an outsider in a world of\ntwo-legged men, and so might be left to his fate. In a moment the old\nhands had scampered to No. 3 boat. Their hearts were out on those dark\nthrashing waters. They cared not one iota about the risk they took that\nnight. The great loneliness of the ocean and the wild poetry of the\nstorm only strengthened the link of fellowship between them and the\nbrown eyes that stared from those seas at the flying, storm-tossed\n\u201cZangwahee.\u201d I had more than once seen men lower a boat to save a man\noverboard, and I swear that there was no less determination and\neagerness displayed by those old salts when they struggled with the\ntackle and risked the tremendous seas in lowering that boat.\n\n\u201cGive a hand there, youngster!\u201d yelled Olwyn, as I clung to the davits\nand did my best to help them. Then, just before they lowered away, I\njumped into the boat to give Hans his clasp-knife to cut some tangled\ntackle. It was at that moment that one of the men, who was watching for\nthe critical moment to lower away, saw his chance, and loosened the\ntackle, and I found myself numbered with the old salts in that boat. For\na moment I thought we had been swamped, for, as the boat touched the\nback of the great oily sea that lifted the \u201cZangwahee\u201d till she heeled\nover as though she would turn turtle, another sea struck her. But those\nold sea-poets were not amateurs: they knew how to make the seas scan and\nthe rolling waters rhyme to their requirements. But still for a long\ntime we all had to use our whole strength to keep the boat\u2019s head to the\nseas. It was then that I discovered, for the first time, that, though\nthe moon was well up on the horizon, a terrible darkness existed in the\ngulfs of the waves. Once, when our tiny craft rode buoyantly on the top\nof a tremendous sea, I got a swift kaleidoscopic glimpse of the\n\u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d swaying masts and rigging, far-off, with the blood-red\nmoon just behind her. The sight of those illimitable miles of tossing\nwaters, our lonely ship and lonelier castaway boat, the frantic, hoarse\ncalls of the boat\u2019s crew, calling \u201cMoses! Moses!\u201d was something\nunforgettable, to be remembered when old ambitions and natural\ncatastrophes are long forgotten.\n\nNo reply came to that frantic call. Not a soul spoke as we all listened,\ndown there in the silence of the hollows, while the wind shrieked\noverhead and we dropped into the sheer silence, as vast walls of living\nwaters rose around us. So strangely silent was it down there in that\ngulf of the ocean, that I distinctly heard the deep breathing of the\nsailors as they strained at the oars. At last we heard it come again,\nthat faint deep baying of our struggling canine shipmate. There was no\nfancy about it; we heard the wild note of appeal and despair in each\nfaint, deep bark that answered us between the intervals of silence and\nthe crash of the seas.\n\n\u201cDamn the moon!\u201d groaned the boatswain, as he stood by the tiller,\nstared around him, and almost wept. We all knew that, had the moon been\nhigh in the sky, we should have had a thousand better chances of\nrescuing Moses.\n\n\u201cYell, boys! Bully boys, yell!\u201d roared Hans. And by faith they did yell.\nAgain they listened and stared out over the wild waters. Back it came\u2014a\nfaint response, very faint. It was evident that, through the heavy seas\nrepeatedly washing over our shipmate\u2019s head, he was fast becoming weak,\nand so less able to resist the onrush of the travelling seas that would\nbear him from us for ever. \u201cShout again, boys!\u201d said Hans. And again we\nshouted. We well knew that it was the only chance. For Moses would\ninstinctively hear from which direction our voices came and swim towards\nus. It was then, whilst we all strained at the oars, and listened, that\nwe heard a faint, far-off cry of anguish. It sounded more like the\nterrified cry of a human being than anything else I could think of.\nEvery face blanched, I know, as we heard that last faint, terrified\nscream! Old Hans, who stood by the tiller, his eyes looking quite\nglassy, nearly fell over the side in his eagerness to see what had\nhappened. Indeed, the boat was nearly swamped, for we left off rowing\nwhen we realized that something else had come out of the vast night in\nanswer to poor old Moses\u2019, our shipmate\u2019s, despairing appeal to us. We\nknew that the Pacific was infested by grey-nosed sharks. We had caught\nthree monsters on a hook with fat pork only a day or two before. I know\nthat we all shivered at that moment. We well knew that Moses would give\na scream like that only if _one_ thing happened.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nNext night, as the \u201cZangwahee\u201d once again stole steadily on her course,\nI sat in the fo\u2019c\u2019sle with those strange old sailormen. There they sat,\nhuddled on their sea-chests, smoking their pipes and chewing\nmelancholy-wise, shuffling the cards as though they played a game that\nwas part of their destiny. Even their silhouettes, moving on the wooden\nwalls as the swinging oil-lamp sent its mingy gleams on the low table,\nlooked strangely mournful as the big-bearded mouths drew in tobacco\nsmoke and blew it forth again in clouds. The boatswain, old Hans, had\ntorn his Bible in half and used shocking atheistical expressions. I\nheard the tramp, tramp of the look-out man just overhead, and the wail\nof the rigging and heavy foremast canvas as the \u201cZangwahee\u201d crept along\nto the pushing hands of the night winds. Then old Hans lifted his bowed\nhead and looked towards the fo\u2019c\u2019sle doorway, where old Moses, night\nafter night, had sat on his mat, on watch, his hairy nose pointing to\nthe stars as we slept in our bunks. I heard the old sailor give a\nmuffled oath as he blew his nose in his dirty bit of sailcloth\nhandkerchief.\n\nThen the cook closed the galley door for the night and, stepping softly\ninto the fo\u2019c\u2019sle, plumped down a large jar of the best Jamaica rum on\nHans\u2019 sea-chest. It was a present from the bed-ridden skipper; and, as\nthe old salts slowly opened their mouths and in one melancholy gulp gave\na sad toast to the memory of Moses\u2019 soul, I once more seemed to be\nvoyaging across the seas of some far-off age. I heard the melodies of\nthe winds wailing aloft in the grey sails that swayed along under the\nstars. And, somehow, I felt the touch of the sea\u2019s old sorrow and\nromance blow across the deck. The moonlight was falling in an eerie way\nthrough the spread canvas and wavering ghostly-wise on the deck just by\nthe fo\u2019c\u2019sle doorway. Again I felt that visionary presence, as it\nrustled like a richly melancholy-scented wind along the deck, a\nsomething that my senses could not place. I felt it creep into the\nfo\u2019c\u2019sle, sending its shifting fingers tenderly over the bowed heads of\nthose old-time sailormen, who mourned the loss of Moses, the one who had\ninstinctively loved them all, through knowing the hidden virtue of their\nhearts.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen we arrived off Papeete, we seemed to have dropped anchor in some\ncelestial harbour of a world beyond the stars. Dotted about along the\nshore, under the waveless coco-palms, were tiny, yellow wickerwork,\nbamboo huts. The sun was setting. It was a sight to please the most\nunpoetical being, as dusky figures, clad in tappa-cloth and sashes of\ngorgeous hues, flitted under the banyan groves. The far-away background\nof that island world looked like some vast canvas daub, some tremendous\ntranscendent silence lit up by a liquid setting sun. The mountain ranges\nof Orehena, visible for miles, resembled some old chaos of unhewn\ncreation stuffed, piled up, overgrown with forests, and encircled by the\ndistant blue pigment of the ocean skyline. But the savage children of\nAdam and Eve were there right enough. Fleets of outrigger canoes were\nbeing paddled out by the primitive peoples who had sighted the\n\u201cZangwahee.\u201d Those canoes were the Tahitians\u2019 tiny argosies, and were\ncrammed with sweet-scented merchandise, coco-nuts, limes, softly-tinted\nshells, corals, and luscious fruits. Those merchants of the south\nclambered up the vessel\u2019s side, rushed about the decks gabbling in a\nmusical tongue that was the more fascinating through being strange to\nour ears. Some were in such haste that they dived from their canoes into\nthe sea, and, leaping on deck, looked like bronzed mermen as they shook\nthemselves. The water glistened from their lime-dyed locks and ran down\ntheir handsome figures. \u201cYarana!\u201d was their oft-reiterated salutation.\nIt was hard to tell which were the most attractive, the pretty maids\nwith hibiscus blossoms in their curly hair, or the handsome\nterra-cotta-coloured youths. Whilst the hubbub and general pandemonium\nof those pretty merchants were in full swing, old Hans, Olwyn, Steffan,\nOlaf, and the rest of the old salts walked solemnly out of the\nforecastle, hired a twelve-seated outrigger from the natives, and were\nimmediately paddled ashore.\n\nIt was at that moment that I sighted for the first time the old Tahitian\nchief, Pokara. So tall was he that he overtopped the gabbling crowd who\nstood on the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d deck. He was a handsome, wrinkled old fellow,\nand his looks did not belie him, for he was a mighty heathen poet and\nphilosopher. Though old, he stood there in his resplendent youth of\nseventy summers, his eyes ashine with the light of some witchery and\nfond beliefs shared by no one else. Pokara, was one of a type who are\nborn old and grow up youthful. The blue days, and the death-blood of\nsome thousands of sunsets down his seventy years had mellowed his faith\nin human things, sent the dross to the winds, leaving him a\nsimple-minded, grand old man. But, withal, directly Pokara sighted my\nface, he made a bee-line for me. His fine bronze figure was almost\nhidden, so heavily laden was he with his scented merchandise.\n\n\u201cYou nicer white boy, me know!\u2014me know!\u201d said he, as he dropped his\nbundles, crash! at my feet. Then he continued, \u201cWise old Pokara say to\n\u2019imself, as soon as he jumper on ship, ah, there stand \u2019ansome nicer\nEnglis\u2019 boy; he gotter nicer face and alle-same-ee know that kind old\nPokara am here to sell tings bemarkable cheap.\u201d\n\nAfter finishing that flattering oration, the old Tahitian drew back a\nfew steps so that he might the better renew his scrutinizing glance over\nmy youthful physiognomy. A second look at my face seemed to make the old\nchief fairly chuckle to himself. I must have appeared a tenderfoot! He\nbehaved as though he would have me know that he had, by a still more\ncareful study of my features, discovered hitherto undreamed-of virtues\nand beauty in myself, such virtues that had quite escaped his notice\nduring his first hasty glance of admiration!\n\nMajestically waving away the other scrambling native pedlars with his\nhand, he said, \u201cHa! Ha! Yorana!\u201d So how could I do otherwise than\npurchase a few things that I did not want from that artful old man? I\ntell these things concerning my introduction to Pokara, because he was a\ntypical Tahitian pedlar, a child in his duplicity, and a fine sample of\nhis race. But Pokara was a child in more ways than one. He was a genuine\nsurvival of the heathen days, and his mind was a veritable repository of\nold legends, star-myths, and the storied history of shadowland. He was a\nmighty actor by nature, and, withal, was level-headed and good-hearted.\nConsequently I never regretted meeting him that evening on the\n\u201cZangwahee\u201d decks, or at any time during my lengthy stay in Papeete.\n\nI recall that, after I left the \u201cZangwahee,\u201d I secured a good position\nas first violinist in the French Presidency orchestra, which I took\nunder my leadership and made into a capital string band. Monsieur le\nPresident allowed me a good salary from the official exchequer, and this\nestablished me firmly on my feet. But, alas for the foolishness of\nunsatisfied youth! I tired of success and went a-wandering. But I must\nadmit, and on my own behalf, that Pokara was at the bottom of that\nbusiness, for I suddenly met him again and got under his pleasing\ninfluence. First, I must say that I was in a somewhat melancholy mood\nthat day. The night before, and by the merest chance too, I had seen the\nlast of the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d crew. I had just emerged from the Presidency\nmidnight ball, my violin in my hand, thinking to go straight home to my\nlodgings (an old hut at the end of the township), for, as I have said,\nit was close on midnight. A glorious full moon was shining over the\npalm-clad mountains as I hurried on; but it so happened that, after all,\nI did not return to my diggings till daybreak. For, as I stared between\nthe huddled spaces of the thick clumps of bamboos, I caught sight of\nsome eight ragged-looking human beings attired in ancient seamen\u2019s\nclothes and antique cheesecutter caps. They turned out to be none other\nthan the \u201cZangwahee\u2019s\u201d crew on their last night ashore. There they were,\nold Hans with vast beard leading the way, Steffan, Olaf, Olwyn, the\ncook, and the rest walking one behind the other in solemn Indian file\nunder the palms, as they made for the nearest caf\u00e9 that sold the\ncheapest and best rum and cognac. And as we all sat together in the\nshanty by the mountains, the hills round Papeete rang with the echoes of\nthe wild sea chanties of an age that I had never known, while they\nyarned and sang and drank solemnly at my expense. Old Joffre, the night\ngendarme, and the sleepless natives came and stood by the caf\u00e9\u2019s\ndoorway, and stared in wonder as those old salts smacked me on the back\nand yelled many lamentations over their farewells. For I had told them\nthat I had decided not to return to the \u201cZangwahee\u201d any more. I was\ntruly sorry to see the last of them. They had admitted me to their\ndistinctive social circle, had initiated me into the poetic art of\nlooking backward into a seemingly remote past, and, above all, they had\nflavoured my soul with a dash of the romance and true poetry of the sea\nthat still wandered on the oceans in the shape of peculiar, old,\ntattooed men, when I was a boy.\n\nBut to resume about Pokara. After leaving those old salts, I happened to\nbe strolling beneath the coco-palms by Motoa beach, a lonely spot by the\nlagoons outside Papeete. I was standing by the wooden-columned portico\nof a forest shanty listening to the tuneless chuckling of the\nblue-winged parakeets, when I was startled by seeing a handsome, silent\nfigure standing beneath a palm tree. It was alive, for the full dark\neyes blinked as they stared towards the mountains. The magnificently\ncurved shoulders were squared to their full width, a tappa-sash of\ngorgeous colour swathed the waist and was tied bow-wise at the left hip,\nthe tasselled end flung gracefully over the right shoulder. The figure\nexactly resembled a bronze statue. The left knee was bent slightly\nforward, and one hand was on the chin as the eyes stared in deep\nmeditation. The pose was perfect. Had a handsome Greek statue suddenly\nstepped down from its pedestal and gripped my hand in friendship I could\nnot have been more astonished. That figure was none other than old\nPokara, shorn of his cumbersome merchandise and clad in the full\nfestival costume of ancestral chiefdom. His eagle-like eyes had seen me\ncoming down the orange groves!\n\nThe old chief bent forward on one knee, and, seizing my hand, pressed it\nfervently to his lips. I discovered that the little wooden building by\nthe palms was the residence of a native friend of his, whom he had just\nleft after a visit. For a while we walked together, then at my\nsuggestion we went away over the slopes and retired into a caf\u00e9 and had\na drink. Lord Pokara and I became staunch friends. I found that he was\nlooked upon by all the natives, and by the white settlers too, as a\ncharacter worth knowing. His majestic bearing was not the least of his\nattractive attributes. Though his face was wrinkled into a deep,\nexpressive map by Time\u2019s toiling hand, his terra-cotta-hued shoulders,\nwell greased with coco-nut oil, were as smooth as a youth\u2019s. His thick\nhead of hair was undoubtedly grey; but Pokara was \u201cup to snuff,\u201d and had\ncheckmated Time\u2019s tell-tale pigment by dying his locks to a golden hue\nwith strong coral lime. He had evidently been a gay cavalier in his\nearlier days, for I observed that when the picturesque Tahitian maids\npassed us on the forest track, all chanting their _himines_ (legendary\nmelodies), he returned their coquettish glances without stint,\nnegligently tossing his shoulder-sash. Nor must we blame old Pokara for\nhis love of sensuous beauty, for he was very old then and so must be\nsleeping soundly to-night.\n\n\u201cYou stopper at Papeete?\u201d said he, as we finished our drink and came out\nof the caf\u00e9.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d I replied; and this answer of mine seemed to give him immense\nsatisfaction.\n\nI saw Pokara almost daily after that, and I vow that it was chiefly his\nwondrous personality and its effect on my youthful mind that made me\nleave the Presidency orchestra and take to troubadouring with the old\nTahitian chief.\n\n\u201cYou comer with me and play violin in villages a longer way off, and we\nmake lots of money,\u201d said he one day, after I had been down at his\nprimitive homestead. Then he began to tell me _Arabian Nights_ tales\nconcerning the riches of the native villages and the wonders to be seen\nin the pagan citadels over the mountains. And so it happened that we\nwent off together. It was a glorious day when I found myself tramping\nwith my violin strung beside me, crossing the palm-clad slopes of Mount\nOrehena, _en route_ for the pagan villages where dwelt great high-caste\nchiefs and chiefesses.\n\nIt seemed like some wild dream of a medi\u00e6val age when I first stood in a\npagan township playing my violin to dark-eyed, dusky houris. They stood\nwith finger to their hushed lips as I played by their bamboo huts and\nPokara sang a weird _himine_. I might say here that Pokara had made me\nmemorize several quaint heathen tunes before we started off on that\nexpedition, as well as telling me monstrous tales about princes and\nchiefs who would cast pearls at my feet as prolifically as one throws\nrice on a happy marriage morn. But, alas! it was not all as rosy as my\nTahitian comrade had painted it. And I thanked Heaven that the expenses\nattached to the r\u00f4le of troubadouring were not over-abundant in those\nglorious climes. Beyond languishing glances from the star-eyed,\ngolden-skinned Tahitian belles, I did not get much out of the adventure;\nbut I must admit that the sight of Pokara, with his tasselled sash flung\ngracefully over his tawny shoulder and a fascinating poetic grin on his\nwrinkled mouth, was something worth sweating across those tropic miles\nfor in far-off Tahiti. I know that Pokara seemed to look upon that trip\nas the time of his life, as he passed round amongst our dusky audiences\nwith his coco-nut-shell collecting-box. Often the old chiefs would\npersuade us to stay the night in the village, so that we might serenade\nthem at their sacred festival rites and wedding ceremonies. And for such\nservices we would receive the highest honours and valuable\ncurios\u2014tappa-cloth, pearl shells, and many things that would make a\nheavy load. Pokara managed to get hold of two large sacks, and, filling\nthem with our presents, had the cheek to ask me to carry one. But this I\npositively refused to do, whereupon Pokara hid his booty in the jungle\ntill such time as he could come back and fetch it.\n\nI think we had been on this South Sea buskin march for about three weeks\nwhen we arrived at a pagan citadel where we had quite an exciting\nadventure,\u2014though, in good truth, we had many adventures that may not be\nrecorded here. One night, after we had been tramping miles through\nbreadfruit forests and by the rugged feet of lines of mountains, we came\nto a pagan citadel called Ta-e-mao. I shall never forget the surprise of\nthe dusky inhabitants as we emerged from beneath the palms and I began\nto play an old Tahitian madrigal, while Pokara wailed out words that I\ndid not understand. I was attired in duck pants and a brass-bound\nmidshipman\u2019s reefer jacket, and had on my head a large, dilapidated\nhelmet hat. As for Pokara, though he was travel-stained and perspiration\nhad washed much of the gold pigment from his ambrosial locks, he was a\nsight fitted to awaken admiration in all hearts. After the inhabitants\nhad rushed from their huts and got over the first surprise of our sudden\nappearance, they were overcome with joy as I played on and Pokara sang.\n\nI don\u2019t exactly know what happened that night in Ta-e-mao, though I do\nknow that the high chiefs and chiefesses treated us both with that\npunctilious etiquette always accorded troubadours in those South Sea\nmedi\u00e6val ages. It appeared that we had arrived on the occasion of a\ngreat festival that was being given in honour of the visit of an aged\nking from one of the islands to the south. He was a remarkable-looking\nold fellow. He had a face like a gnarled tree-trunk carved to resemble a\nman. His teeth were white as snow. He wore side-whiskers and had a large\nseashell tied on to them. He was so stout that, when he went to drink\nout of the festival calabash, the royal attendants laid the receptacle\ndown on the top of his corporation, then bowed and withdrew. He had\nbrought with him his two daughters, or granddaughters, I forget which.\nThey were comely-looking girls. One was even beautiful, according to our\nEuropean ideas of that oft-misused word. Her thick, curly hair was\nartistically adorned with orange blossoms, and her attire consisted of a\nmost attractively woven raiment of tappa-cloth that fell to her knees.\nShe had fine dark eyes, luminous with a golden light, and they might\nwell have fired the imagination of a less bold and outrageous youth than\nmyself. Though I was not aware of it, Pokara well knew that she was\n_taboo-bride_, which means that she had just arrived of age, and, being\na princess of a certain grand old dynasty, was entitled to propose to,\nand accept, the first high chief of royal blood, or whoever might please\nher eyes. In short, my confession is this: I made gallant advances to\nher, and she received them with an abandonment that was boundlessly\nrefreshing and romantic, not only to myself but to the royal assemblage\nof high chiefs and the old king also. One thing will I say in palliation\nof all that I may have done, and that is, that I had not the slightest\nidea that the delicious cooling drink proffered to Pokara and myself\nwith immense liberality was an intoxicating beverage. And I am sure that\nthat drink had a good deal to do with the heathenish doings of Pokara\nand myself and the final episode that night in Ta-e-mao. Her name was\nSoovalao, and it is a positive fact that Soovalao stood before me,\nlifted one dusky arm, and sang a heathen bridal _himine_ to my eyes! The\napplause at this choice of hers was terrific! It is even possible that\nI, in some subconscious way, responded to the princess\u2019s love-tokens and\nmodest caresses. For I distinctly recall that I heard the tribal drums\ncrash forth a mighty _fortissimo con passione_ as I gallantly accepted\nthe beautifully-carved tortoise-shell comb from her hair, kissed her\nhand, and repeated some old Tahitian rite! But alas! in delicate\ncompassion for those who would resent this sad confession, I will draw a\nveil of forgetfulness over the final heathen dance, when I played the\nfiddle and Pokara sang, and it seemed that a thousand dusky beauties of\na phantom forest seraglio somersaulted beneath the moonlit palms!\n\nAt daybreak I awoke. Pokara was stirring beside me.\n\n\u201cHush, O Papalagi, \u2019tis well that we fly at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cFly where?\u201d I said, as I rubbed my eyes and stared.\n\nThen the old chief looked at me, and said:\n\n\u201cO Papalagi, you did accept the princess\u2019s comb, great gift from her\nhair, and the whole tribe have accepted you as great chief!\u201d\n\n\u201cHave they?\u201d said I.\n\nThen, as the dawn\u2019s first bird commenced to sing in the banyans and the\nvillage still slept on, Pokara and I crept forth from our little pagan\nhut, and dived noiselessly into the forest!\n\n\u201cWhat happened? What _did you_ do, O Pokara?\u201d said I, as we camped by a\nlagoon that day, ten miles from that pagan citadel.\n\n\u201cYou no wanter marry princess this day, and go way to \u2019nother island to\nthe south of the setting sun, and Pokara see you no more?\u201d said Pokara.\n\n\u201cUm! so that\u2019s how the wind blows,\u201d I muttered to myself.\n\nIt was after the aforesaid experiences that we decided to return to\nPapeete, and at once set out on our long return journey. Pokara would\nswear terrifically, I know, in his own tongue, as he dropped his huge\nsack of tribal presents and sat on a decayed tree trunk, irritated, as I\nclimbed the trees in search of birds\u2019 nests. Somehow the old schoolboy\u2019s\ninstinct of bird-nesting _would_ come back to me. It would have made any\ncollector\u2019s eyes shine to see the mighty nests that I found, and the\nrichly-hued splashed cockatoos\u2019, parakeets\u2019, and strange tropic birds\u2019\neggs that I discovered. Most of them were too far advanced in\nfertilization to \u201cblow out\u201d; but, still, I secured a few fine specimens\nthat had hard shells and would not easily break.\n\nOne night, just as we had made up our beds of moss and fern grass by a\nbelt of mangroves, and Pokara was telling me his old legendary stories,\nwe were both startled by seeing a strange apparition step out of the\nforest. It was a fine moonlight night. Pokara leapt to his feet as I\nbravely leapt _behind_ him! At first I thought it was a heathen god. But\nI discovered that the peculiar being was real enough, for It wore ragged\nside-whiskers, large loose pantaloons held up by a belt, and a\ntremendous wide-brimmed hat that had nothing spiritual-looking about it.\nIt was a derelict sailor.\n\n\u201cWhat oh, shipmate!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat oh!\u201d I responded, as the stranger gave a loud guffaw and roared\nout:\n\n\u201cDamn me blasted whiskers, where ther \u2019ell you sprung from?\u2014a wirelin\ntoo!\u201d he added, as he stared down at my fiddle.\n\nOn hearing all that we chose to tell him, he winked, and told us that he\nhad knocked the skipper of his ship down, and had made a bolt from\nPapeete to save being placed in irons.\n\nHe _did_ keep us alive that night, I must admit. He had a large flask of\nwhisky in his pantaloons and plied himself from it liberally. And the\nway he sat by us that night and sang awful songs was something\nextraordinary and thrilling. He seemed to be unable to sleep, and every\ntime I dozed off he caught me a whack on the back and said:\n\n\u201cWake up, yer young b\u2014\u2014!\u201d\n\nAt daybreak he informed us that he must make tracks, as he wanted to\nslip down to the coast and stow away on one of the trading schooners\nthat traded between the Marquesas group and Tahiti. I think that we were\nabout three days\u2019 slow journey from Papeete when he left us. The last I\nsaw of him was when his big boots crashed though the forest scrub,\nmaking the parrots rise and scream above the giant breadfruit trees, as\nhis herculean figure faded away into the shadows of the wooded depths.\nPokara seemed mighty glad to see him go! I was sorry. I recall that we\ncamped by a large lagoon near the shore that night. It was a glorious\nstarlit sky, and Pokara, who never wearied of telling me his wondrous\nstories and old legends as we camped by those high sea ways, sat there\nby the mountains and told me a very fascinating legend. I saw his eyes\nbrighten as the tale he told revived the legendary atmosphere of his\nyouth.\n\n\u201cYou see stars\u2014tips of light up there in sky?\u201d said he, as I lit my pipe\nand prepared to listen.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said I, as I looked up at the heavens and saw, millions of miles\nbeyond his dark, pointing finger, a small constellation of stars, six in\nall\u2014two very bright ones, and the remainder stars of about the fourth\nmagnitude.\n\n\u201cYou liker know, O Papalagi, who those stars are, why they get in sky\nand stop up there?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed I would!\u201d I responded.\n\nThen the old pagan astronomer sighed deeply, and proceeded:\n\n\u201cTousands and tousands of moons ago, big canoe come from Isles that am\nin the setting sun. As big canoe get near Papeete, the win\u2019 blew and\nblew. Then the _moani_ (sea) jump and jump and push canoe on the reefs;\nbottom of canoe fall out and sailors all go bottom of sea! One great\nchief did try to keep life that belonger him, and so he not sink for a\nlonger time; but then he too go bottom. But, though he go to bottom of\nocean, he no die dead. It was then that he look round bottom of sea and\nfeel much worried; big place, all \u2019lone. Then he call out: \u2018Me great\nchief Ora Tua am here at bottom of sea\u2014where am gods?\u2019\n\n\u201cIt so did happen that goddess Tarioa, who sat at her cave door weaving\nthe sunsets, seaweed, and the hairs of dead women to make mats for gods\u2019\nfeet, look suddenly round cave door\u2019s corner and see great chief Ora Tua\nlying on floor of ocean. Her eyes did shine, for he, too, look \u2019andsome\nchief as he stood up all tangled in the sunset. For you must know that\nthe sun was sinking just same time as canoe bottom was knock out on\nreefs.\n\n\u201cWhen goddess Tarioa saw Ora Tua, she put her hand to eyes and stare\nlonger while to see so nice chief, chief who had belonger world \u2019way up\n\u2019bove sea floor. She slowly creep out of cave, and while Ora Tua was\nlooker \u2019nother way, she catch hold of his hair and pull \u2019im outer of the\nsunset. As he stand before her, his face and form all shining with\ngolden fire and sunlight that once shine over this world, she say, \u2018Ora\nTua, you are \u2019andsome chief!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen Ora Tua look at goddess Tarioa, and answer nice things \u2019bout the\ngoddess\u2019s face, and he say, \u2018Oh, who are you, so beautiful under the\nsea?\u2019 Then no time am waste between them, they faller in love! Big day\ngods and Atua (Thunder-god), the god who open door to let out kind sun\nin morning and tattoo sky by night, peep through crack in that big cave\nand say, \u2018Oh, dear! Dear me! goddess Tarioa am gone now and kiss that\nOra Tua, a dead chief who am not _tapu_, but am mortal who once live up\nin world by the sea.\u2019\n\n\u201cIt was then that big gods all rush out of caves and run after goddess\nTarioa and Ora Tua, so that they may not kiss again. But so big were\ntheir shoulders, all moving alonger underneath ocean water, that it make\nbig waves tumble about up on sea beneath the stars; and so \u2019nother canoe\nthat was filled with nicer Tahitian maidens knock on reefs and go to\nbottom of sea too!\n\n\u201cThe gods were so pleased that the dead Tahitian girls so pretty all\nstand before them, that they forget all about wicked goddess Tarioa and\nchief Ora Tua.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat happened then, Pokara?\u201d said I, as the chief licked his lips and\nlooked up towards the starlit skies in deep meditation. And he continued\nin this wise:\n\n\u201cWell, longer time after Ora Tua kiss goddess, she had two children same\ntime!\u201d\n\n\u201cTwins?\u201d said I, as I laughed, and Pokara vouchsafed a solemn smile.\n\n\u201cThe gods of shadowland were terrible angry: they stamp feet till world\nshake. It was terrible thing for goddess Tarioa to give forth in birth\ntwo mortal children!\n\n\u201cGoddess Tarioa know this much, so she cry and cry out: \u2018O great gods,\ngiver unto me nice sweet milk for my two _strikas_ (children)!\u2019 for her\ngrief was mucher, since goddess do have no bosoms.\n\n\u201cThe gods did all look through the big ocean water like great faces\nlooking through white man\u2019s image glass; they looker terrible angry at\nTarioa and say: \u2018Your babies wanter milk?\u2014why am this?\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd Tarioa did hang her head to her bosomless bosom, where the little\nones did move their mouths and fingers in much sorrow. For a moment the\ngods did look in wonder at the children, then they said: \u2018O Tarioa,\nsince thy children are mortal, they must die!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the god who tattoos the skies by night look out of the great Ink\nof Night, and say: \u2018Is it well, O great Atua, to kill these children?\nAre they not of those who gaze on the great blue ways as my finger,\ntoiling brightly, tattoos the stars?\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd so did it happen that one god did pray for Tarioa and her children.\nSo they no kill Tarioa, but they run after her and drive her to the far\nnorth-west of big ocean floor till she come to the shores! And then she\ndid run up into the world of sunlight, and standing on the shore did\nsay: \u2018Oh, how nicer a world!\u2019\n\n\u201cAs she look up at nice trees all blowing and singing in win\u2019 and saw\nabove the trees the kind blue sky, she look so beautiful that\n_kamoka-bird_ (evening-nightingale) fly out of big forest by the sea and\nsit on her head. It sang and flutter its wings as its feet get much\nentangle in goddess\u2019s hair. Then it hopped down on her shoulder, and try\nmucher to poke _stalos_ (fireflies) in babies\u2019 mouths as they cry and\ncry for milk.\n\n\u201cBut still they cry and cry. Fireflies no good! Then Tarioa very sad, so\nshe call out. \u2018O god of Rain, Ora, Tane, Maker-of-flowers and birds and\nnicer things, I have sin in thy sight, but now I do offer prayer. I\nwill, O gods, be as sacrifice to thy altars, and my children shall\nworship thee if they do live.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe great god Tane, hearing her prayer, did walk out of forest. Seeing\nso beautiful a goddess before his eyes, he say: \u2018You wanter food, milk\nfor babies?\u2019 Then he put forth his big hand and held babies up on tip of\none finger\u2014and looker much pleased! He then say: \u2018Your children, O\ngoddess of sin, may grow up beautiful through having so nicer a goddess\nmother; they might have light of the great gods, my vassals, in their\nhearts.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen as the babies cry, god Tane turn in great hurry to a palm tree\njust by. He touch the top, that was \u2019gainst sky, with his finger, and\nlo! out sprang a bunch of ripe coco-nuts! Then he touch shell and so\nmake soft holes. And then he place babies\u2019 mouths to the holes so that\nthey could drink of the nicer sweet milk. He then turn to goddess\nTarioa, and touch her breast, and her bosoms did grow\u2014not two bosoms,\nbut four. So did she, being a great goddess and loved by Tane, have four\nnipples.\n\n\u201cSo did goddess Tarioa become mortal. Her children grew up and did have\nmore children who do ever have a far-away look in their eyes when they\nstare towards the setting sun. For you must know that they are _tapu_\nchildren, and live on the Isles that are far to the north-west. And\nlong, long ago, goddess Tarioa did go \u2019way to shadowland that is far up\nin the sky. And it is up in the sky that her eyes did stop and still\nstop as she ever watches by night over her children.\u201d\n\nSaying the foregoing, Pokara pointed up to the constellation of six\nstars to the far north-west, and said:\n\n\u201cPapalagi, there she is!\u2014those two bright stars are her eyes and the\nfour pale little stars am her nipples.\n\n\u201cSo you see, O Papalagi, why all the children of the islands \u2019way to\nnorth-west are _tapu_ (sacred), for they are the children of the\nchildren who did once drink tapu-milk from the bosom of the stars.\u201d\n\nAs Pokara finished, he looked intently up at the heavens. And as I too\nlooked up and saw the two bright stars, and the accompanying smaller\nstars twinkling out there, far-off in the clear night sky, I understood\nhow wonderful the universe must have appeared to the old heathens of\nmany ages ago. I could not laugh over Pokara\u2019s story, as we sat there by\nthe forest lagoons. I must confess that I too felt some weird\nfascination for his heathen world. And, as the old chief laid his weary\nhead down on the forest floor and the winds sang mournfully in the\nmangroves, I looked up towards the sky and strangely fancied that I saw\nthe beautiful goddess Tarioa watching from the night-heavens amongst the\nstars, watching over her lost children. Then I laid my head down on my\npillow of gathered moss and tried to sleep. As I watched the moon slowly\nclimbing the blue vault of space over the forest height, Pokara\u2019s deep\nbass snores broke gently through my meditations. After a while I gazed\non the sleeping chief\u2019s face and fancied he looked like some tattooed\nmummy who had lain there in its scented swathings beside me for possibly\na thousand years. It was at that precise moment that my eyes spied a\nbright spot that shone like a vast jewel under the distant ivory nut\npalms. It was a small forest lagoon that I had not observed before. I\nwas not as surprised as one might suppose, when the water stirred and a\nshock-head of glistening hair protruded and two sparkling eyes peered at\nme. I could hardly believe my own eyes as the head rose higher and a\nbeautiful form slowly emerged from the silent depths. She was a\ngoddess-like creation of wondrous beauty; the glistening waters ran from\nher tresses down below her thighs as she gazed upon me. She was not more\nthan twelve yards away.\n\n\u201cThe wonders of the South Seas have no end,\u201d thought I, as with finger\nto her lips she beckoned to me and came gliding towards me on tiptoe. I\ninstinctively understood her meaning. In a moment I obeyed. Jumping to\nmy feet, I clutched my violin and followed her. I heard the eerie rustle\nof her shadowy raiment, as her feet, pattering like rain on palm-leaves,\nsped softly beside me. Then we came to the sea. It was a wild, solitary\nspot. Only the tiny whirl of the incoming waves broke the moonlit\nstillness that dwelt at the feet of the mountains which rose like mighty\nsentinels to the north-west. Taking me by the hand, she led me out to\nthe edge of the promontory. As I stood there staring on the strange\ngreenish hue of the sea-line, I realized that I was standing on the most\nsolitary point of the earth. Then, as gracefully as possible, I did\nexactly as she bade me\u2014sat down in the large bowl of moonlight she had\nmysteriously placed there. And, so seated, I lifted my violin to my chin\nand played a weird melody, such a melody as a troubadour might well play\nto a beautiful enchantress. It was all real enough, no dream at all. I\neven touched myself. \u201cNo mistaking me!\u201d I mumbled. Then I gazed on the\nsky, and observed that the stars swam like goldfish across the midnight\nblue. I knew that Pokara still lay fast asleep in the forest shadows,\nlittle dreaming of the strange visitant who had lured me from his side.\nIn some strange way I realized how envious he would have been, could he\nhave seen me sitting there in that bowl of moonlight playing my violin.\nHe, I knew, always _would_ think the magic of things was wholly on his\nside and not on mine; and there I was, being strangely favoured by the\ngods of the present reality, whereas Pokara had to dive far back into a\nheathen past ere he realized such wonders as I realized that very night.\nAnd still I played on, as the maid danced in a way that surely none had\never seen before. It did not seem at all strange when she leaned forward\nand sang into my ears the melodious old English ballad \u201cThe Mistletoe\nBough\u201d; and while I played a tender staccato on my violin the waves\nwailed a wistful obligato _con anima espressione_, as they rippled on\nthe moonlit coral reefs.\n\nSuddenly the maid, who had been dancing with her hands raised, stayed\nthe silent trippings of her feet and fell on one knee before me. In my\nfinest Hans Andersen style, I took her hand and listened to her\npleading. My heart beat rapidly, I know, as she said in accents soft and\nlow:\n\n\u201cO pale-faced troubadour from the western seas, come! Follow me!\u201d\n\n\u201cFancy this being the end of my wanderings in the southern seas!\u201d I\nmuttered deep within my soul, as she knelt there on the promontory\u2019s\nedge and gazed into my eyes in a final mute appeal. Then I rose to my\nfeet. I well knew that many men had risked their all for the sake of the\nlight of witchery in a woman\u2019s eyes. Perhaps she observed my hesitation,\nfor, as she gazed on me, I saw her eyes blink, and, lo! I got one\nsplendid glimpse of the stars that shone in their liquid depths. Nor\ncould I help myself, as, standing there, I touched her lips with my own\nthrice before I took the final plunge. I instinctively placed my violin\nunder my coat so that it would not get wet. Once more I looked up at the\nsky. Then we both dived noiselessly into the ocean and faded away into\nthe depths of a great silence.\n\nI opened my eyes. Pokara was still beside me, fast asleep. Only the\npassionate song of the _O Le Mao_, high up in the breadfruits just\noverhead, disturbed the silence of the forest as I stared up at the\nstars. Then in some vague longing I turned over and tried to sleep, so\nthat I might catch up the thread of that dream again.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                      CHAPTER III. POKARA\u2019S STORY\n\n        Pokara tells me how the first Idol came to be\n        Worshipped.\n\n\nWHEN I opened my eyes, the morning parrots were wheeling away in\nscreaming droves over the slopes. Pokara was already awake and busy\ncooking yams for our breakfast on a little fire in the open.\n\n\u201cGood-morning, O mighty Pokara!\u201d\n\nPokara, who loved to be addressed thus, saluted me in his fascinating\ntheatrical style.\n\n\u201cDid we travel together under the _moani ali_ (sea) last night, and\nwatch a beautiful goddess walk the midnight skies with stars shining in\nher hair, comrade?\u201d said I, as a bird flew out of the sunrise, pouring\nforth passionate melody in its rapture of the awakening day over our\nwide bedroom floor and the sculptural beauty of our vast, columned\nportico\u2014the mountain gaps high over the forest slopes. For answer Pokara\nsaid:\n\n\u201cYou taster nicer this, O Music Man of long fiddle-stick!\u201d\n\nIt was good! Pokara was an estimable cook, as well as being a good\ncompanion. I was a connoisseur in the derelict companion line. I had\ntravelled across the bushlands, isles, and seas with melancholy old men\nwho mumbled in their beards; jolly old men with big red noses; soppy,\nan\u00e6mic-faced youths; lean, cynical men; scraggy, long-necked\nDon-Quixote-like beings; religious maniacs; atheists with sad eyes;\nglorious old liars crammed full of romantic notions; Homeric men who\nwould have been knighted by kings and loved by princesses in another\nage, but alas! hanged in this new age where they slept with one eye ever\nopen. I had even met derelict white women on my travels\u2014some in rags,\ndelicate lyrics of sorrow that only God knew the truth about; others,\nwomen who wore virgin moustaches and swore so vilely that the pretty\nbrown maid from Malaboo hung her modest head as she ran off into the\nforest to hide for shame that a woman should swear so! And,\nnotwithstanding this motley collection who had accompanied me on my\ntravels, Pokara was no mean second to the best of them!\n\nI recall that we were both tired out when we camped by the sea that day\nbefore travelling on in the cool of evening. For we were within sound of\nthe native villages and the outskirts of Papeete. Pokara made a hasty\nmeal of cooked fish from the lagoons. As we sat there, the ocean\nresembled some mighty glass mirror, so calm was the evening. But at\ntimes the water bubbled, was slightly fretted into feathery foams, as\nthough something moved beneath the surface.\n\n\u201cYou see that on water out there,\u201d said Pokara, pointing to the\nmovement.\n\n\u201cYes, I do,\u201d said I, wondering what on earth Pokara could make out of\nsuch an ordinary movement of the ocean.\n\n\u201cYou know, Papalagi, that mighty gods walk \u2019bout under sea?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, yes, I\u2019ve heard so,\u201d I said.\n\nThen he continued:\n\n\u201cBig god walk under sea. He got big shoulders, wide as mountains, and in\nhis large head of wonderful hair he stick white feathers. And, as big\ngod Atua Mara move along ocean floor, feathers in his hair stick out top\nroof of the sea, for he always walk about when _matagi_ (storm) going to\nblow.\u201d\n\nSaying this, Pokara became excited, and, true enough, at the spot where\nhe pointed, the water on the glassy surface trembled, up poked a\nfeather, as though some mighty god really strode beneath the sea. Pokara\ncontinued:\n\n\u201cAtua Mara is great shark-god now; but he once live on land, like me,\nlike you. He once sit under trees and sang music to the great god of\nLight. He only one on world. No other mans, no womans, he quite \u2019lone,\nall-e-samee, he \u2019appy god. Sometimes he see other gods in sky when no\nclouds hide them. Once when win\u2019 blow, he looker up in sky and saw great\ngod Papo walking \u2019cross sky, searching \u2019mong his bright moons and stars,\nfor he wanter find gods who had disobey him! Suddenly his angry eyes did\nflash out the lightnings; his voice rumbled the great thunders in\nmountains, for he did find Taroa, the god of Jealousy, hiding behind\ncloud!\n\n\u201cPapo, the Master-of-all-gods, hold \u2019im tight, and struggle longer time\nwith Taroa. But all-e-samee it was no good. Papo throw big worlds at\nTaroa and lift up ocean in hollow of his hands.\n\n\u201cTaroa fight all-e-time like brave chief. Then he fall dead, and was so\nbig that one of his dark feet did stretch right \u2019cross skies! Still, god\nPapo throw worlds and oceans at his dead body, and the waters of oceans,\nand the worlds that the victorious god still threw, rolled down the\nflanks of the dead god, and down the skies like big rains. So did worlds\nfall, and isles come on the seas, and waters of the seas grow bigger and\nbigger.\u201d\n\nAfter this digression into the wonders of shadowland, and the reason\nthat so many isles were scattered across the seas, and the wherefore of\nthe ocean\u2019s deepness, the old Tahitian continued:\n\n\u201cAtua Mara see great fight \u2019tween gods, and laugh much, for he like see\ngod Papo win battles.\n\n\u201cOne day, as Atua Mara sit under breadfruit trees eating sweet potatoes,\ntaro, and more nicer things, he feel lonely. He no one speak to. No man,\nno _wahinee_ (woman), no children cry or laugh. So he look at sky, and\ncall out to Papo, the Master-of-all-gods, and say: \u2018I, Atua Mara, am\nlonely. Me want \u2019nother to sit with me on this world for all the\nthousands of moons that I sit in nice sunlight.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe Master-of-all-gods hear Atua Mara\u2019s call, and look out of sky with\nangry eye, and say: \u2018O Atua Mara, you got all world for yourself, big\nforest trees, oceans that sing you when win\u2019s blow, yet you want more?\u2019\n\n\u201cAtua Mara look up in sky to where voice came from, and answered:\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes, trees sing to mees, but their songs, like mees, sound lonely.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Very well,\u2019 answered god Papo, \u2018as you not pleased with my gifts, I\nshow Atua Mara how to get someone who will sing you all time!\u2019\n\n\u201cSaying this, he told Atua Mara what to do.\n\n\u201cThat same night Atua Mara go creep into forest and pull off nice\nscarlet flower from flamboyant tree. Then, doing what great god Papo\ntell him, he cut his side with sharp shell, and take out little bone\nfrom his body, and wrap the flamboyant flower round it. Then he go down\nshore to get lump of soft red clay. This he shape slowly with his\nfingers. At last the lump of clay did begin look like what Atua Mara\u2019s\nheart desired and what he dreamed about before he found out that he felt\nlonely.\u201d\n\nSaying this, Pokara looked up at me and said:\n\n\u201cYou must know, Papalagi, that when he was finish and all nicer done and\nsmooth\u201d (here Pokara pointed to his own frame and ran one finger down\nhis thighs), and, continuing, said in a hushed voice, \u201cAtua Mara had\nmade the clay figure of the first womans!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, now!\u201d said I; and Pokara, observing my interest, breathed deeply\nand stroked his chin, then proceeded in this wise:\n\n\u201cWhen Atua Mara had placed the little bone, which he had carefully wrap\nup in the flower, in the side of the clay figure, he did take the clay\nwomans and stand it on its feet \u2019gainst a straight coco-palm stem. Doing\nthis, he very careful that clay figure\u2019s face was turned towards big\nwaters of the west, where sun say good-bye to mountain-tops, before it\ngo down through door of shadowland. That day, next day, and after days,\nAtua Mara did come and kneel before the clay womans which he had make.\nHe look upon it and dance softly with joy when he notice that, each time\nhe come, the light of each sunset had shone plopberly (properly) on clay\nfigure. The clay get softer, and, where he had make small holes beneath\nclay womans\u2019 brow, the eyelids did begin to sprout dark lashes. As hair\ngrew and grew, falling down figure\u2019s shoulders, he so pleased that he\nrun \u2019bout forest calling out praise to Master-of-all-gods. One day he\ncome at sunset and touch the clay figure. His work did look so nicer\nthat he touch it with his lips, and, Masser, it was quite warm! The lips\nhad turned like to red coral and were curved like the leaf of the palm.\nHe notice that the figure\u2019s clay bosom was smooth, and when he did touch\nit, it heaved soft, like the moving of deep, still water when stars are\nimaged. Once more he placed his lips to the figure\u2019s mouth. Ah, Masser,\nthat was the first kiss god-mans ever gave unto womans. It was then Atua\nMara gaze deeply at the clay figure\u2019s face and kiss where he had made\nholes, which had swollen and turned into soft eyelids. He kiss again and\nyet again, and the eyelids quivered, and, lo, burst softly apart till\nthey caught and mirrored the light of the setting sun. So pleased was\nAtua Mara, that he lift his hands to sky and no speak\u2014for the eyes\ncommenced to move! It was then that the clay limbs trembled, the mouth\nopen and speak, saying: \u2018Oh, Atua Mara, who am I, here in the kind\nsunlight?\u2019\n\n\u201cIt was then, Masser, when first woman spoke, that the win\u2019s sang a\nlong-away-off song in the breadfruits of the sacred groves; the shadows\ndid fall over the mountains, the stars turn pale in the lagoons; and\nbefore the moon crept back into the halls of Poluti, at dawn, it look\nback across mountains with big red face; then, with hand over its eyes\nfor shame, crept back home through the big door to tell the\nMaster-of-all-gods what had happened in the great world outside.\u201d\n\nOn saying this, the Tahitian gazed seriously up into my face and said:\n\n\u201cAh, Masser, you must know that Atua Mara had knelt before his figure of\nclay and worshipped it! Next night the great God-of-the-skies did look\nout from behind cloud and say aloud, \u2018Atua Mara, where art thous?\u2019 The\ngod\u2019s voice did echo and rumble across the mountains of this world, and\nthen did fade into big silence. Then the voice did come again with\ngreater anger, and Atua Mara see big figure move \u2019bout on misty\nmoonlight of all the sky as someone tramp \u2019bout shadowland.\n\n\u201c\u2018Atua Mara, where art thous?\u2019 came again like big echo. It was then\nthat Atua Mara, who was half-mortal, crept out of the thicket of bamboos\nwhere he had hid at the first sound of the angry voice of the sky. He\nmuch \u2019fraid, for he know well what he done! His head did hang down with\nmuch shame, like unto great chief when he lose big battle. He answer\ngreat god like unto this: \u2018I am here; what you wanter? Me do nothings, O\ngreat God-of-the-sky!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the great god Papo did answer, \u2018I give you all you wanter; you did\nask for nice songs and one mans to speak to, and now you have gone and\nmake figure different to my wishes, and worshipped it instead of worship\nme! For this great sin, O Atua Mara, I banish you from happiness of\nsunlight! You shall move \u2019bout under great ocean for ever, and your face\nbe like unto the big face of the grey shark.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt hearing what the god did say, poor Atua Mara creep back ashamed into\nforest to see womans he had made. As he did creep out of thicket of\nbamboos, the womans did much shriek, for Atua Mara\u2019s face was like unto\nthe cruel face of a shark. But, because Atua Mara had made the womans\nhimself and had kissed her as the God-of-the-sky not wish, she was kind\nand tender; and, though Atua Mara look much ugly with \u2019im face like\nshark, she sorry and love \u2019im still. So they had many children. Then one\nstormy night, when gods were angry, Atua Mara die like all men must die.\nWhen he was dead, his spirit did rush out of his body and run down into\nthe sea so that he could roam the ocean. And so did he become the\nshark-god.\u201d\n\nSaying this, Pokara looked at me and said:\n\n\u201cAnd so, Papalagi, that is why some childrens of the isles to the\nnorth-west have the cruelty of the shark in their hearts, for they are\nthe descendants of the clay-womans that Atua Mara made. And Atua Mara is\nnow one great jealous god. He ever walk \u2019bout bottom of seas trying to\ncatch girls and mans so that he can take them to his cave and make them,\nlike him, unhappy.\u201d[3]\n\nFootnote 3:\n\n  Some authorities seem to give different versions of the South Sea\n  creation legends. One legend says: The islands were originally a large\n  shark. Another, that the god Atua Mara had temples wherein the priests\n  made sacrifices to his honour; but, being dissatisfied with so much\n  worship, he pulled the temples down, threw them all into the sea, and\n  with the rubbish that they made turned them all into islands. Yet\n  another legend: The great god Taroa was the first god of the skies: he\n  laboured so much over creation that the sweat falling from his body\n  made all the deep seas.\n\nAs Pokara finished his story the shadows deepened over the mountains. We\nheard the voices of the natives who were fishing in the bay at the foot\nof the mountains. Then we scattered the red ashes of our camp-fire, for\nwe still had a mile to journey ere we entered Papeete. And as we walked\naway from that spot we looked back over our shoulders, and I distinctly\nobserved the feathers of the shark-god\u2019s hair poking out of the ocean\u2019s\nglassy expanse. Pokara sighed; and as the first stars crept out of the\ndeep velvet skies we faded away along the shore track, on the last mile\nof our troubadouring pilgrimage.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                        CHAPTER IV. I MEET ALOA\n\n        The Hut in the Mountains\u2014A Modern Fairy\u2014The\n        Escape\u2014Love\u2019s Hospitality\u2014The Stranger from the Infinite\n        Seas!\n\n\nIN this chapter I will tell a true fairy story that is directly\nconnected with Pokara\u2019s and my own experiences. Indeed, I imagine it to\nbe one of the most realistic fairy-tales that it was my lot to hear and\nwitness in its most full-blooded stage; I also deem that it will be\ninteresting, in an educational sense, to students of modern mythology,\nsince it quaintly distinguishes the difference between pre-Christian\nmythology and the materialized Goddesses and Creation myths of to-day,\nthrough being modified by European influences.\n\nAbout a week after my troubadouring expedition with Pokara, I sat by the\nold chief\u2019s side wondering what new venture his erratic personality\nwould thrust upon me. My comrade, clad in his finest attire of\ndistinguished chiefdom, had puckered his brows, and his eyes had that\nlook about them which plainly told me that he was about to spring some\nnew surprise upon me. Suddenly he said:\n\n\u201cMasser, you play nicer moosic, therefore am to be trusted; I knower\nthat you feel kinder towards good mans who am in trouble and so no tell\nwhat you no tell and so make troubles!\u201d\n\n\u201cNot I, Pokara, old pal,\u201d I responded, though I felt I was no apostle of\nsuch mighty virtues any more than was Pokara. Without hesitation the\naged Tahitian began to insinuate by gentle hints that he wished me to go\noff with him to see a dear friend who lived in the mountains that formed\na grand background to the semi-pagan city, Papeete. Before the screaming\ncoveys of parakeets, that were bound seaward, had faded on the horizon,\nwe were off.\n\nIt was a long, hot walk as I tramped by Pokara\u2019s side and we threaded\nour way through the deep jungle growth. I noticed that the old chief\noften stopped and looked warily over his shoulder, to see if we were\nobserved as we crept along the winding tracks which ever led upward like\nsome \u201cExcelsior\u201d of Nature\u2019s ambitious loveliness that would climb to\nscenes of ever-increasing beauty. Indeed, as we climbed the scenery\nbecame perfect: distant landscapes dotted with waving palms, chestnut,\nbreadfruit, and strange trees painted with rich crimson and delicate\npigments of Nature\u2019s voluptuous art, ever coming into fullest view. Far\naway, visible between rugged descents and sombre clefts, stretched the\nsapphire-blue miles of the Pacific Ocean. Seemingly no human habitation\nexisted in those rugged leagues of mountain solitude. Emerging from the\nthickets of giant bamboo, we came to a space on a plateau, and there, to\nmy astonishment, I found myself standing before two small, yellow bamboo\nhuts. I stared in amazement, and Pokara rubbed his hands in childish\ndelight at seeing the wonder my face expressed. I half fancied he had\nled up to one of the enchanted homesteads of the fairies that he had\nsworn had existed in those mountains in his youth. Death-like silence\nprevailed. Even the giant mahogany trees ceased to sigh to the inblown\nbreath of the distant seas, as I gazed on the magical scene before me.\nPokara had uttered a weird kind of cry: \u201cAloa! Aue!\u201d The spell was\nbroken, for the first hut\u2019s little door was suddenly opened, and out\nsprang the prettiest fairy-maid it has ever been my lot to meet. She\nstared at me in a half-frightened way for a moment, then said:\n\n\u201cYorana, Monsieur!\u201d\n\nI lifted my old helmet hat, then in my embarrassment dropped my\nviolin-case on her bare toes, and murmured, \u201cYorana, Mademoiselle.\u201d\n\nThe fright went from the maid\u2019s eyes when Pokara said:\n\n\u201cAh, he all right; he nicer Englese boy, play moosic, and kind to\nPokara.\u201d\n\nOn hearing this, the Spanish-Tahitian girl, for such I discovered she\nwas, looked up at me in a most bewitching manner, and, smiling, revealed\na set of invaluable pearly teeth. Her bright, far-away-looking eyes cast\na spell over me. In my confusion I dropped my own and, finding myself\nstaring at her bare, graceful ankles and knees, I blushed, and once more\nlooked her straight in the face, as Pokara chuckled like a child.\n\nShe was clad in true Tahitian style, but with a subtle decorous\npicturesqueness such as a poet, sensitive to the delicate requirements\nof his art, might have chosen as a special attire for her after deep\nmeditation\u2014a meditation that was essentially needful, as one will soon\nsee. Bare to about an inch below the knees and again from the\nexquisitely shaped throat to half an inch below the bosom\u2019s topmost\ncurve, her figure was revealed with a delicacy that enchanted me. She\nappeared like some half-serious, half-wicked goddess who would lure,\nwould tempt her lover, and turn to stone at the first hint of mortal\npassion. But she was not a goddess nor a beautifully chiselled\nterra-cotta statue. Her eyes blinked to the buzz of the forest flies.\nLike tiny flashes of wriggling lightning in two miniature circles of the\nmidnight tropic skies, those orbs twinkled as the honey-bee clung to the\ncrown of her forest-like hair. And\u2014alas for human weakness!\u2014there was\nthat about her which told one that, for all her delicate loveliness, she\nwas imbued with the frailty of mortals.\n\nJust as I was thanking my lucky stars that my eyes could dwell on so\nsweet a sight and yet remain in the realms of reality, the spell was\nonce again broken. For the maid called out, \u201cRevy! Awaie! Come!\u201d and at\nonce, as though he had awaited that call, out of the same small hut\nwalked a sun-tanned, handsome young Frenchman! And who was he? I will\ntell you. The young Parisian, standing there before me with staring\neyes, was a convict, a fugitive from _Ill Nou_, the penal settlement of\nNoumea. He was hiding there in the mountains, secure from the lashes of\nthe remorseless _surveillants_, hiding, guarded by the tender protection\nof that beautiful goddess, who was none other than Pokara\u2019s\ngranddaughter! It appeared that Pokara\u2019s son, who had been dead then for\nyears, had married a handsome Spanish woman whom he had saved from a\nwrecked schooner that had gone ashore at Papeete many years ago.\n\nAloa was the one child of this marriage, and she was the one remaining\njoy of Pokara\u2019s long-vanished connubial bliss.\n\nReveire, for so I will call that young Frenchman, had escaped from the\nconvict settlement by stowing away on a schooner bound for Papeete. He\nwas evidently unaware of the schooner\u2019s destination, for Papeete, being\nunder the French, was about the most dangerous place he could have come\nto. Probably this fact made his hiding-place the more secure. Pokara had\nmet the escaped man whilst out on one of the schooners, and had\nimmediately accepted the proffered bribe. And it was whilst he was\nhiding in Pokara\u2019s bungalow that his granddaughter Aloa fell madly in\nlove with the Frenchman, and suggested that he should hide with her in\nthe mountains. It was a blessed union. Reveire was a fine type of\nfellow. It was some crime of passion that had sent him into that\ndreadful exile. From the young Frenchman\u2019s lips I heard many tales of\nhorrors that were perpetrated by the _surveillants_ on the helpless\nconvicts at _Ill Nou_, New Caledonia. Some of those tales seemed\nincredible; but, alas! Reveire\u2019s manner expressed truth too well.\n\nMany times did I visit that magical homestead of the mountains. And many\ntimes, while on tropical nights the stars sighed over the mountain\ntrees, Pokara and I would listen as the exile told us his sorrows, while\npretty Aloa murmured, \u201cAue! Aue!\u201d stroked her lover\u2019s face, and kissed\nhis hand, tears coming into her eyes to think he had suffered so much.\nAs I watched that strange scene of secret domestic grief and happiness,\nPokara touched me gently on the shoulder and whispered:\n\n\u201cAh, Masser, we all good peoples here. For I did fetch priest,\n_kackerlick_ (catholic), for my Aloa\u2019s sake, and he did marry them. He\ngood priest and say nothings, good man he, because he like God and God\nlike him!\u201d\n\nSo spake Pokara, thus giving me this utmost satisfaction of recording\nthe fact that my goddess had entered the holy bonds of matrimony\naccording to the modern mythology of the Christian era.\n\n\u201cWail! O wail! O jug! jug! too ee wailo,\u201d came the plaintive strain of\nthe South Sea nightingale as it serenaded its mate during the intervals\nof my violin-playing. It was no nightingale to Pokara and pretty Aloa;\nit was simply a tiny, feathered cavalier, robed in a crimson [woolly]\ngown of enchantment, singing to its long-dead lover, pouring forth\npassionate melody over old memories of that time ere the gods disguised\nit as a bird, when it was a brave Tahitian chief! Though I had had many\nweird, dream-like experiences in my travels on sea and land, I was\ngreatly impressed by the human note of that forest drama. And, as I\nlistened and watched, drinking in each incident like a child at its\nfirst pantomime, the fragrant odours of the dying forest flowers and\nmellowing mountain fruits, wafted by the warm zephyrs over that secret\nhomestead, made the scene seem strangely dream-like. But it was all real\nenough for, when I placed my violin to my chin and played the strains of\nthe \u201cMarseillaise,\u201d Reveire\u2019s eyes filled with tears over some memory of\nhis far-off _La belle France_ that he would never see again. But thanks\nto the inscrutable kindness of Providence, a small portion of the\nwistful soul of chivalrous France came to him, and all seemed well in\nthe end. For, ere I bade Pokara good-bye, I went with him for a last\ntrip up into the mountains to visit that fairy-like secret homestead.\nReveire had quite forgotten his home-sick sorrows. He was laughing like\na big schoolboy. As for Aloa, she was gazing up into his face, delight\nsparkling in her eyes, as in her arms she held up another little\nFrenchman who was just one week old\u2014and who had bravely crossed the\nInfinite Seas to keep Reveire company.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter losing sight of Pokara, who went on a prolonged visit to some\nnative friends in a neighbouring isle, I secured a position as violinist\nin the Presidency orchestra at Papeete. But, alas! one night when the\nsea wind was moaning in the mountain palms near my wooden homestead, I\nagain heard the call of the wild, and plunged into a life of vagabond\nadventure and madness, as will be seen in the next chapter.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                           CHAPTER V. FAE FAE\n\n        I meet O\u2019Hara\u2014The Emotional Irish Temperament\u2014The\n        Tahitian Temperament\u2014O\u2019Hara and I go\n        Pearl-hunting\u2014Tapee, the Old-time Idol-worshipper.\n\n\nPONDERING over my experiences of idol-worship and my further adventures\nin Tahiti, the incidents connected with the whole matter seem\nsufficiently interesting for me to give the story in detail. Not the\nleast important part of the matter was the headstrong Irish youth, my\ncompanion; indeed, I might say that he was the prime mover in the whole\nbusiness.\n\nFirst, I must say that I can tell the story only by making the facts\nappear like the buffooneries of a South Sea burlesque. Thinking it over,\nI must admit that my own cheek upon this particular occasion was\nenormous and superb! I can recall no other escapade like it, except,\nperhaps, my dangerous adventure with Singa Lorna, the dancing girl, in\nthe heathen monastery at Fiji. Though I can claim the dubious honour of\nhaving arrived on the shores of four continents with three halfpence in\nmy portmanteau and an all-absorbing belief in the generosity of man, of\nhaving been a member of the crew of an old-time blackbirder, and of\nhaving been thrown among the wildest characters found outside the realms\nof fiction, I can recall none who managed to get my head so near the\nguillotine as did the wayward Irishman O\u2019Hara. There was a deal of\nhumour about O\u2019Hara\u2019s personality; it was the humour of romantic youth,\na pathetic humour that is discernible only to the practical onlooker, or\nat the time when the tale is old. In saying humour, I do not refer to\nhumour as defined in the old books of recognized jokes, or the works of\nmany modern humorists, works which, to me, are the saddest, driest books\nin existence; but I mean the humour suggesting poignant laughter,\nflickering in the light of the eyes and rippling on the lips, coming\nlike visible music on the flushed, emotional countenance\u2014the poetry of\nlaughter and tears as suggested in a Mallarm\u00e9 poem.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nI had been some three or four weeks in Papeete when I first met O\u2019Hara,\nthe curly-headed Irishman. I was in the small beach grog-caf\u00e9 near\nPotuo, having a glass of lime-juice at the time. By this, I do not wish\nto infer that I was, or am, a teetotaller: on cold nights at sea nothing\nwarms my blood like a nip of rum. O\u2019Hara introduced himself by giving me\na whack on the back, and then joined with immense gusto in the chorus of\n\u201cKillarney,\u201d which I happened to be performing on my violin. Ah, what a\nvoice he had! mellow and sweet, it vibrated like the strings of a \u2019cello\nin the hands of a Maestro. And, as he lifted his blue eyes and sang on,\nmoving his fingers before him as though he played an imaginary guitar,\nthe Tahitian belles, peeping through the open bar-door, lifted their\ndusky arms in sheer ecstasy as they sighed for \u201cOne fond look from those\nwild eyes.\u201d One maid placed her hands on her hips and, putting forth her\npearly toe-nailed feet in exquisite style, danced a graceful Tahitian\n_himine_. The old shellbacks waxed enthusiastic and pulled their\nwhiskers, as they made critical comments on the dancer\u2019s beauty. I might\nsay here that these dances were wonderful for their restraint and\nartistic movement, quite devoid of the vulgar limb-movements as\nexhibited in European music-halls.\n\nI attribute the almost menacing glance of those Tahitian orbs on the\nCeltic temperament for all that occurred that night. For my Irish friend\novershadowed himself, became one inch taller, and broadened considerably\nin the shoulders, on seeing the impression he had created in the minds\nof those dusky maidens. His deplorable wit brought forth roars of\nlaughter from the assemblage of shellbacks and half-castes who haunted\ntheir presence. Then he ordered a dozen drinks, pressed four plugs of\nship\u2019s tobacco into my hand, and swore that he would die for my sake. I\nreturned the compliment, and told him that I did not wish him to die if\nhe would only consent to sing \u201cKillarney\u201d once more. It was nearly\nmidnight when the inevitable argument arose and the shellbacks and\ntraders took sides. I often wonder how O\u2019Hara and I escaped suffocation\nin the dust of the d\u00e9bris as the empty meat-tubs, the wooden\nbar-screens, and a hundred drinking-mugs got inextricably mixed up in\nthe farewell m\u00eal\u00e9e and wild, insane farewells when true comradeship\nreturned, after the fight, and each man had a last drink and then went\nhis way.\n\nSuch was my first meeting with O\u2019Hara. But I sought his company again.\nIt was at our next meeting that he informed me he knew a native who\ncould tell us where thousands of pearls were deposited. \u201cPal, our\nfortunes are made! Savvy?\u201d I intimated, by a conciliatory nod, that I\ndid savvy. I had heard before, both in Australia and the Islands, of\nsuch vast fortunes in the pearl and nugget line; but I had never found\nthem! The very next day O\u2019Hara introduced me to a weird-looking Tahitian\nchief, who was supposed to know where the pearls were to be found,\nproviding we gave him a sufficiently large bribe. This chief (his name\nwas Tapee), was a most striking-looking old fellow. He was tall and\nfinely built, and looked about sixty years of age. His costume consisted\nof bits of decorated fibre matting swathed about his loins. He wore a\nlarge, cleverly-twisted palm-leaf hat. His face?\u2014well, it was a face!\nI\u2019ve seen thousands of faces in my travels, but never one like his.\nTapee\u2019s face was the essence of faces; it could easily have made fifty\nordinary ones and still possess enough character to make one stare back\nif it passed by in a crowd. The mouth had been finely curved in days\ngone by, but years had withered it, making the lips appear sardonic. The\neyes, once clear as a tropic sky full of stars, had faded into a dim,\nfar-away look, as though Tapee saw some wonderful new day beyond the\npeaks of death\u2014and stared into the beyond with fright! He was a\nfull-blooded heathen, worshipped idols, and believed in dreams and dark\nomens.\n\n\u201cLook at him! What a face!\u201d said O\u2019Hara, as he nudged Tapee in the ribs,\nbent forward, and exploded with laughter! Tapee took O\u2019Hara\u2019s\nboisterousness in good part, even as a compliment, then, swallowing his\nrum, beckoned us both to follow him down to the beach. When we stood\nbeneath the breadfruit trees, Tapee peered about to convince himself\nthat we were unobserved. The shadows of night were falling across the\nrugged mountain slopes behind semi-pagan Papeete city. We could hear the\ntinkling of guitars, mandolines, and zithers coming from the Caf\u00e9\nFran\u00e7aise that stood by the coco-palms near the main street of Papeete.\nThe enchantment of fairy-land was destroyed by the cries of \u201cVive la\nFrance! Sacr\u00e9!\u201d as sunburnt gendarmes gazed, as only Frenchmen can gaze,\ninto the lustrous eyes of the pretty \u201cBelles Tahitians.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wanter lot moneys, great heap pearls, nice Englesman, eh?\u201d said\nTapee.\n\n\u201cOui! oui!\u201d said O\u2019Hara and I in one breath, as we joyously pronounced\nthat French monosyllable.\n\n\u201cWell, Masser, me knowee where tousands of pearls are hidder in lagoon\nnear coast.\u201d Saying this, the old chief looked up artfully and\ncontinued: \u201cBut you give me moneys firster\u2014if I taker you there\nto-mollow?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know that there are pearls in the lagoon?\u201d said I.\n\nOld Tapee\u2019s under lip trembled like a scolded babe\u2019s. I had doubted a\nTahitian\u2019s veracity!\n\n\u201cMe ole mans from heaben times, me knowee ebery think.\u201d\n\n\u201cBegorra, pal, it\u2019s a shame,\u2014don\u2019t! Look at that face! Does it look\ndishonest?\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said, as I gazed reflectively, then handed Tapee my last forty\nfrancs. This made in all eighty francs, for O\u2019Hara had given him a like\namount.\n\nThat same night O\u2019Hara pensioned off for life almost everyone in Old\nIreland. He was sure that Tapee told the truth about those pearls.\n\nAs the sun was setting, we met Tapee, as arranged. \u201cCome on, white\nmans,\u201d said he, as he toddled off. Then he intimated that, before he\ntook us round the coast to the lagoon where the wondrous pearls were, he\nmust first consult someone. O\u2019Hara and I were in a fever of excitement\nas we followed him. It seemed incredible that in a few hours we should\nboth be wealthy men, and that the \u00e9lite of the civilized world would\nfall in humble obeisance on their knees before two such scallawags as we\nwere! But it was no dream. There stood Tapee before us, real enough,\nwisdom and truth inscribed on his tawny wrinkled countenance, as he\nsaid:\n\n\u201cWaiter here, Massers; me back presently, then shower you pearls.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, we\u2019ll wait,\u201d we replied, as, with a chuckle in his dusky throat,\nold Tapee toddled away beneath the palms. We saw him fade away amid the\norange groves. O\u2019Hara and I looked at each other.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he up to?\u201d said I.\n\nIt was a lonely spot. To the right rose the mountains, and below us, far\naway, heaved the ocean, as sleepy winds stirred the forest trees\noverhead.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s follow him!\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\nWithout discussion or hesitation we crept under the coco-palms after\nTapee.\n\nIt seemed as though we had, in some mysterious way, left the civilized\nworld, and with one footstep walked across a thousand years into the\ndark ages. Tapee stood before us, in a space in the forest, waving his\nthin arms and chanting into the lapping wooden ears of a monstrous idol!\nThough the old native was six feet in height, he appeared diminutive as\nhe stood in front of that dilapidated wooden image. Its big, goggling,\nglass eyes seemed to stare right over Tapee\u2019s head, gazing mockingly at\nus! We instinctively held our breath as we stood there exposed to view,\nfor so real did the eyes look that we fancied that It had observed us.\nThen we dodged back into the shadows, for Tapee had started careering\nabout in the frantic capers of some heathen rite.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a heathen idol-worshipper!\u201d whispered my comrade.\n\nThen we received another surprise, for out of the shadows, just by us,\nin response to Tapee\u2019s weird cry of \u201cAwaie! Awaie!\u201d sprang what appeared\nto be a Tahitian fairy figure! It was a native girl. She was dressed up\nin some old heathen-time costume. Her mass of hair was of bronze-gold\ncolour, and fell down in luxuriant waves which streamed over her neck\nand shoulders in attractive contrast to the bright sun-varnished hue of\nher smooth skin. Her tresses were thickly adorned with flowers, and she\nwore a barbarian kind of raiment, the tasseled folds of which reached\ndown to her knees. (It was a style similar to that which I had seen worn\nat the tribal festivals in New Guinea and the Solomon Isles). In a\nmoment she too was careering round the idol in company with old Tapee,\nas she chanted a _himine_.\n\n\u201cO Loa!\u201d whispered Tapee, as he turned about and stared into the forest\nshadows, as though he wondered if we were near enough to hear the girl\u2019s\nloud singing. O\u2019Hara moved forward.\n\n\u201cKeep out of sight; let us see it all,\u201d I whispered, in at the same time\npulling him back by the coat-tail into the shadows. Tapee had commenced\nto dance again. Then the girl fell on her knees before the big image,\nand began to beat her body with her hands in a heathen-like manner.\n\nTo my sorrow Tapee suddenly turned round and observed us peeping from\nthe bamboo thicket. He looked frightened out of his life.\n\n\u201cOh, Masser, you no tell Flenchmans that me worship idols? Me know where\npearls are, and \u2019tis this nicer idol who tell Tapee where pearls are\nfound.\u201d\n\nMy comrade only stared, hardly knowing what the old native was driving\nat, till he continued:\n\n\u201cI come here to ask this idol where pearls are, now I am awake. You\nknow, Masser, that I only dream of pearls first; idol tell all \u2019bout\nafter\u2014savvy?\u201d\n\nThinking of my money, I shouted, and somewhat fiercely I think, \u201cDon\u2019t\nyou know where the pearls are, you old scoundrel? What about the eighty\nfrancs we\u2019ve given you?\u201d I added, as Tapee hung his head, and then said:\n\n\u201cMe get Fae Fae, who am witch-girl, to ask idol where the pearls are,\nand if idol no tell her, well, me give you back your moneys!\u201d\n\nIt all ended in Tapee falling on his knees and saying: \u201cOh, Masser, me\nand Fae Fae be put in calaboose if you tell of us. Me great chief and\nFae Fae is great princess, same blood as Queen Pomare.\u201d\n\nSo spake Tapee, as he pointed to the girl, who stood trembling and\nabashed beside him. After that the old chief took us into his\nconfidence, and we found, from what he told us as we stood there, that\nhe too was related to the Queen and that Fae Fae was his niece. It\nappeared that he had managed to get her under his influence, and so she\noften came out of the palace across the valley, to join Tapee in his\nheathen worship. For a long time the old man wailed into our ears. Then\nwe gathered that Fae Fae was engaged to be married to a high chief named\nTautoa, and that Tapee was very much afraid of this chief.\n\nAll that seemed to concern my Irish comrade was Fae Fae and her fright.\nO\u2019Hara\u2019s manner became quite tender as he repeatedly assured her that we\nshould never say a word to anyone about what we had seen. At this Fae\nFae gave O\u2019Hara a languishing glance, and seemed to look with great\nfavour upon him, notwithstanding that she was engaged to be married to\nthe high chief Tautoa whom Tapee had just told us about.\n\nIn the end we helped Tapee to drag his huge idol into the deeper\nundergrowth and so hide it securely from prying eyes. The old chap was\nso overcome by our friendly manner that he volunteered to refund us part\nof our money. Indeed, I think we got it all back, less thirty-five\nfrancs, which Tapee had spent in the fan-tan bar-room at the Chinese\nquarter at Soloam, Papeete.\n\nSo ended our adventure as far as the pearls were concerned; but it led\nto another very exciting one, as will be seen in the next chapter.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER VI. ABDUCTION OF A PRINCESS\n\n        O\u2019Hara in Love\u2014Fae Fae\u2019s Midnight Elopement\u2014Chased\u2014A\n        Melodramatic Race for Life\u2014The Innocence of\n        Eve\u2014Temptation\u2014The Lost Bride\u2014The Madness of\n        Romance\u2014Outbound for Honolulu.\n\n\nI HAD just returned from an engagement where I had performed violin\nsolos at the French Presidency concert, when I met O\u2019Hara again. I was\nsitting in the wooden caf\u00e9 at Selao at the time.\n\n\u201cWell, what\u2019s the matter now?\u201d I said, as O\u2019Hara greeted me. I noticed\nthat he looked rather mournful.\n\n\u201cPal, I\u2019m not going to be done; I\u2019ve made up my mind to marry the girl\nFae Fae, and be damned to her old nigger chief, Tautoa!\u201d\n\nOne can imagine my astonishment as O\u2019Hara blurted out the foregoing, for\nI had no knowledge whatever that he had seen Fae Fae since we had first\nseen the girl dancing round an idol in the forest. Slowly the truth came\nout. It appeared that O\u2019Hara had been secretly meeting Fae Fae every\nnight since the idol adventure. Things had come to such a pass that Fae\nFae had agreed to bolt from the palace and marry him.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the trouble, then? Don\u2019t you want to marry her?\u201d said I, as\nO\u2019Hara finished a glowing account of Fae Fae\u2019s affection for him.\n\nThen O\u2019Hara made a further confession. It appeared that, in his usual\ncareless way, he had been overbold, and so had spoiled his chance of\nwooing Fae Fae on the sly. He had gone to the Queen\u2019s palace one night,\nand had serenaded Fae Fae on the guitar, like some old-time Spanish\ncavalier. This mad act had got Fae Fae into trouble, for she, in her\nimpulsive way, had rushed from the palace stockade gate straight into\nO\u2019Hara\u2019s arms. It so happened that Tautoa, the chief to whom Fae Fae was\nbetrothed, caught them in each other\u2019s arms! And my chum had made\nmatters worse, for he had managed to give Tautoa a black eye in the\nm\u00eal\u00e9e that followed his mad presumption. It appeared that Fae Fae was\nnow under strict surveillance. And, more, the head chiefs had laid a\ncharge at the Government Presidency about the matter. And I believe\nthat, even at that early date, a warrant was out for the arrest of\nO\u2019Hara for disturbing the peace and forcing his presence on a native\nmaid of royal blood. When O\u2019Hara first unfolded his plans for abducting\nFae Fae, I endeavoured to reason with him.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s ridiculous, pal. You\u2019re talking like a South Sea novel. You can\u2019t\nseize a beautiful girl of royal blood, a princess, and carry her away\nfrom the palace like some old freebooter of the southern seas. Besides,\nwe\u2019ll be arrested by the gendarmes. And there\u2019s the old Queen to be\nconsidered, her consort, her son, and, last and not least, Fae Fae\u2019s\nlegitimate lover, Tautoa.\u201d\n\nO\u2019Hara used a quite unprintable word as I mentioned that last name. Then\nhe stared as though I were mad, and said:\n\n\u201cMe! talking like a novel! I mean to have her.\u201d\n\nHis eyes flashed as he blurted out his plans, telling me how easy it was\nto steal a girl and bolt off into the mountains! His chest swelled\nvisibly over his thoughts. Holding up his glass of vile Papeete beer in\none hand, melodramatic fashion, he lifted his chin and burst into some\nIrish song that told of maids clasped in the arms of impassioned lovers.\nAs he finished his extemporization, the native girls who were standing\nat the shanty\u2019s door, murmured, \u201cYorana! Yorana!\u201d One dusky Tahitian\nbelle, with large, lustrous eyes, crossed her bare, smooth arms and one\ntimid knee, and, as she leaned against the door frame, gave a delicious\npout, telling with admiring eyes all that a romantic maid can tell when\ngazing on a man whose favour she yearns to gain.\n\nThough I had sought by wordy wisdom to persuade O\u2019Hara to abandon his\nmad idea of abducting Fae Fae from Pomare\u2019s palace, my heart was as\nenthusiastic about it all as was his own. The philosophy of the first\nfine careless rapture of youth was mine. I felt I was out in the world\nto live, if somewhat faintly, some of the glorious romance that poets\nwrote about. I well knew that the great crabbed philosophies were\nwritten by perished feathered quills on musty parchments, quills that\nonce fluttered on living wings among the blossoming boughs. I knew that\nno pen, however inspired, could sing the impassioned philosophy of life\nas the throbbing red throat of the brown thrush can sing, or as O\u2019Hara\nand I could live it. And, so, I must confess that the idea of the\nbreadfruit sighing as we sat awaiting the sunset\u2019s close and O\u2019Hara\nimpatiently watching for the favourable moment to abduct a Tahitian\nprincess from a pagan palace on a South Sea isle, seemed the perfect\nmusic and the most noble endeavour of the Psalm of Life!\n\nFor several moments I compressed my brows as though in deepest\nmeditation over the wisdom or folly of doing what O\u2019Hara proposed.\n\nHe watched me closely, then suddenly gripped my hand.\n\n\u201cPal, I\u2019m with you; it shall be done,\u201d I said.\n\nMy Irish comrade was satisfied. He knew me. I hadn\u2019t stowed away on\nsailing and tramp ships, and lived with rats in coal bunkers on long\nvoyages across tropic seas, without looking a bit determined when I had\nreally made up my mind\u2014well\u2014to make a fool of myself!\n\nI knew that Queen Pomare of Tahiti was allowed a certain amount of\nauthority over her people. Though aged, she was an attractive,\npowerful-looking woman. It was also hinted by the officials that she\nstill leaned towards her old creed. However that may have been, her\nretinue was made up of many old-time, ex-cannibal chiefs. One had only\nto go by night up the mountain slopes by Tamao to hear the low chanting\nof festival sounds coming from the solitary palace, sounds that were\nsuspiciously like the wild night-wassailing of some frenzied\nheathenland!\n\nThe very next night we made our plans. O\u2019Hara smacked me on the back,\nand called down the blessings of the Virgin on my head for helping a pal\nin trouble. It was finally settled that we should set out on our\nromantic, risky adventure after dusk, the very next day.\n\nThe inevitable hour arrived. I stood beneath the palms at the arranged\nspot.\n\n\u201cAre you ready, pal?\u201d said O\u2019Hara, as he met me.\n\n\u201cI am!\u201d said I; and then added: \u201cI suppose you are determined to attempt\nto abduct Fae Fae?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the holy Virgin, yes!\u201d he muttered.\n\n\u201cI can rely upon you that the maid knows of your intentions, and has\nagreed to bolt off into the mountains with you?\u201d said I.\n\nO\u2019Hara gave a scornful laugh. It was then he told me that old Tapee had\nslipped, under the cover of night, into the palace, and had bribed one\nof the sentinels to deliver his _billet-doux_ into Fae Fae\u2019s hands.\n\n\u201cHo! so that\u2019s how you\u2019ve managed it all, is it?\u201d I answered.\n\nI felt much relief; for I will admit that I knew O\u2019Hara well enough to\nrealize that he was likely to go off and seize a maid who knew nothing\nof his coming. At hearing that old Tapee was in the secret, I felt\ncheered up, and had greater faith in the result of the expedition. So\noff I went, down the forest track with O\u2019Hara, on the wildest adventure\ninto which I have ever plunged. We crept across the lonely Broome Road,\nand passed under the shades of the giant breadfruit trees. The stars\nwere shining. Hardly a breath of wind disturbed the leaves of the\nmountain palms. O\u2019Hara clutched me by the arms, as though he were afraid\nI might change my mind\u2014and make a bolt.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m game; don\u2019t worry. I\u2019ll see you through,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cFaith and be shure, you\u2019re a good pal,\u201d said my adventurous, amorous\ncomrade.\n\nTaking a large flask from his pocket, he handed it to me. Though not an\nimbiber of proof spirit, I took rather a bold nip, feeling that a little\nextra Dutch courage might not be amiss ere the night was out! We had\narrived at the outskirts of the large cultivated space that half\nsurrounded Queen Pomare\u2019s palace stockade. As we passed through the\narcades, constructed by Nature\u2019s brooding handiwork of interlacing\nbranches of tropical undergrowth twining round the first pillars of\ngiant trees, my heart fluttered slightly.\n\n\u201cIs it some mad dream?\u201d I thought, as we stood on the little moonlit\nslope that faced the palatial stockade of Pomare\u2019s dwelling. Standing\nthere, by O\u2019Hara\u2019s side, I peeped down the palm-terraced groves and\nspotted the large one-storied, verandahed building. It had an ominous\nlook about it. Then O\u2019Hara took me up a track where I had never been\nbefore.\n\n\u201cKeep in the shadows; don\u2019t expose yourself, for God\u2019s sake!\u201d he\nwhispered, as we stole onward.\n\nWe arrived among the thickets of dense bamboos growing by the wooden\ngate that was the side entrance to the palace. We stood perfectly still\nand waited. O\u2019Hara gave a low whistle. Our hearts beat like muffled\ndrums as we stood there. I looked at the dim outline of the palace. All\nwas silent, phantom-like, in the rising moonlight. Only one small light\nflickered in the little latticed window-hole by the main entrance.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that light?\u201d quoth I in a hushed voice.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s where the Queen sleeps,\u201d replied my pal.\n\n\u201cIs it really?\u201d I whispered, as I thought in some mad way of the old\nromantic novels that I had read in my schooldays.\n\nYes, and there was I, sure enough, with a mad Irishman, outside a\nbarbarian\u2019s palace, awaiting the psychological moment to seize a heathen\nprincess!\n\nWe must have stood there for half an hour before O\u2019Hara gave the fourth\nwhistle and said, \u201cShe\u2019s being watched, that\u2019s what it is; otherwise,\nbegorra, she\u2019d have come out of that gate before now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat shall we do now?\u201d said I, feeling fit for any emergency as the\nspirit commenced to take effect. The romance of the whole situation\nbegan to bubble, to thrill in my soul. Indeed, I had become as\nenthusiastic as O\u2019Hara over the prospective elopement of Fae Fae.\n\n\u201cOld pal,\u201d said he, \u201cI\u2019m going into the palace to seize her; that\u2019s what\nI\u2019m going to do!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood Lord, really!\u201d said I, as visions arose of dramatic scenes that\nmight ensue when we got into that eerie-looking, big wooden building.\n\n\u201cWon\u2019t they hear us\u2014and club us?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cNot they! I\u2019ve been in the palace before by night; I know where Fae Fae\nsleeps, and it\u2019s no hard job to find her.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do, do you!\u201d thought I. Then O\u2019Hara began to creep down the orange\ngrove and, like some obsequious shadow, I followed.\n\nNot a sound broke the primeval stillness as we curved round the small\ntrack that led to the main entrance of the palace. At that very moment a\nnight bird, somewhere up in the mangroves, burst into song. It gave a\nsharp scream as we passed like shadows beneath the trees, and then\nflapped away. We both leapt back into the deeper gloom. Our hearts\nnearly stopped, for lo! the bushy head of some high chief suddenly poked\nout of the half-open gate at the main entrance. We watched that big\nmop-head and fierce-looking face turn to the right and left, peer into\nthe moonlight a moment, then we saw it withdrawn from view.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to give that cove one on his napper!\u201d whispered O\u2019Hara, with a\nlevity which I thought considerably out of place at such a time. \u201cI know\nhim; it\u2019s old thin-legs, the night sentinel. I\u2019ve tried to bribe the old\nwretch, but \u2019twasn\u2019t any go.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said I, for the want of saying something better at such a moment.\nIndeed, the most poignant phrases that the English language can twist\ntogether could not have expressed all that I felt.\n\n\u201cWhat do you intend doing now?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cWhy, I\u2019m going to slip into the palace and see Fae Fae in her private\nchamber. She\u2019ll soon come when she sees us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure she won\u2019t scream? Don\u2019t you think it\u2019s a bit unwise, in\nthe night-time, like this?\u201d\n\n\u201cBlimey ducks, no!\u201d chuckled O\u2019Hara. Thereupon I made up my mind to\nseize the blessed Queen herself, if O\u2019Hara wished me to do so.\n\nTo tell the truth, I had wondered if Fae Fae would not take fright at\nseeing me with O\u2019Hara. It appeared that my comrade had wooed Fae Fae\nconsiderably in the little time he had known her. But I had only seen\nher twice\u2014and there I was, bound for her sleeping-apartment in the dead\nof night.\n\nOnce again we moved on. Arriving before a little door that led into a\nroomy apartment adjoining the west wing of the palace, O\u2019Hara gently\npulled another door open. We both crept in. It was nearly pitch dark;\nthe faint rays of moonlight, peeping through chinks in the roof, just\nhelped us to grope along. As we moved stealthily across the floor, I\nstumbled over a large calabash. We stood still, breathless with\nsuspense. I looked around: on the walls, dimly revealed by the\nmoonlight, hung old war-clubs, spears, and other ancient heirlooms of\nthe Pomarean dynasty. We heard a door open, then it was shut again, for\nthe sounds of distant laughter and heathen voices swiftly ceased. It\ncame from somewhere on the other side of the courtyard, that portion of\nthe palace where Queen Pomare and her suite dwelt. Once more we crept\non. Passing across another room, we suddenly came out into a small\ncourtyard.\n\nTurning to me, O\u2019Hara whispered:\n\n\u201cYou see that door over there, on the far side of that wooden building?\nWell, it opens into a long corridor, and at the far end is the chamber\nwhere Fae Fae sleeps.\u201d\n\nI nodded.\n\n\u201cAre you game to follow me, pal?\u201d he added.\n\n\u201cI am!\u201d said I, as I clutched my revolver and thought how \u201cgamey\u201d we\nmight both soon be if we were discovered.\n\nI don\u2019t know if my story sounds like a sketch from some semi-comic\nopera, but I _do_ know that it was a serious thing for us to attempt to\nget into a native girl\u2019s bedroom as we did that night. But, mind you, I\nbelieved implicitly in O\u2019Hara\u2019s good intentions. Never once had I\nobserved him take a liberty with a maid. He had the Celtic temperament,\nbut was clean-minded, notwithstanding his sins. We opened the door that\nled down the corridor to Fae Fae\u2019s bed-chamber; then we took a rather\nbold nip at the flask of whisky. In complete obedience to O\u2019Hara\u2019s\nwhispered directions, I at once went down on my knees, then, hand over\nhand and knee over knee, we began to travel down that dark, narrow\ncorridor! A stream of moonlight crept through the airholes that were in\nthe roof. I could just discern O\u2019Hara\u2019s ragged coat-tails in front of me\nas I blindly groped along behind him. I saw the dim shadows of the palms\nwaving about, silhouetted on the wooden walls as the winds stirred the\nforest trees outside. Arriving about half-way down the corridor, I\nwhispered to my comrade:\n\n\u201cSupposing she\u2019s asleep? Do you intend to seize her whilst she lies in\nbed? Won\u2019t she scream if she sees me with you, and awaken the whole\npalace?\u201d\n\nI knew what English girls would do if they suddenly awoke and saw two\nsunburnt tramps on their knees, peering round the edge of their bedroom\ndoor at the dead of night.\n\nMy relief was considerable when O\u2019Hara whispered:\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry; Fae Fae expects me, and it\u2019s not her who is going to\nscream.\u201d Then, in a tense whisper, he added: \u201cBesides, she sleeps alone,\naway from the rest of the palace folk.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank God for that much!\u201d thought I, as we once more started to creep,\nlike two monstrous slugs, down the floor of the corridor.\n\nO\u2019Hara suddenly stopped. My heart gave a slight flutter. I knew we had\narrived outside Fae Fae\u2019s chamber. I heard my comrade give two soft\ntaps\u2014so, \u201ctap!\u201d \u201ctap!\u201d\u2014on the door\u2019s bamboo panel with his knuckles.\nEach tap seemed to echo and re-echo down the silent corridor. I was\nthankful that I had drunk deeply from the whisky-flask which O\u2019Hara had\nso thoughtfully handed me. Had we been about to seize a heathen man, or\neven an old woman, the matter would have seemed different.\nNotwithstanding that I had knocked about the world, the thought of so\nrudely disturbing a maiden\u2019s slumber and those romantic ideals which I\ncan find no name for here, had still a great influence over me.\nConsequently, I paused on the threshold of that chamber. She was an\ninnocent girl, none need doubt that much. To the reader, who has never\nplunged into such a midnight venture as I tell of here, I can\nconfidently say that he would require a little artificial stimulant to\nbuck his courage up were he placed under like circumstances. There\u2019s\nsomething eerie in creeping into a semi-heathen palace and crawling down\nan interminable corridor to seize a maid as she sleeps in her chamber.\nAnd all this, mind you, not for one\u2019s self, but for another! And, again,\nthere was not only the danger of detection by that heathen crew to\nreckon with, but also the French officials, who would assuredly give us\npenal servitude in the _calaboose_ (jail), or transport us to Noumea\nshould they catch us on this mad venture. But for the fact that we had\nyouth\u2019s superabundant confidence on our side, I am sure we should never\nhave ventured on such an escapade. I recall the breathless hush of that\nsupreme moment when O\u2019Hara once more gently tapped the maiden\u2019s door.\n\n\u201cFae Fae!\u201d he whispered.\n\nHow eagerly we listened! Only a faint moan came from the forest palms\njust outside, then all was silent again.\n\n\u201cBegorra, she\u2019s not there,\u201d came in an agonized whisper from O\u2019Hara.\n\nOur hearts thumped\u2014we heard a rustling sound, which resembled a noise\nmade by someone yawning. An uncomfortable suspicion flashed through my\nbrain: Had O\u2019Hara mistaken the room? and was that chamber occupied by\nsome mighty chief?\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d I said in a tense whisper, as that eerie sound came\nagain, with the soft patter of bare feet. \u201cLook out, pal!\u201d I whispered,\ninstinctively ducking my head in some vague idea that a club was falling\non it!\n\nO\u2019Hara tapped again, then softly called the maid\u2019s name. I looked up, my\nheart in my mouth, as we crouched there, both on our hands and knees.\nThe door creaked. We watched\u2014and it was being slowly opened. Through a\nchink, that was no wider than two inches, peeped two sparkling eyes,\nhalf hidden by dishevelled tresses\u2014it was Fae Fae!\n\nIn a swift, hoarse whisper O\u2019Hara said:\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s only us, Faey.\u201d\n\nAt once the door opened a little wider, and two astonished eyes looked\ndown upon us, both there on our hands and knees!\n\n\u201cOh, Messieurs, you be killed!\u201d she whispered, as she lifted her hands\nand gazed upon us in an awestruck manner.\n\nSlinking there, behind O\u2019Hara\u2019s coat-tails, I gazed up at the maid\nthrough his armpits!\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you hear me whistle, Faey dearest?\u201d said my comrade, as the\nastonished girl still stared at us in fright.\n\n\u201cNo, Monsieur Hara, I sleep fast,\u201d she said, rubbing her sleepy eyes.\n\nAt this candid confession, O\u2019Hara looked crestfallen. I, too, must\nconfess that a dash of cold water seemed to have been thrown upon the\nfires of my romantic soul. I pinched my leg to convince myself that I\nwas not dreaming. It was real enough, no dream at all. It was a solid me\nintruding into a girl\u2019s bed-chamber at the dead of night, ready to\nclutch the maid and help my comrade to carry her away into the\nmountains!\n\n\u201cCome, Fae Fae, don\u2019t go back on me, darlint,\u201d wailed O\u2019Hara, as the\npretty maid looked about in a bewildered way, as though hesitating as to\nwhat she ought to do under such distressing circumstances.\n\nAt this moment I poked my head up from behind O\u2019Hara and revealed my\nphysiognomy clearly in the shifting moonlight.\n\n\u201cOui! oui! Awaie!\u201d she woefully ejaculated, as she recognized my\nimpertinent presence. Then she peered again, and said: \u201cTre bon! it\u2019s\nnicer fiddle man!\u201d\n\nI rose to my feet as though I had just received a knighthood, and bowed\nwith such courtesy as I felt was due at such a moment. I may have\nblushed, but I do know that my heart warmed considerably to the\npossibilities of the whole business. Much of the girl\u2019s apprehension\nseemed to have vanished at discovering that it was I who had accompanied\nO\u2019Hara on my hands and knees down that damned corridor! Ah me! As she\nstood there bathed in moonlight, her tiny blue chemise ornamented with\nflowers, I quite envied O\u2019Hara. The hibiscus blossoms in her mass of\nrich-hued hair were crushed on that side where her pillowed head had\nlain but a moment before in sleep. I felt the thrill of her presence.\nStanding there in the gloom, I saw O\u2019Hara put forth his arms towards Fae\nFae.\n\n\u201cCome on, Faey,\u201d he whispered.\n\nLeaning forward in the gloom, Fae Fae misjudged the distance, and placed\nher mouth on my flushed cheek. Then it really seemed that the tender\npressures of our groping hands got inextricably mixed up. I became\nbolder. Looking into the girl\u2019s face, I said in an appealing way:\n\n\u201cCome, Fae Fae, _do_ come!\u201d\n\nI felt that, to creep into a heathen\u2019s palace to help a maid to elope,\nand for the maid to refuse to come, would cast a slur on my idea of\nchivalry and romance such as I could never forget. I was immensely\nrelieved when I noticed Fae Fae stoop and start shuffling about her\nchamber floor. She was hastily gathering together her spare clothing!\n\n\u201cAwaie! Messieurs!\u201d she cried softly. Then she held up a small bundle,\nand blushed through the brightness of her eyes. Gallantly I leaned\nforward and clutched those delicate garments that made up Fae Fae\u2019s\ntrousseau! As for O\u2019Hara, he grinned and then stared in surprise, as he\nobserved my correct manner when I bowed and offered Fae Fae my arm. (He\nhadn\u2019t read Alexandre Dumas, Byron, Shelley, and Keats, and slept with\nhis dreaming head on a volume of _Don Quixote_.)\n\nSuddenly a door banged somewhere across the palace courtyard; we\ndistinctly heard distant sounds of laughter and indistinct voices. Then\nsilence came; the door had been closed again.\n\n\u201cCome on, there\u2019s no time to lose,\u201d I whispered, as I clutched the\npretty sandals that Fae Fae hurriedly picked up from beneath her bamboo\ncouch. Down the corridor we crept. As Fae Fae caught hold of my hand I\nreturned the gentle pressures of that frightened Tahitian maid. I\ngathered that she did not realize the seriousness of the business. As we\nstole along, a puff of wind came down the narrow corridor, and her mass\nof unkempt hair floated softly against my face. I felt as though some\nbeautiful creation of romance had materialized before my eyes, as a\nsilken tress touched my lips. Only O\u2019Hara\u2019s heavy breathing, as he led\nthe way, and Fae Fae\u2019s frightened gasps, made me realize that the whole\nbusiness was real enough. We all gave a deep sigh of relief as we stole\nout into the night. A mighty alarm had seemed to thunder down the\nsilence of that palace corridor. Then O\u2019Hara informed me that he had\nmissed the track whereby we had entered the palace. It was unfortunate,\nfor it necessitated our all climbing over a huge wooden wall that ran\nalong the south side of the track that led to the entrance of the palace\nstockade.\n\n\u201cCome along, Fae Fae,\u201d said I cheerfully, as the cool air of the moonlit\nnight and the glory of physical movement raised my spirits. O\u2019Hara\nclambered up to the top of the wall first; releasing Fae Fae\u2019s trembling\nhand, I followed. It was not hard climbing, for the huge, upright logs\nwere thickly overgrown with tough vine. \u201cLook out!\u201d said I, as I stood\nin that elevated position and nearly stumbled. Squatting side by side up\nthere, we looked down. Fae Fae stared up at us; she was half hidden in\nthe forest ferns. O\u2019Hara and I clasped each other\u2019s hand to get a better\ngrip, then, bending down, we very carefully gripped hold of Fae Fae\u2019s\nextended hands and slowly hauled her up to the top of the wall.\n\n\u201cOh, Messieurs, it\u2019s tellible!\u201d murmured the frightened girl as she\nstood high up there beside us. She shivered as she put forth her arms in\nfright to retain her balance. Her tiny, blue diaphanous robe was\nout-blown as the night wind sighed across the forest height.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be frightened, Miss Faey,\u201d I murmured, as the girl swayed in\nterror, pressed my hand, and looked appealingly into my eyes as we stood\nup there.\n\nO\u2019Hara and I gripped her carefully by the arms, swayed her to and fro in\nspace for a second, then dropped her softly down into the mossy growth\nand fern of the forest on the other side of the wall.\n\n\u201cAwaie!\u201d she cried, as she looked up at us.\n\nThen my comrade and I slid gently down, like threaded spiders, into the\nmossy scrub.\n\nFor a moment we stood breathless, as Fae Fae clung to our arms,\ntrembling in fear. To the right lay the main track; once across that, we\ncould bolt into the forest depth, where we would be safe. I awaited\nO\u2019Hara\u2019s signal. I was taking no risks. O\u2019Hara knew the place too.\n\nSuddenly my comrade said, \u201cNow!\u201d and off we went, rushing like three\nphantoms across the exposed moonlit track.\n\n\u201cHoly St. Patrick!\u201d breathed my chum, as we stood behind the thick clump\nof bananas that divided us from the twelve yards that we must yet pass\nere we were out of sight of the main entrance to the palace.\n\nWe were suddenly paralyzed by hearing a terrific yell. We had been\nobserved! That yell smashed to atoms all my indecision as to what was\nbest to do. Metaphorically speaking, it arrayed me in armour, equipped\nme with all the necessary weapons to fight a desperate battle for life\nand for the protection of the trembling girl beside me.\n\nI looked down the track: out of the main entrance had rushed three\nstalwart Tahitian chiefs. They were quivering with excitement. We\nremained standing still. I felt strangely calm.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re in for it now,\u201d said I.\n\nO\u2019Hara shook his fist and picked up a large stone. A glorious feeling of\nexultation thrilled me at the thought of the coming race for life. It\nwas just in my line, whereas creeping on my hands and knees down a\ncorridor was dead against the grain.\n\nFae Fae gave a faint cry. It roused us. Simultaneously we dashed away\ninto the depths of the breadfruits and coco-palms. What a sight!\u2014Fae\nFae, bare-footed, encumbered only by her pretty native _mumu_ (chemise)\nof scanty width, raced ahead, as O\u2019Hara and I, our arms held high in\nracing attitude, puffed on behind!\n\n\u201cFollow her, pal; she knows the way,\u201d murmured O\u2019Hara, as Fae Fae\u2019s\ndusky flying heels glittered in the moonlight about twelve yards ahead\nof us! Though I admired that impulsive Irish comrade of mine, I inwardly\nthought what an ass he was; for, though our pursuers were hard on our\nheels, I distinctly heard him chuckling to himself, making ecstatic\nremarks about Fae Fae\u2019s swaying figure as she fled down the forest\ntrack! I turned my head to see how it went with the enemy. I was\nextremely disconcerted at observing them coming up over the ridge of the\nrising ground, quite distinct in the brilliant moonlight. A giant of a\nfellow was gaining ground, was far ahead of the other pursuers.\n\n\u201cWait!\u201d I shouted in O\u2019Hara\u2019s ear. \u201cWe must frighten them somehow.\u201d I\nknew, well enough, that we were in the wrong, that we could be legally\ncharged with a serious, very serious offence. I felt some sad, prophetic\npain of a club falling on my romantic skull and my head tumbling into\nthe official guillotine basket. This sudden visualizing freak of my\nimagination was made the more vivid through my seeing Fae Fae racing\nalong the track like some frightened child (she was little more than a\nchild in mind), as I lumbered on behind her, clutching her delicate\ntrousseau under my arm. Indeed I felt the guiltiest of the three. Fae\nFae was a child of the forest; O\u2019Hara was another child, since he was\nmadly in love; while I?\u2014well, instead of giving wise counsel, I was\nthere, an accessory before and after the fact, and with the maid\u2019s\nscanty wardrobe under my arm! Preposterous!\n\n\u201cGo on; never mind me,\u201d said I, when O\u2019Hara suddenly stopped dead short.\nThere, on the track, I held up my revolver and fired over the head of\nthe mop-headed savage who was a hundred yards ahead of the others. They\nslowed down. I saw the leader wave his hand, and heard him yell out some\nwords in his native lingo, something that ended with the words \u201cFae\nFae!\u201d\n\nOn hearing that name, O\u2019Hara gasped out:\n\n\u201cWhy, it\u2019s him, that damned Tautoa, who wants to marry my Faey!\u201d\n\nIt was with immense relief that I noticed that the pursuers had slowed\ndown and were apparently frightened at discovering that I was armed. We\ncouldn\u2019t outrun Fae Fae. O\u2019Hara and I had all we could do to catch up to\nher as she still raced on, speeding round the curves of the forest\ntrack. Indeed at times we could not see her at all, knowing that she\npreceded us only because of the tiny, smoke-like clouds of dust that we\nraced through, the diamond-like powder that her bare, flying feet\nstirred and left behind as she raced along the track. Sometimes the path\nwound into the full light of the moon; it was then that we sighted Fae\nFae\u2019s flying figure and floating hair as we thundered along behind her.\nI am sure the scene must have looked like some burlesque or the\nrehearsal for a cinematograph picture. As we passed the deep lagoons by\nthe shore, weird shadows whipped across the imaged, broken moons that\nwere shining in the still, glassy depths! For, as the fireflies danced\nin the leafy bamboo glooms, I saw Fae Fae\u2019s image, with flying hair,\nrace across the lagoon\u2019s surface to the right of us, though she,\nherself, had passed round the bend and was quite out of sight! To the\nsouthward stretched, for miles and miles, the palm-clad slopes. It\nseemed as if we were racing across a vast landscape oilpainting! To the\nnorth-west rose the pinnacled range of _La Diad\u00e8me_. We had reached the\nBroome Road. As we raced across it we just missed a crowd of hurrying\nChinamen who worked in the cool of night in the plantations of vanilla,\ncoffee, sugar-cane, and orange groves.\n\n\u201cHon kong ching chi chow kow!\u201d yelled a straggler, as his pig-tail\ntossed up, and he fell sprawling in the dust.\n\n\u201cOne for his napper!\u201d breathed O\u2019Hara, as he recovered his balance and\nwe rushed across the plantation. We were safe! There stood Tapee\u2019s\nbungalow to the left of us. All would have gone well had not O\u2019Hara\nstumbled as he leapt across the stream. He gave a yell of pain, and fell\ncrash on his face.\n\nFae Fae gave a cry. Then she and I, breathing heavily, picked our\ncomrade up. He groaned as I examined him. I was relieved to find that he\nhad done no more than sprain his ankle. At this moment a figure emerged\nfrom the shadows\u2014it was Tapee.\n\n\u201cYou all right?\u2014where\u2019s Fae Fae?\u201d said the old man, as he peered into\nthe jungle depths around us. Fae Fae, who was hiding behind the dwarf\ncoco-palms, heard Tapee\u2019s voice, and revealed herself. On sighting the\ngirl, the old idol-worshipper grinned from ear to ear.\n\n\u201cYou clever _wahine_ to run way from palace with kind white mans.\u201d\n\nIt appeared that O\u2019Hara had acquainted the chief that he was going to\nget Fae Fae to elope with him from the palace that night. Tapee was\ndelighted to be of assistance to O\u2019Hara, for he had some grudge against\nTautoa, the chief who was to marry Fae Fae. He was also pleased to annoy\nPomare, who had refused to allow Tapee to attend the palace festivities.\n\nWhen I informed Tapee that the gendarmes were already on our track, he\nsimply rubbed his hands and grinned as though the trouble was over.\nSeeing O\u2019Hara standing on one leg and holding the other off the ground,\nTapee and I escorted him into the bungalow hard by. He groaned as we\nlaid him down on the bed mats. On pulling off his boot I saw that he was\nquite out of action so far as walking was concerned\u2014his ankle was\nswollen to the size of an orange, a lump on the off-side.\n\nFae Fae, noticing the injury, gave a wail of despair. Then Tapee, to my\nsurprise, looked up and said:\n\n\u201cOh, Messieurs, what shall we do? The popy priest am waiting to marry\nFae Fae and Papalagi O\u2019Hara all this whiles down in Papeete.\u201d\n\nThis was the first intimation I had received that O\u2019Hara had made the\nnecessary preparations to have a Christian marriage with Fae Fae. It was\njust like him, for, notwithstanding his being a scallawag, he was ever\nready to do the right thing at the right moment.\n\n\u201cGo, quick, and let the priest know that the marriage is put off till\nanother night,\u201d moaned O\u2019Hara. And so Tapee went off to postpone the\nwedding. Fae Fae lifted her hands to the roof and wailed out, \u201cSaprista!\nAloe, tua\u201d and \u201cMon Dieu!\u201d (Fae Fae spoke broken French as well as\nEnglish). I was more than glad to see that wedding postponed. I felt it\nwas quite enough for one night\u2019s work to abduct the maid in readiness\nfor the wedding, and, moreover, Fae Fae was trembling like a leaf and\nappeared very neurotic. She was a very high-strung girl. Indeed I saw\nhow artful-hearted Tapee had played with ease on the girl\u2019s romantic,\nsensitive temperament.\n\nWhen Tapee returned, about half an hour after, he at once prepared\nsupper. We were all famished. We closed the door and bolted it. Tapee\nsaid that on his way back after seeing the priest, he had heard a lot of\nFrench officials discussing Fae Fae\u2019s disappearance from the palace.\nO\u2019Hara groaned and Fae Fae wept, while I moodily ate mangoes and stewed,\njuicy fruits, and wondered what my relatives would think when they heard\nthat I had been hanged for abducting maidens in the South Seas! We\npassed a most wretched night. I dozed off once, and dreamed that the\nworld was a vast guillotine, with me sitting in its receiving-basket as\nTime, and all the stars danced sorrowfully around me, ere the blade fell\nand severed my connection with mundane things. When I awoke, O\u2019Hara was\nlooking very ill; but he gave a faint smile as Fae Fae held his head and\npassed her fingers through his curly hair. At daybreak Tapee went out\nand hired a kind of _char-\u00e0-banc_ owned by a wizened Chinaman. We took\nthe Chinaman into our confidence, gave him a good tip, and promised him\na lot more than we could ever give him. To tell the truth, if a Chinaman\ngives one his word of honour, he seldom breaks it. I\u2019d sooner trust a\nChinaman than many pious people whom I\u2019ve unfortunately met. When we got\ninto that wagon the bottom nearly dropped out. It was old and rotten.\nThe horse was an object for pity; it moved at a mile an hour, and the\nangles of its bones looked decidedly like the angles of the guillotine.\nWe crouched in the bottom of the cart, safe from the vigilant eyes of\nthe officials who were on the look-out for us. When we arrived in the\nChinese quarter of Papeete, I hired a room in a fan-tan den, and O\u2019Hara\nhelped me to put up a bed. When all was comfortable, O\u2019Hara fell asleep,\nand I crept out into the forest and went back to Tapee\u2019s bungalow. When\nI arrived there, Fae Fae was weeping bitterly. I saw that she had become\nsane, and regretted her flight from the palace. She was evidently\nterrified in her reflection over the punishment she would receive from\nthe Queen\u2019s hands. I tried my best to soothe her.\n\n\u201cOh, Monsieur, I so unhappy. Poor Monsieur Ilisham hurt himself too. I\nfeel lone, and Queen Pomare find me out and punish me, I know, I know!\u201d\nshe wailed.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry, Fae Fae,\u201d said I soothingly, as she gave me a tender,\nsympathetic glance. I saw the tears in her eyes as she stared up at me\nthrough her dishevelled tresses. Ah, beautiful hair it was! The room was\ndimly lit by the latticed window-hole. She did look a plaintive creature\nas she sat there swaying in her grief. I smelt the sweet odours of the\nlanguishing flowers that still dangled, clinging among her scented\ntresses, when she placed her hand caressingly on my shoulder, and\nmurmured:\n\n\u201cOh, take me back to palace, Monsieur.\u201d\n\nWe were close together, her eyes gazing beseechingly into mine. Her\nsmooth brow, bright in the glory of her vanilla-scented hair, was near\nmy lips. God knows that I would not betray the trust reposed in me by a\ngood comrade; but I have my weaknesses. Her hand pressed mine. I somehow\ntripped forward, and, in some inexplicable entanglement of the senses,\nmy lips touched hers. Ah me! She gazed deeply into my eyes. In a moment\nI realized what I had done. I hung my head as she gazed on, and then, to\nmy astonishment, she swiftly lifted my hand and kissed it passionately.\nI thought of O\u2019Hara, probably asleep on his bed-mat and of the implicit\ntrust he reposed in me. I made a tremendous effort so that my outward\ndemeanour should have no twinship with the turmoil of conflicting\nthoughts within me. Inclining my head affectionately, but at the same\ntime forcing a melancholy, sober aspect to my blushing visage, I managed\nto blurt out:\n\n\u201cOh, Fae Fae, child, my heart is heavy in the thoughts of your sorrows.\nI don\u2019t know how to advise you!\u201d\n\nIt was a near go, I know. Indeed, had I partaken a little more liberally\nof the toddy that Tapee had given me from his huge flask, my memory of\nthe whole business would not have made such pleasant reading, I feel\nsure of that. Sober reflections made me realize that, under the\ncircumstance, the best thing for the girl to do would be to go back to\nthe palace. I fully realized the clumsy way we had conducted ourselves\nand the seriousness of the gendarmes being on our tracks.\n\nAt this moment Tapee opened the door and walked in. I was relieved by\nhis presence, but, to my consternation, Fae Fae\u2019s attitude towards me\nremained the same! Kissing the girl again, as though she were a child, I\nlooked her straight in the eyes, and said:\n\n\u201cI must get away and see O\u2019Hara; it is unsafe for me to stop here.\u201d\n\nThe girl responded to this only by falling on her knees before me.\n\n\u201cOh, Monsieur, stay! stay!\u201d she cried in a plaintive voice.\n\nIt was then I noticed the wild, strange stare of her eyes. I gave Tapee\nan interrogative glance. He touched his brow significantly. I did not\nquite comprehend his meaning at the time, but subsequent events soon\nenlightened me as to the state of Fae Fae\u2019s mind. Promising Tapee and\nthe girl that I would return soon, I hastened from their presence and\nwent back to O\u2019Hara. He was awake and in great pain when I arrived at\nour diggings. I sat with him till dusk, and all through the night poured\ncold water on his sprained ankle.\n\nI well knew that while he was lame we had little chance of clearing\naway, if the gendarmes heard of our whereabouts.\n\nOnce again, at O\u2019Hara\u2019s request, I went off to see how Fae Fae was.\nArriving at Tapee\u2019s bungalow I found him trembling and muttering in a\nstrange way.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cOh, Masser, she gone! She run away in night; she go kill herself, I\nsure!\u201d\n\nAfter the old fellow had rambled on a good deal, I gathered that he had\nawakened at daybreak, and, discovering that Fae Fae had flown, had spent\nthe morning in searching likely places where she might have hidden\nherself. I at once got Tapee to send a trusted native friend up to the\npalace to find out if Fae Fae had returned home. After a while the\nnative came back full of excitement, and informed us that the Queen and\nher retinue of chiefs had gone off to the French Presidency to inform\nthe officials that Princess Fae Fae had been abducted from the palace by\ntwo white men. That bit of information seemed to waken me up. I left\nTapee at once.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no good using language like that,\u201d I said, chidingly to O\u2019Hara, as\nI rubbed his ankle with coco-nut oil.\n\nBy the next day he could just manage to limp along. He was determined to\nsearch for Fae Fae, though I had tried to persuade him to do otherwise.\nThat same day he seemed very depressed as he sat under the palms singing\nto me. (He always sang when he was feeling melancholy.)\n\n\u201cShe\u2019ll do herself some injury,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019ll turn up,\u201d I said soothingly, though I must admit I felt dubious\nabout it all. I thought of the girl\u2019s strange manner, how she had danced\nround that idol; I was convinced that she was no ordinary girl.\n\nThat same evening we walked into the forest near Katavio. We were\nintending to meet Tapee, who had informed us that he would be in his old\nhut in that part of the forest where his idol was hidden.\n\nI tried to cheer O\u2019Hara up as we passed under the arch-like banyans that\ngrew on the outskirts of the wooded country. Then we sat down by the\nlagoons till darkness came. Suddenly we were startled by hearing far-off\nsounds like the singing of a woman\u2019s beautiful voice. I jumped to my\nfeet. There was something eerie about the night as we listened. Then it\ncame again, the long, low, sweet refrain of an old-time Tahitian\n_himine_. Bucking up our courage we stole forward, making for the\ndirection where the singing came from. Even the winds seemed hushed, not\na sound disturbing the silence of the forest. It seemed as if O\u2019Hara and\nI walked a stage whereon some thrilling South Sea drama was being\nenacted; the tall trees looked unreal, even the wide roof over us might\nhave been some tremendous dark canvas bespangled with stars. The weird,\nflute-like cadenza of the nightingale up in the branches of the\nflamboyants did not destroy the unreal effect as it flew off.\n\n\u201cThis way,\u201d I whispered, as my comrade limped along.\n\nWe were standing on the wooded elevation just before the spot where we\nhad first caught Tapee worshipping his wooden image. Moonrise, somewhere\nto the southward, behind the mountains, was sending a pale brilliance\nover the rugged landscape. That weird singer of the forest, or whatever\nit was, had ceased to sing. Then it came again, a weird, tender wailing!\nO\u2019Hara\u2019s big form was leaning against mine when the surprise came:\nstaring there between the tree trunks, we saw the old idol again and,\ncareering around that hideous wooden deity, that which looked like a\nphantom girl of the woods! I had travelled the world over and seen some\nstrange things, but had never seen so weird a sight before.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s Fae Fae,\u201d said O\u2019Hara, as he stumbled on his sprained ankle.\n\n\u201cImpossible!\u201d I responded in a mechanical way.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s dead, and has come back to dance where she first met me!\u201d\nre-wailed my love-sick Irish comrade.\n\nThe girl _did_ look misty! I looked and wondered, notwithstanding my\ncynicism over such things as ghosts. I felt that perhaps it was Fae\nFae\u2019s ghost dancing before us! I had read of such things, and had met\nold women who swore they had seen the dead doing strange, unaccountable\nthings.\n\nWe both stood still, strangely calm, as the girl whirled and sang in her\nwild career, her diaphanous robe fluttering out to the breeze or\nclinging closely to her misty-like figure. Then she lifted her arms and\nmoved towards us, her eyes wide open, apparently staring into vacancy.\nThe flowers in her unkempt hair, all crumpled, gave the _one_ touch that\ntold of something real. It was evident that she had not observed us, for\nin another moment she was again whirling around the space, chanting to\nthe deaf, wooden ears of the massive idol. As she passed by us she came\nso close that I felt the rush of cool air caused by her swift movements.\nThough her figure looked ghost-like, I was still extremely sceptical. I\nknew that mortality, when transformed into that blessed spiritual state\nthat is supposed to follow death, must of a necessity be unable to\ncreate any impression through coming into contact with the material\nelements of mortality. Indeed, I knew that singing itself was an\nimpossibility, since it necessitated an inflection and perfect\ncontraction in the throat of the singer. I resolved to seize the first\nopportunity to substantiate my human suspicions as to the possibility of\nthe figure before us being a transfiguration of her whom we had once\nknown in mortal shape as Fae Fae. The opportunity presented itself\nforthwith. Fae Fae\u2019s apparent wraith, with arms outspread, the body\nswerving with rhythmical beauty, was still flitting noiselessly round\nthe small space, coming toward us!\n\n\u201cKeep back!\u201d I whispered to O\u2019Hara, who was staring over my shoulder,\nendeavouring to get a better glimpse of the figure. On she came,\nseemingly draped in veils of the moonlight that was falling through the\noverspreading, dark-fingered palm-leaves. Her lips had begun a chant,\nher head turned slightly sideways as on her tripping flight she\napproached and stared at the mighty, yellow-toothed, wooden deity. In a\nmoment she was upon us. I swiftly thrust forth my hand as she flitted\npast.\n\n\u201cA phantom!\u201d I gasped, as my fist passed right _through_ the folds of\nher attire and then seemingly through her form! For a moment I could\nonly stare. A vulture screeched high in the banyans. O\u2019Hara crossed\nhimself and murmured a portion of some _Ave Maria_, terror-struck.\n\u201cImpossible! preposterous!\u201d thought I to myself. Then I remembered how I\nhad distinctly felt the material of her robes appeal to my sense of\ntouch as my fist apparently went through her figure; yes, something real\nand material was there. I had simply missed touching her solid figure;\nthat was it, I felt sure. \u201cO\u2019Hara,\u201d I whispered, and my voice sounded\ncracked as I muttered, \u201cit\u2019s no ghost; it\u2019s her, Fae Fae, right enough.\nShe\u2019s mad, out of her mind!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo! Mad!\u201d groaned O\u2019Hara, as he jumped down from the banyan bough where\nhe had leapt in fright, and peered between the breadfruit trunks. I\ntried hard to hold him back as he rushed forward; but it was too late\u2014a\npiece of his ragged coat came off in my hand!\n\nFae Fae gave a terrified scream as she spied him.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s me! your O\u2019Hara, darlint!\u201d yelled my comrade, as the girl, turning\nround, stared at him in a wild, vacant way. Then, with a frightened\nscream that thrilled us with horror, she fled away into the depths of\nthe forest.\n\nI also rushed off, following O\u2019Hara, who bolted after her. He had not\ngone far when he tripped and fell with a crash. He gave a groan as he\nheld up his afflicted foot. I at once came to a standstill. I was not in\nthe mood to go chasing after a mad native girl. Besides, I had had about\nsufficient of O\u2019Hara\u2019s love affairs. O\u2019Hara was inconsolable that night.\nAt daybreak we were up and ready to go forth in an endeavour to hear\nsomething about Fae Fae. Indeed, O\u2019Hara seemed more determined than ever\nto find her. We had at first intended to go and see Tapee; but Tapee\nsaved us that trouble by suddenly walking into our apartments. Before we\ncould get a chance to tell the old chief of our adventure with Fae Fae,\nhe had started gabbling like one demented.\n\n\u201cFae Fae, she go mad! and, O Papalagi, that Tautoa, her lover, he have\nfound her crying in the night in the forest, all \u2019lone,\u201d said the old\ndark man.\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d we both exclaimed in one breath.\n\n\u201cAh, yes, Messieurs, it all-e-samee true. Fae Fae am now back in palace,\nthey got her now, and Queen Pomare am in terrible rage with white mans.\nI knower that she am going to send gendarmes after you and Monsieur\nO\u2019Hara.\u201d\n\nThe way O\u2019Hara raved and carried on is indescribable. He got quite drunk\nbefore midday. Then we were obliged to fly from our lodgings and hide\naway under Tapee\u2019s protection. For, sure enough, a warrant was really\nout for both O\u2019Hara and myself for trespass and the abduction of Fae\nFae, who from childhood had suffered from mental afffliction!\n\nIt was Tapee who gave us this last bit of information. As the old chief\ncrept into the disused native hut and, squatting down by us, told us\nthese things, much became clear to me. I recalled many things about Fae\nFae\u2019s manner, which, though fascinating and romantic, seemed out of the\nnormal even in a native maid. We hid in that hut for three days, safe\nfrom the French officials; but I felt pretty gloomy as I thought of the\nprospect of our getting three years in the island calaboose. I gave out\nno hint of my qualms to O\u2019Hara, but I well knew that there was a good\nchance of both of us being transported to the convict settlement at _Ill\nNou_, Noumea! The following night, however, we secured an old canoe,\nthrough the help of Tapee, and paddled round to Matavai Bay, where we\nheard that a tramp steamer was anchored.\n\nAnd the next day, as we heard the tramping far overhead and the dull\npomp-e-te-pomp of engines, we both crept forth, moved our cramped,\nhuddled limbs, and groaned. I chewed a morsel off one of our four\ncoco-nuts. Then I caught a shadowy glimpse of O\u2019Hara\u2019s sweating black\nface as he took a drink from the water-bottle, and groped with his hands\namongst the tiers of coal and terrific heat.\n\n\u201cCome on, this way!\u201d I gasped, as I crawled along in that monstrous tomb\nwhere we found ourselves buried alive! \u201cThat\u2019s better!\u201d I said, as I\nfelt a whiff of purer air come along some dark, labyrinthine way. O\u2019Hara\nsat by me in the gloom, groping about as he carefully replaced the\nwater-bottle and coco-nut in my portmanteau (an old green baize bag that\nI always carried when I travelled _incognito_).\n\nThen O\u2019Hara climbed up on my shoulders and peered through the little\nround hole just above our heads. For a long time he stared, gazing away\nto the far south-west horizon, where rose the rugged pinnacles of La\nDiadem, still visible.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re safe enough now. They won\u2019t catch us, I\u2019ll bet,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cAh, my darlint Fae Fae! I\u2019ll never be happy again.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you will,\u201d I murmured soothingly, as O\u2019Hara still gazed through\nthat dirty coal-bunker\u2019s glass porthole, staring wistfully so as to get\nthe last glimpse, as sunset touched the mountain palms of far-away\nTahiti! We were stowaways down in the hold of a tramp steamer, far out\nat sea, outbound for Honolulu!\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n               CHAPTER VII. THE HEATHEN\u2019S GARDEN OF EDEN\n\n        Tangalora the Samoan Scribe\u2014Where the Gods and Goddesses\n        first met in Council\u2014The Materials of which the first\n        Mortal Children were Fashioned\u2014The first Wondering\n        Men\u2014The first Women\u2014How the first Babies came to their\n        Mothers.\n\n\nIT was nearly three months before I found myself in Samoa again. O\u2019Hara\nhad shipped from Hawaii for the Solomon Isles, and I had signed on as\n\u201cdeckhand\u201d on a fore-and-aft schooner that was bound for Apia. I missed\nthe society of my Irish comrade; but we met long after, as will be seen\nin the last chapters of this book. However, I soon made another friend,\nfor I came across a high chief, Tangalora, who was an aged Samoan. I\ncame to value his friendship greatly. He dwelt in a cave on the shores\nof Savaii Isle, a cave wherein he lived in primitive comfort and seemed\nhappy enough. He was one of the last of the wandering Samoan scribes\u2014men\nwho, with tappa robe flung across the left shoulder, wandered from\nvillage to village in pursuit of their romantic calling. These scribes\nwould enter the small pagan villages at sunset, take their stand on the\nvillage forum-stump (sometimes a tree trunk or a heap of coral stone\nthat denoted where some mighty warrior or poet was buried), then,\nlifting one arm towards the sky, commence to pour forth in dramatic\nfashion their own versions of the old mythological tales and legends.\nSuch a scribe was Tangalora, with whom I became on the most intimate\nterms. As I have said, Tangalora was a very old man. I believe he was\nnearly eighty years of age. Consequently, he was unable to travel from\nvillage to village singing his romantic chants and legends to Samoan\nmaids and youths. I found him a most agreeable old poet, perfect in\nevery way, except that I noticed a tinge of jealousy arose whenever I\nspoke of his contemporaries. But even that very human failing was\nforgivable, for competition was keen among the poets of those days, and\nI myself heard many followers of the Muse, as they stood on those\nParnassian heathen slopes, cursing the lying tongue of some wandering\nscribe who had forestalled them by arriving at the forum-stump before\nthey did. However, it\u2019s not my wish to go into detail over Tangalora\u2019s\nfailings; all I will attempt is to tell from my own impressions some of\nthe incidents of the _extempore_ verse which he rattled off in his\ncavern homestead. I must first say that he used this cavern as a lecture\nhall as well as a homestead, charging a small fee to the native men and\ncrowds of children who collected outside his rocky door at sunset. It\nwas a sight worth seeing as those little native children, their eyes\nbright with mystery, waited to enter the cavern and hear the wonderful\nold wizard man, Tangalora, tell of the mysteries of shadowland. It was\nsuch a sight that met my eyes when I arrived at that cavern\u2019s entrance,\nas eager as any of the forest children, I am sure.\n\nThe sun was setting on the sea skyline and the shadows falling over the\nmountains as Tangalora sat on his coral throne at the far end of his\nweird-lit cavern hall. He was fully decorated with all the insignia of\nhis office, wearing his tappa robe, and with his ornamental war-club by\nhis side, as he sat there before me.\n\n\u201cTalofa!\u201d he said, and all the children responded:\n\n\u201cTalofa, O Tangalora!\u201d\n\nThen he said that which translated into our language would run in this\nwise:\n\n\u201cNow then, _fantoes_ (children), come round close to me, my sight is\ndim; sit by my knees, for I am old.\u201d\n\nIn a moment the tawny children of the south were hustling and bustling\nto secure their favourite position at the feet of the aged poet. Placing\nhis hand to his wrinkled mouth, he coughed twice, as he always did ere\nhe commenced to tell his stories.\n\n\u201cAre you all here?\u201d His voice trembled into echoes.\n\n\u201cWe are all here!\u201d cried the children, as they crossed their arms and\nlegs and prepared to listen attentively. Then he began as follows:\n\n\u201cThousands of years ago, when the sun, the moon, and the stars shone in\nthe sky and saw no one alive on the isles of these seas, the heathen\ngods were walking across the wide floors of Mbau. Suddenly\nRaitumaibulii, who was the god of Fruit and Taro, said: \u2018I say, look at\nthat great ocean shining under the sun down there above unpeopled,\npalm-clad isles.\u2019 Then the god continued: \u2018Is it not a shame that all\nthose beautiful palms and those breadfruit trees of mine should be laden\nwith such nice fruit and yet none there to eat of it?\u2019 \u2018It really does\nseem a pity,\u2019 replied the god of Fire; and he continued: \u2018I also think\nit sad that none can light fires in those deep forests. Look how\ncomfortable they would feel were they to see my flames brightly shining\nbeneath the palms by night.\u2019 As the god Raitumaibulii and the god of\nFire ceased speaking and sighed over their thoughts, the beautiful\nheathen goddess of Mburoto (the Paradise of Love and Bliss) came up to\nthem and said: \u2018Ah! I have just heard your lament. I too feel sad to\nthink that there are no handsome youths and maidens in those beautiful\nleafy forests.\u2019 As the two gods listened and gazed on her beauty, she\nlifted her hands and lovely eyes towards the mountains of Mburoto, and\ncontinued in this wise: \u2018Oh! think how pleased the moons would be to\nlight up the eyes of handsome lovers and reveal the bronze-hued faces of\npretty maidens if they roamed those now silent lands.\u2019 It was then that\nthe great Thangi-Thangi, the god of Hate and Sin, stepped forth. He,\ntoo, looked thoughtfully down on those far-distant beautiful isles and\nmurmured: \u2018What a waste, what a waste it is, when I think how I could\nmake the folk of a world to hate each other and deeply sin.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe goddess of Love, who was listening to Thangi-Thangi, said: \u2018Look\nhere, you are not wanted down there. I know well enough that if you had\nanything to do with the making of the folk of another world, they would\nnever be really happy folk.\u2019 As the beautiful goddess said this, her\ndaughter came forward. She had eyes like unto fire, and a serpent was\nnestling at her breast. Gazing up into the face of the goddess of Love,\nshe said: \u2018I am Jealousy, your sinful child; but may I help you to make\nthe new folk for that lovely country, those silent isles so far away,\ndown there?\u2019\n\n\u201cFor a long time the goddess of Love gazed across the terraced mountains\nof Mbau. As she reflected, her hands were arched over her eyes that\nshone like two lovely moons that had a bright star in their centre.\nSlowly turning, she gazed sadly into her daughter\u2019s dark, fiery eyes,\nand said:\n\n\u201c\u2018I suppose you _must_ come and help me when I am making handsome men\nand beautiful women. Of course, I shall have to make a few ugly mortals,\nso that the favoured ones may see that they are handsome.\u2019 Then the\ngoddess sighed and said: \u2018So you must be there to kiss their lips, that\nthey may have the spirit to look after the _one_ they love.\u2019\n\n\u201cAfter the gods and goddesses of Mbau had assembled in solemn council,\nthey decided that it would be best to make living people who could be\nhappy on the isles situated away down beneath the sun. \u2018So shall it be,\u2019\nthey all muttered, as they stalked across the magic mountains of\nMburoto, where they at once began to gather wonderful flowers and weeds,\nstones, bits of fire, and cloudy skeins of moonlight and starlight. For\nit was from the essential materials of Paradise that they must make the\nchildren of the world that was beneath the sun.\n\n\u201cIt was then that the aged goddess of Sorrow, who had stood silently\nbehind, said: \u2018I also must come to help you.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Must you come?\u2019 said the goddess of Love. And the goddess of Sorrow\nreplied: \u2018It must be I alone who shall gather the compassionate cry of\nthe winds in the forest, the bundles of old sunsets, the long-ago wail\nof blue sea-waves, and the songs of melancholy, small-throated birds.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018But must we have such things? Cannot we make children without your\nhelp, O goddess of Sorrow?\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd Sorrow answered: \u2018However beautiful you made the children, even\nthough their eyes were like unto the beauty of thine own, still they\nwould not be happy without being fashioned of those things that I must\ngather from the graves of a million dead moons.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018So shall it be,\u2019 said the goddess of Love, as she sighed and kissed\nSorrow\u2019s tender, trembling hand.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now then!\u2019 said Atuaa, the chief vassal of Ndengi. \u2018Come along! Come\nalong!\u2019 Then, lo! on the beams of threaded moonlight that were falling\ndown the heavens of shadowland into the dark regions of the other world,\nthe gods and goddesses slid softly away, monstrous, shadowy figures as\nthey passed down, down through the deep skies! For a long time their\ncloudy figures seemed to be falling. At last they stood, mighty shadows\nin the silent forest of the isles far to the westward. They were all\nmuch taller than the trees, their huge heads rising far above the forest\nheight, as their images moved across the sky. It was the god of Hate who\nfirst spoke after they had stepped into the forest of Time. He said: \u2018I\nsay, we must be very careful not to make these new children as big and\nas strong as we ourselves are.\u2019 For a long time the hands of the gods\nand goddesses were busy, as they toiled silently, mixing up the\nmaterials in the bundles they had brought with them. Before sunrise\nappeared on the sea\u2019s horizon, the gods had hurried back to the skies,\nand were watching to see what would happen. Now the gods and goddesses\nhad not long left the lonely forest when old Silence trembled in his\ncave at hearing the jabbering and scampering about of unusual things\namongst his solemn trees. An extraordinary thing had happened, for, as\nthe light of the sun stared down through the branches of the coco-palms,\nsix newly-created men yawned, jumped to their new, soft, brown clay\nfeet, and gazed on each other in mute astonishment. \u2018Who am I? Who are\nyou?\u2019 It sounded like echoes answering each other in a cave, as each one\ngabbled forth, \u2018Who am I? Who are you?\u2019 For a long time they babbled\nthus. Then they all stepped forward and said to each other: \u2018Let us all\nbe happy, and care not at all who we may be.\u2019\n\n\u201cSaying this, they rubbed noses and became _ma pataro_ (good friends).\nNow, just behind the bamboos and mangroves, not a spear\u2019s throw from\nwhere they were gabbling and rubbing noses, stood six newly-created\nmaidens. These maidens also gazed at each other in astonishment and\ncried out: \u2018Who are we? Who are we?\u2019 Then in some fright embraced, much\nthe same as the men had done, and said: \u2018What matters it who we are, so\nlong as we are really here?\u2019 and then they ran down to the seashore.\n\n\u201cThe sun had risen and set thrice when the maids danced on the shore,\nall singing some song which they had learnt from the soft murmurings of\na seashell. Each had clad her form in a small lava-lava that was made of\nseaweed and fastened by threaded grass about the loins. Standing on the\nbig lumps of red coral, they all dived into the ocean, to come forth\nlaughing, as the sea-water fell glistening from their tresses that half\nhid their soft feet. \u2018Oh, how lovely this world really is!\u2019 they said,\nas they lifted seashells to their ears, and, singing again, dived\nheadlong into the ocean. It so happened that the six newly-created men\nhad made up their minds to go down and bathe in the cool sea-water; and,\nas they gazed through the belt of mangroves, they suddenly gave a cry of\nastonishment. One said: \u2018Did ever one see such figures?\u2019 Another,\nswallowing the lump that came to his throat, said: \u2018\u2019Tis more wonderful\nthan finding ourselves in this lonely forest to see such divine\nfigures.\u2019 Then yet another cried: \u2018They must have come to us out of the\nnight and the starlight by way of the Dawn!\u2019 Then, half in fright, they\ncrept down towards the shore so that they might see the maids the\nplainer. \u2018Vanaka! Vanaka!\u2019 they cried, losing their heads through seeing\nall that they did see. Being foolish, as men have always been, they\nrushed forth from the shadows of the mangroves, in haste to embrace the\nmaids. The maidens, looking up in wonder at hearing other voices, all\nscreamed out in astonishment: \u2018Oh, look, such figures!\u2014why, surely, more\nlovely than we are!\u2019 Then, seeing that the figures were rushing down the\nshores towards them, they huddled in fright together, then, hastily\nlifting their loosened tresses that dangled down to their feet, they ran\noff towards the forest of breadfruit trees. One, who possessed a figure\nlike a goddess, lagged behind the others as they raced up the shore, for\nso long was her hair that it became entangled in her swiftly moving\nfeet. Suddenly she fell down on the glistening sand. The six pursuing\nnewly-created men shouted with joy on observing the maiden\u2019s distress.\nHe who ran first was a handsome youth. In a moment he had reached the\nside of the fallen maid, who, struggling to regain her feet, glanced\ndespairingly over her shoulder up into the eyes of him who leaned over\nher. The maid half turned her form whilst she still lay in a reclining\nposition. So exquisite was the sight to him who had captured her that he\nnearly swooned, and so it happened that, ere the others came up, the\nmaid had once more regained her feet and had sped off into the forests.\nHiding amongst the trees and flowers, the girls hastily plucked hibiscus\nblossoms and palm-leaves. The flowers they swiftly placed in their hair,\nand, hurriedly threading the leaves with grass, they wrapped them about\ntheir loins. \u2018Was it not foolish to run away from such figures?\u2019 said a\ntall maiden, who had soft, warm eyes like unto stars in a pool. \u2018It was!\nIt was!\u2019 they cried together, as they leaned over the lagoon and gazed\nsideways on their images, swerving slightly that they might discover why\nthey were so fascinating. Seeing the men no more, they all sat down on\nthe edge of the lagoon and wept bitterly.\n\n\u201cNext day they searched and searched the forest till at last they found\nthe men; and, lo! the men fell down on their knees before them, and the\nmaids blushed exceedingly, their eyes sparkling with much joy. Ere the\nmoon had faded to the size of a bird\u2019s underwing, the maidens were full\nof jealousy, grief, and sorrow, for they were each in love with the very\none who loved another. When the gods of the shadowland (who were, of\ncourse, aware of all that had happened) heard the moans and wailing\nlamentations of the men and women whom they had created, they said:\n\u2018What _shall_ we do now? We have made children of the forest, and lo,\nhave mixed them up the wrong way!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe goddess of Love gazed sorrowfully across the stars, and said: \u2018I\nmust see what can be done for them, for now that we have made them they\nare our children.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen all the gods and goddesses stamped their feet in grief, and,\ncrying out as with one voice, said: \u2018What shall we do now that we have\nmade the first children of the forest wrong?\u2019\n\n\u201cThe goddesses of Love and Passion replied: \u2018We must now give unto them\nlittle children of their own; then they will throw the blame of their\nsorrows on themselves instead of on us who made them.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the goddess of Love continued: \u2018Come on! Come on!\u2019 and at once\nstarted to move towards the mountains of Mburoto, and all the gods sadly\nfollowed her. And when they stood beneath the mighty tree that threw\nbranches of night across all the skies and blossomed the bright-fingered\nstars, she said: \u2018Stay! It is here that we must gather the materials for\nthe children of the children of this new world which we have made.\u2019\nSaying this, she stooped and gathered little bits of starlight. And the\ngods and goddesses, who followed close behind her, said: \u2018What\u2019s that\nfor?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018That\u2019s for the little ones\u2019 eyes,\u2019 answered the goddess of Love. Then\nshe gathered some tiny red flowers that were always murmuring music to\nthe soft winds on the mountain side.\n\n\u201c\u2018What\u2019s that for?\u2019 murmured all the gods.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why, that\u2019s to make the children\u2019s tiny mouths with.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the goddess looked up and gave a soft whistle; and down from the\nbeautiful palm trees of Mburoto came fluttering to her feet small,\nblack-breasted birds.\n\n\u201c\u2018Lift your heads up, O little birds!\u2019 she said, as they all sang to\nher. Then, as they still whistled and whistled, she stooped down and\nwith her forefinger tenderly brushed the dark down from each breast.\n\n\u201c\u2018What\u2019s that stuff for?\u2019 growled the old Thangi-Thangi, the god of Hate\nand Sin.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why, that is for the hair on their tiny heads.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the goddess said: \u2018Come on! Come on!\u2019 and led the way to the edge\nof the mighty threshold of _Atua_ (Elysium).\n\n\u201cThen she threw out a long fishing-net, and it fell away down the skies.\nAs she pulled it up very gently, it was full of old sunsets and old\nbroken moons.\n\n\u201c\u2018What\u2019s that stuff for?\u2019 murmured the gods, as the hills around were\nlit up with a sad, beautiful light.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why, that is to make their little hearts with; I would have them love\nand worship us, these children that we have made, so that when they die,\ntheir spirits will come back again to shadowland.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen she led them across the wide halls of Mburoto, till they came to\nthe lagoons that were the shining mirrors of the gods and goddesses.\n\n\u201c\u2018O gods and goddesses of shadowland, bend forward and gaze into the\ndeep waters so that your eyes will be imaged therein!\u2019\n\n\u201cLeaning forward, they all gazed into their own mirrored eyes, thinking\nthe while deeply of all that they wished. The mirrored eyes of the god\nof Hate gleamed like fire; Jealousy\u2019s eyes stared and stared; and\nMercy\u2019s eyes gazed back with tenderest beams into the eyes of Love and\nher sister, Beauty.\n\n\u201c\u2018Don\u2019t move!\u2019 said the goddess, as she swiftly threw her magic\nfishing-net into the lagoon, and caught the shining, mirrored eyelight\nof the gods and goddesses. Picking it out of the net very tenderly with\nher fingers, she placed the gleaming lumps of mystical light into her\nwonderful bundle.\n\n\u201c\u2018Is that all?\u2019 thundered Poluto, the Master-of-all-Desires, as he\nstamped his feet with impatience when the goddess stooped yet again and\nplucked the golden flowers that danced in laughter at her feet.\n\n\u201c\u2018Is that all?\u2019 he thundered yet again, as she put the flowers in the\nbundle, and then fastened her robe of the western winds about her tall,\nglorious form!\n\n\u201c\u2018Alas! it is not enough,\u2019 she responded, as she gazed tenderly into the\neyes of impatient Desire, and made great pretence to hasten. For well\nshe knew that he wanted nothing more than that!\n\n\u201cThen, in single file, the gods and goddesses tramped back the way they\nhad come, and their tall shadows moved along the mighty walls of the\nmoonlit mountains.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cNext night, while the moonbeams were shining over the small grass-huts\nthat the poor mortals had made, so that they could sleep, a shadow\npassed across the whole of the sky. It was the goddess of Love. She had\narrived down in the depths of the forest wherein dwelt the sad,\nnewly-created mortals. She was so tall that she was obliged to use magic\nand so make herself small. When she had shrunken up till she was only\nabout four times as big as a mortal, she could walk with ease beneath\nthe tall forest trees. Taking a lump of red clay out of the earth, she\nstrode deeper into the forest glooms. Standing beneath a giant\nbreadfruit tree, she made a little fire out of the old moonlights and\ndead forest twigs. Often and often she blew its little flame. Then, at\nlast, it burnt steadily with a blue light.\n\n\u201cThen she started to make tiny figures out of the red clay! Opening her\nbundle, she carefully took out bits of old sunsets and starlight. For a\nlong time she was very busy, toiling and toiling with her fingers, as\nshe moulded little arms, legs, and small feet. When she had completed\nher task and had set the little figures all upright in a row, she very\ntenderly put small pinches of sunset and starlight into the little holes\nshe had made beneath their brows. Then she whispered, and it sounded as\nthough a wind went moaning through the forest trees, and lo! the small\nfigures all looked up at her, for their eyes were made. Then she said\nonce again: \u2018Now, little forest children, gaze upon me.\u2019 Then all the\neyes of the small clay figures turned and gazed on her! \u2018Now put out\nyour hands, and stamp, so, with your feet.\u2019 At once the little\nmarionettes obeyed, stamped their feet and put forth their arms. When\nthe goddess had gazed approvingly at her own handiwork, she looked round\nthe silent forest, and said: \u2018Come, my little ones, follow me.\u2019 Then she\nstrode across the forest. And the tiny clay figures, looking round with\ncuriosity, followed her, half frightened, as they kept close to the big\nankles of the goddess who had made them. Their little eyes shone like\ntiny constellations of wandering stars, as they followed their creator\nthrough the depth of those forest glooms.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cAt dawn, when the mortals awoke from sleep, sunrise was streaming\nthrough the grass roofs of their huts. As they all jumped up and gazed\nwith astonishment at the sight they saw, the maidens, who had slept not\nfar away, cried out: \u2018Oh, how beautiful, to be sure!\u2019 For, lo!\u2014a flock\nof pretty _fantoes_ (children) were peeping into their wondering eyes,\nlaughing and clapping their tiny hands as they cried out: \u2018Oh, we are\nyour children; the gods and goddesses of Mbau have sent us to look after\nyou!\u2019\n\n\u201cAfter that the people multiplied on the island, till there were so many\nthat some were obliged to go forth and dwell on other isles of the South\nSeas. And they were all happy for a long, long time, for they did not\nhave time hanging on their hands, so they were not jealous, nor did they\nquarrel overmuch.\u201d\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cTafola, me slo!\u201d cried the children, as Tangalora finished his story.\n\nThereupon the old scribe hastened round with his coco-nut-shell goblet\nto make the usual collection. The children immediately threw in the\ncoins which their mothers had given them, so that they might pay on a\nfair royalty basis for the wonders which the tattooed Homer of their\nisles had told them. I flung in two bits of silver; and, considering all\nthat I had heard, it was cheap at the price. Then the children, giving a\nmusical halloo that echoed through that small Olympus, scrambled out of\nthe cavern and disappeared in the forest.\n\nTangalora entertained me right royally that night, not only by relating\na lot of the fascinating storied history of heathenland, but because of\nhis thoughtfulness: he slyly pulled a piece of sacking from an old\nbarrel, and brought forth twelve bottles of sparkling Bass\u2019s ale!\nSquatting there, on Tangalora\u2019s best fibre mat, things took on quite a\nrosy look as I listened whilst the summer night grew old. Then I bade my\nhost good-night and went outside in the open to rest. There\u2019s a good\ndeal of mythology in Bass\u2019s ale: I know that much. When I had made my\nbed beneath the palms and carefully placed my quilt of moss over my\ntired frame, I distinctly saw the moon cheerfully wave a pale hand over\nthe highest pinnacle of Vae\u2019s mountain range. It did not seem strange\nthat the midnight moon should laugh, and, sneezing, send a tiny spiral\nof mist across the clear sky. All was as it should be when a magnificent\nprocession of mighty gods and goddesses from Poluto marched across my\nbedroom floor, and disappeared in the adjacent glooms ere I closed my\neyes in sleep.\n\nReferring to my diary and the scraps which I wrote down in those old\ndays, I find the notes considerably mixed up, parts quite obliterated\nthrough my sea-chest getting washed about on sailing-ships. Many of the\npages are missing. But my memory is good, and I can easily fill in the\ninterminable gaps. Indeed, the best part of this book is being written\nwithin the sounds of the winds in the palms. The dark, sombre green of\nthe tropic landscape stretches for miles and miles. There lies the\nexpanse of the sapphire-hued ocean, ending far away in the pale saffron\nfires of the skyline\u2019s sunset, as, in my imagination, I softly dip my\npen into the magic foams that sparkle on the coral-dust sands at my feet\nand sigh with the coco-palms overhead.\n\nI see by my notes that I have already recorded in my previous books[4]\nmany of the incidents connected with my visit to Samoa at this period.\nAnd, having also previously related much that befell me on my first\nvoyage to Nuka Hiva and Hiva oa, I have no alternative but to revert to\nthe incidents of a very interesting experience which came to me after I\nhad \u201cjumped ship\u201d in Fiji. And this I will do in the next chapter.\n\nFootnote 4:\n\n  _A Vagabond\u2019s Odyssey_; _Wine-Dark Seas and Tropic Skies_; _Sailor and\n  Beachcomber_.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                       CHAPTER VIII. IN OLD FIJI\n\n        A Heathen Monastery\u2014A scene of Primitive Heathenism\u2014My\n        unsolicited Professional Engagement\u2014I imbibe Kava\u2014I\n        am made \u201cTaboo\u201d\u2014Things that I may not Confess\u2014My\n        escape\u2014Fanga Loma\u2014A Native Village\u2014The Enchantress of\n        the Forest\u2014Temptation\u2014In Suva again.\n\n\nI RECALL that, though my profession has never burdened me with wealth\ntill it seemed an encumbrance, my violin has enabled me to delve without\nharm into the most secretive, dangerous heathen societies and sacred\nfestivals. Where a white man would have been, in the ordinary way,\nclubbed, or doped with a mixture of kava and South Sea strychnine for\nintruding at a secret sacred festival, I have been received with open\narms. It seems incredible, when I think of the magnificent receptions I\nhave had through being able to play my old Sunday-school hymns on a\nfiddle before ex-cannibal chiefs.\n\nI was in Suva, Fiji, when I managed to wheedle my way into a heathen\nmonastery that was the one surviving temple of another age. This sacred\nhell was situated in a picturesque spot up in the Kai Tholos mountains.\nThese Kai Tholos tribes were a fierce mountain people who, up till that\ndate, had successfully resisted the advances of the British\nmissionaries. Few of them were still living, but those few most\ncertainly did their best to make up for the iniquities of the missing\nwhen they met in their temple cavern four miles west of Mandaua, not far\nfrom the Rewa River. The aforesaid river ran through an isolated\ndistrict in those days. Where now the new sugar and coffee plantations\nare, there was nothing more than a few taro and pineapple patches that\nsupplied the scattered villages with work and food.\n\nHow I got to know the whereabouts of the aforesaid monastery matters\nlittle. I will simply say that an elder chief, named Kambo, secured me\nuninterrupted admission into the cavern-chamber where the old\nunconverted Kai Tholos assembled for religious purposes.\n\nOnly a poet of superb descriptive ability could adequately describe that\ncavern\u2019s interior and its romantic surroundings. All I am able to say of\nthe local scenery is, that the mountains seemed to abet, to watch over\nthose wild Kai Tholos and their secret meetings, for ever guarding the\ncavern\u2019s entrance with their rugged hollows and pinnacles that were clad\nwith feathery palms and the innocent flowerage of artless Nature. It was\nlike entering some wondrous _Arabian Nights_ cave of enchantment to\nenter that volcanic chamber.\n\n\u201cIn there?\u201d I said to old Kambo, as I stood hesitating, looking across\nthe silent gullies, watching the migrating cockatoos fade away in the\naftermath of the sunset ere I made up my mind to enter.\n\nThe large red feathers in Kambo\u2019s mop-head brushed against the low roof\nof the tunnel-way as we both entered that ominous-looking entrance. The\nglittering stalactites, hanging in festoons from the rocky alcoves,\nintensified the weird atmosphere of that gloomy place, as, with fiddle\nin my hand, I crept warily behind my swarthy guide. We had to stoop,\nalmost crawl, as we passed along into the third corridor. Great was my\nsurprise as I suddenly entered a spacious chamber. The scene before me\nalmost dazzled my eyes, for beneath the hanging rows of innumerable\ncoco-nut-oil lamps, suspended over a large platform, danced a group of\ndusky, sparkling-eyed houris!\n\nI stared like one in a dream as I continued to gaze on those whirling,\nsemi-nude figures. A few were attired in diaphanous tappa robes, that\nseemed to be worn for no other purpose than for the fact that they\nsoftly opened out like large umbrellas and then closed down again. I am\nat a loss to know how to describe the dances and the various \u201cturns\u201d\nthose maids gave, as they sought to give the onlookers a violent,\ndemonstrative exhibition of their charms. Some whirled, some\nsomersaulted, and a few seemed to detach their limbs from their bodies\nand gently throw them, in boomerang-like swerves, across the stage, ere\nthey returned and fixed themselves by apparent magic into their\ncustomary position. So it seemed to me, for I am at a loss to give any\nreasonable explanation of maidens pitching their legs and arms in such a\nway as they did, without dislocation, if not serious injury and strain.\nIt is quite possible that they had been trained from early childhood,\nlike to our own contortionists and music-hall dancers, so that they\nmight please the eyes of sinful old priests.\n\nSquatting on coco-nut-fibre mats, arranged in semicircles, reposed the\nmost hideous-looking chiefs it has ever been my lot to gaze upon. They\nwere tattooed in grotesque style from toes to chin, their teeth reddened\nthrough chewing betel-nut. They were undoubtedly the surviving grand old\nrou\u00e9s of the pre-Christian times. To the indescribable capers of the\nsacred maids, they gave enthusiastic grunts and awful wheezes, and the\neffect of it all was weird enough as the sounds echoed and re-echoed ere\nthey escaped from the close atmosphere of that subterranean chamber.\n\n\u201cWoi! Woi! Vanaka!\u201d they yelled. Then several old women lifted magic\nsticks, with sponges on the ends, and wiped dribble from their ugly\nmouths!\n\n\u201cKasawayo! Kasawayo!\u201d the whole audience yelled, as a pretty Fijian\nprincess stepped from the alcove to the right of the stage, did a\nseemingly impossible somersault, and gave a characteristic bow. The\naudience gazed on her in breathless silence. She was arrayed in a most\npicturesque style; the gleams of the hanging oil-lamps falling upon her\nmade her appear like some goddess. About her waist was a girdle of\nshells and flowers that dangled down to her knees. But that which\nattracted me most was the manner of the timid obeisances which she\nrepeatedly paid the monstrous wooden idol that an old priest had placed\nin front of her.\n\n\u201cWhathi! Whathi, Ndengi!\u201d the audience yelled, as she prostrated herself\nbefore the image. Sometimes she burst into blood-curdling peals of\nlaughter and beat the floor with her limbs. Her skull must have been\nextremely thick, for she repeatedly crashed her head on the floor\nwithout any apparent harm coming to it. She looked like some weird\nenchantress as she went through the heathen rites which were mimicked in\nthe old ship\u2019s saloon mirror that was stuck up against the cavern\u2019s wall\njust beside her. Once she sprang to her feet as though struck by a\nsudden wondrous thought, then, lifting one arm to the rocky roof, as\nthough it were some far-off sky, made a mute appeal, moving her lips as\nthough in prayer. After going through many seemingly impossible\ncontortions, she put forth her arms and, twining them that they might\nresemble the sinuous movements of a crawling serpent, chanted a weirdly\nsweet melody. And all the while this was going on, the whole audience\nchanted out, \u201cWhathi! Whathi!\u201d Though she performed many feats that made\nthose dusky old men of the front rows lift their chins to the roof in\nsheer ecstatic joy, it was her peculiar wardrobe that mostly appealed to\nmy imagination. Rising to her feet, she beat her bare thighs with her\nhands and cried out as though in pain, her extensive wardrobe rattling\nforth the weirdest music imaginable. Her raiment was adorned with the\nthreaded bones and teeth of dead chiefs, old men\u2019s beards, maidens\u2019\ndried fingers and toes, and, most sacred of all, the dried bosoms of\nsacrificed girls!\u2014there they hung, tied into small bouquets, bits of\ntawny skin like shrivelled parchment, grotesque but sad manuscripts of\nforgotten lovers, and what sad heartbeats! For it appeared that they\nwere the breasts of vestal maidens who had fallen in love and so\nviolated the principles of their creed. \u201cNo! Never!\u201d was my astonished\nejaculation as Kambo, my friendly guide, took me aside and whispered\nmuch to me that must remain where it remains. As that old friendly\nchief, Kambo, pointed out the distinctive charms that adorned the\ndancer\u2019s heathen-raiment, I felt like making a bolt for it. I heartily\nrepented of my foolish act in allowing myself to be lured into such a\nden of heathen iniquity. But it was too late.\n\n\u201cWoh, woil! You play moosic, alak!\u201d said Kambo, as several fierce men\napproached me. In a moment all eyes were upon me. Something banged me on\nthe shoulder. For a moment I lost my head, and fancied that some mighty\nheathen god had suddenly dropped from the roof upon me. In my fright and\nin the one vital thought that came to me, I metaphorically leapt over my\nown shoulders and endeavoured to bolt down the tunnel away out into the\nnight; but a nudge in the ribs with a war-club brought me back to my\nsenses. I was immediately gripped by twelve pairs of dusky hands and\nlifted bodily by the neck and shoulders up on the _pae-pae_ (stage). In\na flash I realized the whole position. Obediently as a child I lifted my\nviolin to my chin and commenced to play. Only God remembers the melody I\nperformed; I don\u2019t. A chief chuckled in a blood-curdling manner as I\nfinished the strain; then he swung a war-club across the chamber. I\ninstinctively dodged as the weapon made a boomerang-like swerve and\nreturned to its owner\u2019s massive palm! Seeing that the aforesaid act was\nonly an act of appreciation of my playing by the court jester, I was\nimmensely relieved.\n\nThen I took the proffered calabash of kava from the hands of the head\nchiefess. All eyes were on me; there was no way out of it; I saw that I\nhad to drink to the glory of the dancer\u2019s eyes. My hand trembled, I\nknow, as I lifted the goblet to my lips and took a sensitive gulp of\nthat wretched stuff; then I nearly vomited. It was surely the filthiest\nliquor ever imbibed by man. I managed to keep it down, though. It is\nwonderful what one can go through when necessity drives! Having read the\nlives of the British martyrs, I well knew my chances, what might occur\nto me if I did not favour the rites of those primitive religious bigots;\nconsequently I swallowed another pint, thinking it best to take no risks\nof giving offence.\n\nAfter that trial and dire insult to my digestive apparatus, I performed\nanother solo, keeping excellent _tempo_, considering my position, to the\nmighty kicks and indescribable swerves of the heathen houris who were\ngiving a special ran-tan selection in my honour. The very coco-nut-oil\nlamp gleams seemed to fade into a dim blush as I stared at the monstrous\nsilhouette of myself that fiddled on the wall. I might say that the\ncavern was about fifteen feet high at the end where I stood. Just as the\nunearthly din of the audience\u2019s delighted exclamation was fading away,\nhalf a dozen half-caste girls came running into the cavern out of the\ntunnel entrance. They had coral-dyed hair, and by the fairness of their\ncomplexion I guessed that they were a mixture of Samoan and Fijian\nblood. I felt much relieved to see them appear, for they were\nhuman-looking, and so brought a sense of companionship into that\nsubterranean den.\n\nThe oldest member of the new-comers was attractive-looking. Her eyes\nwere large and very bright. Her crown of hair had a marvellous glitter\nabout it and fell in soft ripples down to her shoulders. In another\nmoment she had rushed up to me and had prostrated herself at my feet! A\ntremendous yell from the onlookers followed this act of the girl\u2019s. It\nappeared that her act had made me \u201ctaboo\u201d\u2014a sacred personage. I felt\nbewildered over it all. An uncomfortable idea got into my head that I\nwas the chosen for some heathen sacrifice! I know that I must have\nvisibly paled. I even appreciated the caresses and wailing lamentations\nthat the goddess-maid (for such she was) made as she poured strange\nphrases into my ears, telling me, doubtless, of my beauty! I do confess\nhere that her eyes told more than her lips (for I could not understand\nthe language in which she flattered me), and I could not fail to\nunderstand the meaning conveyed.\n\nLoud acclamations of approval followed all that the girl did. It was\nsome little time ere I discovered how I was supposed to show my\nreciprocation of the dubious elevation that her choice had conferred\nupon me. The fact was that she was the head sacred-maid, and, instead of\nchoosing a youth of her own race, had chosen me; therefore I found\nmyself suddenly elevated to priesthood. The order of priesthood was not\nso bad, but I discovered that I was supposed to embrace and kiss the\nlips of the monstrous wooden idol that stood on the _pae-pae_ in front\nof me. Its big, wooden, grinning, one-toothed mouth and goggling glass\neyes seemed to say in some malevolent voice of silence: \u201cCome on, thou\ndog of a Christian, kiss this heathenish mouth, bow the knee to me, thou\ndestroyer of heathen creeds and mighty wooden images!\u201d\n\nI felt helpless. I gazed in despair on the front rows of that grim,\ndusky-hued audience of mop-headed men! They had thrust their chins and\nclubs forward on seeing my obvious hesitation to worship that wooden\nthing. An ominous silence dwelt over all. Two fierce old hags put forth\ntheir scraggy hands and made as though to clutch at me, but, warned by a\nlook from the goddess-maid who had brought me to that pass, they lifted\ntheir chins and spat at me! And still I hesitated. I would die sooner\nthan kneel before that grinning wooden deity. By now the audience was\nloudly shouting, their headdress of big red feathers violently shaking,\nand still I pretended not to understand what they wished me to do. But\nit was hopeless, for they kept shouting and pointing to the maid and\nthen at the idol. There stood that wooden thing, mocking me with its\nhideous carven grin. Not even though it meant death for me, would I\nviolate my inherent dignity by embracing that monstrous image.\n\n\u201cWoi! Woi!\u201d I cried, and, pretending to misunderstand the whole\nbusiness, I leapt forward and embraced the maid.\n\nThose old chiefs opened their mouths in astonishment. That much I\nnoticed as I instinctively turned my head to see the effect of my act.\nThe very tattoo engraving that adorned the faces of the aged priests had\nwrinkled up into distorted bunches. In another moment each look of rage\nand horror had resolved into a grim grimace\u2014they were all grinning. I\nwas saved! The Fijian race was endowed with humour! No words of mine can\nadequately describe all I felt at that moment. My relief was intense. I\nknew that, had those priests been as humourless as are British disciples\nin their creeds, I had been done for. God knows, my head, that now\nrecalls those old days, would have decorated a Fijian\u2019s girdle, or would\nbe a pinch of dust beneath the South Sea palms, or possibly have been\ndiscovered ornamenting a native hut, and by now be on show, exhibited in\nsome British anthropological museum, as a fine specimen of the skull of\nprimitive man.\n\nAs the maid continued to rub my face with her soft nose (the customary\nsalutation of the Fijians), I felt much relieved.\n\n\u201cAwaie, le oa taki!\u201d she murmured.\n\nThen, in response to the wish of that subterranean audience, I placed my\nviolin to my chin and commenced to play a weird chant to her eyes. It\nhad to be done, I knew. Ah, how I played! My instrument wailed out\nWagner\u2019s \u201cSwan Song,\u201d then I finished up with a Band of Hope hymn. And\nall the while the maid fawned on me like a cat, looked into my eyes,\nstroked my hand that swayed the violin bow, and gazed in wonder on the\nother that travelled up and down the fingerboard of my instrument.\n\nSuddenly I seemed to be whirled away on the roar and thunder of some\ninvisible Niagara Falls. Forked lightning seemed to flicker down the\ncorridors of my brain. I knew that it was the fumes of that cursed kava\nbeginning to work on the emotional temperament! The world seemed to\nwobble on its orbit. I made a creditable effort, I am sure, to steady\nmyself; then I seemed to have leapt out of myself\u2014I had clutched the\nmaid, and in some awful delirium of ecstasy was whirling with her in the\nheathenish mekee-dance!\n\nI may not tell all that occurred at that enforced professional\nengagement, no, not till Time has finished its onward flight and the\nblind sun stares on the melancholy past. One thing I can confess to, and\nthat is, I had made up my mind to escape at the first opportunity.\nOpposite me was the tunnel-way wherethrough I had entered. Often, as the\nclamouring audience rose to encore the dancers, their shadows fell on me\nand across the cavern walls; but my chance seemed never to arrive. Still\nI played on and watched, and still the maid whom I had embraced sang a\nweird melody of wailful sweetness into my ears.\n\nOnce more I was compelled to imbibe the \u201csacred\u201d potion of kava, and\nonce more my digestive apparatus groaned within me.\n\nI thought I must surely be dreaming when all the fierce, watching eyes\nof the priests, who stared at the goddess-maid and myself, suddenly\ndropped from their sockets and twinkled on the cavern\u2019s floor! This\nstrange effect was caused, not only through some obliquity of my\nkava-stricken vision, but also because a puff of wind suddenly blew down\nthe tunnel-way\u2019s entrance and swayed the rows of coco-nut-oil lamps into\nshadowy gleams. As soon as normal conditions returned, my senses seemed\nto readjust themselves.\n\nSuddenly the sacred personage, Kasawayo, who had stood aside since I had\nbeen made taboo, stepped forward and cried: \u201cAlaka!\u201d (Hold!)\n\nThis act of Kasawayo\u2019s gave me considerable relief. I saw that she had\nsome great influence over the priests; for they immediately ceased their\nhubbub and their remarks, I am sure, of a debased nature.\n\nIt appeared that Kasawayo was the religious impersonation of some great\ngoddess of shadowland, and I had reason to believe that she was a\njealous impersonation. Stepping on the small platform, she gave the maid\nwho had made me taboo a fierce whack on the face! A great hullabaloo\nfollowed this ungracious act. The priests, chiefesses, and youths leapt\nfrom their mats and joined enthusiastically in the m\u00eal\u00e9e. My chance to\nescape had come! In a second I had dived towards the cavern\u2019s side. I\nscrambled down the tunnel-way. When I arrived at the spot where one was\ncompelled to stoop, a great fear seized my heart, for I heard the sound\nof breathing just behind me\u2014I knew that I was pursued! I cursed my ample\nbulk. Had I been a little thinner I could have squeezed through the\nnarrow aperture easily enough. Holding my violin forward in one hand, so\nthat I could clear the walls without its being crushed, I gave a final\nwriggle\u2014I was through!\n\nMy delight can be imagined when I emerged into the bush of the\nsurrounding gullies. Scrambling through the tropical growth I heard a\nfaint shuffling noise close behind me. It was evident that someone else\nhad rushed through the tunnel-way and was close on my track.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m done for!\u201d I thought, as I turned round, determined to sell my life\ndearly. The old barbarian that dwells in all men leapt into my soul. I\neven felt some fierce joy at the idea of cracking my pursuer\u2019s skull ere\nI fell. \u201cCome on!\u201d I shouted, as I held a lump of rock over my head;\nthen I dropped my clumsy weapon and smiled\u2014the dusky goddess-maid who\nhad made me taboo stood before me!\n\n\u201cCome, Papalagi!\u201d she whispered, as she clutched my arm.\n\nLike an obedient child I raced along as she ran soft-footed beside me. I\nfelt that I was running across some fairy-world in a dream, as I saw the\nmaid\u2019s flying heels and the moonlit forest around me.\n\n\u201cRunner fast!\u201d she said.\n\nAnd so I did.\n\nArriving at the bottom of the steep incline, we pulled up by the edge of\na wide mountain lagoon. Feathery palms leaned over the silent waters.\nThe moon, high in the sky right overhead, was imaged distinctly in the\ndark water at my feet, and by the mirrored orb floated a canoe. The\nclear shadow of that tiny craft was so distinct that it seemed to float\njust _over_ the moon\u2019s image, the shadow being more visible than the\ncanoe itself.\n\n\u201cO Papalagi, jumper! jumper!\u201d said the maid in an appealing voice.\n\nI did not hesitate, but I leaned forward and leapt\u2014splash!\u2014I had jumped\ninto the shadow craft and down into the depths of the imaged moon. The\nmaid, as I floundered about in the deep water, clutched my hair, and so\nenabled me to scramble up on the lagoon\u2019s edge.\n\n\u201cSilly Papalagi!\u201d she murmured; then we heard the wild calls of our\npursuers coming from somewhere up in the mountains. In a moment I had\nleapt again, this time landing safely in the real article. The way that\ngirl paddled the canoe is something that pleases my memory to this day.\nShe looked like some pretty enchantress as she sat there in front of me,\nher paddle cutting a line of fire as she dipped softly into the radiance\nof the moon\u2019s white flame. So clear were those huddled waters from the\ndistant mountains, that we could see ourselves sitting in the canoe as\nit sped across the dark depths. I felt a thrill of joy as we gently\nbeached on the opposite shore. The girl leapt softly from the canoe; as\nfor me, I upset the fragile craft and then scrambled knee-deep ashore.\nMy little comrade was evidently taking no risks that night.\n\n\u201cComer on!\u201d she said.\n\nIt took me all my time to keep up with her as she raced down into the\nhollows and sped up the steep inclines. There seemed no ending to that\nforest, ere we rushed out from the shades of the breadfruits and I found\nmyself in a large, cleared space that fronted a native village!\n\nEven then I did not feel easy in my mind. But I was relieved when the\ngirl told me that it was her own village. The hushed, huddled,\nbee-hive-shaped dens in the shade of the palms, through which the\nsaluting moonlight fell, made a picturesque scene.\n\n\u201cIs it safe?\u201d I said, as I stared at the rows of huts.\n\nThe little goddess-maid answered me by turning a somersault on the\n_rara_ (village green) right in front of my eyes.\n\nThen Fanga Loma, for that turned out to be her name, ran across the\ngreen patch and entered one of the larger huts.\n\n\u201cSupposing she\u2019s a traitor?\u201d I thought, as the girl disappeared.\n\nBut she was straight enough. In a few moments I heard sleepy mutterings,\nand then a loud jabbering commenced. In a few moments Fanga Loma\u2019s\nparents, for such they were, had hastily arrayed themselves in their\nfig-leaves, so to speak, and had run out of the hut to see and welcome\nme! For a considerable time Fanga continued to jabber in her own tongue\nto her people. I could only guess the lies she was telling them as she\npointed excitedly to me and then gabbled again. She was a clever little\ndevil, for the pleased expression on the faces of her aged parents was a\ntreat to see. I suppose she had to invent some kind of a tale. The\nvillage was a Christianized one, and had Fanga told the truth her\nparents would probably have been greatly incensed at finding that she\nvisited the heathen Kai Tholos of the mountains. Though it was midnight,\na festival was immediately given in my honour. From the innumerable\ngrunts of pleasure and the attention which was lavished upon me, I\ngathered that I was supposed to have rescued Fanga Loma from some dire\ndanger. As for Fanga, She gave me many fascinating glances of\nconfidence, and seemed quite assured that I was not the kind to go back\non her and tell the truth! She had evidently met white men before, and\nso knew what holy beggars they were!\n\nSleepy youths and women dodged about as they lit up the hanging\ncoco-nut-oil lamps that are to be seen in all native villages. In a few\nmoments they were all alight, and the breadfruit and banyan boughs\nlooked like the branches of some fairy scene. I knew what was expected\nof me, and so I took up my position beneath the centre palm tree and,\nplacing my violin to my chin, commenced to play. Possibly I looked like\nsome wondrous heathen god pulling invisible strings\u2014strings that guided\nthe wonderful capers of those semi-heathen people. Up and down they\njumped, the whole population bobbing like puppets as I fiddled away! The\nlittle kiddies awoke from their sleeping-mats and rushed out of the huts\nto see the fun. To see a white man playing a strange instrument under a\npalm by moonlight was something that made the kids stare in wonder. They\nlooked like dusky cherubs as they crept on all-fours among the leafy\nbanyan groves, and peered at me between the fern and palm-leaves in\nfright. Such demon-bright eyes they had! And when I whipped out the\nflute-like harmonics of Paganini\u2019s \u201cWitches\u2019 Dance,\u201d they all gave a\nshriek of terror, let the big palm-leaf drop, and vanished, as it were,\ninto shadowland!\n\nAfter playing for a considerable time, I stopped, and intimated to the\nchiefs that I wished to get away. At first they begged me to stay; but,\nseeing that I was determined, they loaded me with coco-nut milk. One old\nwoman took a large bone hair-comb from her mop and presented it to me.\nAfter a little discussion they agreed to let Fanga Loma accompany me a\nlittle way on the route. I was glad of this gracious act, for I felt a\nbit nervous that night. And so off Fanga Loma and I went. I heard the\ndeath-owl screaming as we entered the deep shadows of the forest. Fanga\nbegan to sing a pretty strain as her bare feet shuffled a kind of\n_tempo_ to her melody while she walked beside me. I felt like a heathen\nas the moonlight streamed through the giant trees and that strange girl\nstared up into my eyes. Those eyes of hers were unearthly bright, and\nseemed to express the wild, poetic mystery of her race. She cast a weird\natmosphere over everything by her eerie presence. The trees around me,\nthe moonlight on the tropic flowers, the stealing streams, and the\nstars, seemed charged with the magical light of Fanga Loma\u2019s eyes! I\u2019ve\noften fancied I\u2019ve felt the mystery of the great Unseen that dwells\nabout us as we move through this mortal existence, and such a feeling of\nthe proximity of the unknown and \u201cworlds not realized\u201d came to me that\nnight. That eerie, star-eyed girl seemed some enchantress, some dusky\nChristabel haunting my footsteps as I softly trod the mossy path of that\nmoonlit forest. It was a bewitching melody that she sang as she softly\nswayed in an elfin-like manner beside me.\n\n\u201cFor Heaven\u2019s sake don\u2019t sing that!\u201d I whispered, as I looked into her\nface.\n\nAnd did she stop?\u2014not she! She simply sang on all the more, then looked\nup into my eyes. I trembled; a fierce light shone in those unearthly\nbright orbs.\n\n\u201cWhy you leaver go my arm?\u201d she wailed; then she said softly: \u201cPapalagi,\nmust you go and leaver Fanga Loma for ever?\u201d\n\nWe were standing by the cross-road of the forest as she said that. The\ngirl\u2019s manner and the eerie gaze of her eyes carried me out of myself\nback into some other age. I realized my weakness, and turned away from\nthose shining, appealing eyes. I kissed the hand she offered, and gazed\nas though in deep thought on the floor of the silent forest.\n\n\u201cFanga, I _must_ go back to Suva, but I will return some day,\u201d I\nwhispered, as I looked in fright on the giant trees, wondering if they\ncould hear!\n\nThen the girl fell on her knees, lifted her hands to the forest height,\nand cried out in this wise:\n\n\u201cIs not the world of love, the magic of the stars, flowers, and deep\nwaters and touch of a maiden\u2019s lips enough for such as you? Are not\nthese trees that sigh over us our dear, great friends, and yours too, O\nwhite Papalagi? Who is this great white god that seems sweeter to you\nthan the loving arms of a maid? Hear me, I am daughter of great chief.\nThe village will be your own, chiefs will fawn at your feet and cast\nnicer fruits and shells at you!\u201d\n\nFor a moment I marvelled at the maid\u2019s sudden outburst. I wondered if\nshe had been reading some South Sea novel, so strangely romantic did it\nall seem.\n\n\u201cI will come again, Loma,\u201d I murmured, as I recovered my senses and\ngazed steadily into the eyes of that wild girl of the forest. She was\nlittle more than a child; many acts of hers had told me that much.\n\n\u201cFarewell, little goddess-maid!\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cFarewell, O Papalagi!\u201d she whispered, then she gave a jump and\u2014splash!\nhad dived headlong into the lagoon by our side.\n\n\u201cGod, she\u2019s committed suicide!\u201d I thought, as I made to leap into the\ndark water. I could see only a few ripples where she had disappeared. I\nput forth my hands to dive, then stopped, for out in the middle of the\nlagoon up came a tangled mass of hair! It was Fanga\u2019s head. I saw her\nswimming arms and dusky shoulders twinkle in the moonlight. She was\nsimply swimming across the lagoon, taking the nearest cut back to her\nnative village!\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen I awoke in my Suva lodging-house next morning, I discovered that my\nviolin was cracked. But for the scratches on my legs and the wisps of\nhair from dead men\u2019s grey beards clinging to my blue serge suit, I might\nhave concluded that the whole of my night\u2019s adventures were the outcome\nof a nightmare. About a week after my adventure in that heathen\nmonastery and with Fanga Loma, I met a chief who claimed to be the son\nof King Thakombau. He was an intelligent man, and told me a lot about\nthe doings of the old cannibalistic times. When I told him what I had\nexperienced in the heathen monastery of the Kai Tholos, he gave me a\nhint as to what might have happened to me had I not made my escape. It\nwas this son of Thakombau\u2019s who told me many interesting heathen\nlegends. One legend in particular struck my imagination, for it was\nabout the old goddess Kasawayo, but was so different from the\nimpersonation I had seen in the Kai Tholos temple, that I will do my\nbest to give an impression of all that I heard in the following chapter.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER IX. KASAWAYO AND THE SERPENT\n\n              (A FIJIAN LEGEND FOR YOUNG AND OLD CHILDREN)\n\n        A Goddess in the Garb of Mortality\u2014A Garden of\n        Eden\u2014Temptation\u2014Kasawayo and Kora the Mortal\u2014The\n        Battle\u2014Flight to Shadowland.\n\n\nAGES ago a goddess of shadowland sickened of the sacred halls of the\npassionless gods. One day a great desire to be a mortal entered her\nheart, for she had once been a mortal herself and had had the desires of\nmortality, but knew it not. She was sitting by her cavern door, gazing\nacross the starlit singing seas of paradise, when she made up her mind\nto desert shadowland.\n\n\u201cMy heart is lonely enough; I long for warm lips that will kiss my face\nand eyes and give unto my soul those impassioned tendernesses that I so\nstrangely remember in my dreams,\u201d she cried, as she listened to the\nmoaning of the waves and sighing forest trees of shadowland. \u201cWhy, why\nshould I sit here weeping, listening, for thousands of moons, and none\nto touch my lips?\u201d So thought the goddess as she put her fingers up and\nsoftly twirled the skeins of tangled sunset that adorned her hair.\nHaving made up her mind, she at once went off and consulted the oracles\n(who were the great dead chiefs of Fiji). Listening eagerly to them, she\nat once followed their advice, and so started to travel across the\nwonderful mountains of Mbula. It was in the great mountains of Mbula\nwhere she could kneel at the altar and feet of the great god Ndengi, who\nwas the Supreme-Giver of shadowland. After travelling a long way,\nKasawayo (for that was the goddess\u2019s name) came to the entrance of a\ncavern in the mountain\u2019s side. As she approached the entrance, a\nbeautiful light streamed out upon her. She gazed round, and heard the\ntramp of the vassal gods who were passing across the outer plains. They\nwere going off, she knew, to hang the stars and moons and fleecy clouds\nup in the sky.\n\nOn seeing the mighty heathen gods travelling along by the light of their\nown eyes\u2014eyes that stared like beautiful moons across the\nplains\u2014Kasawayo knew she had arrived at the wonderful halls wherein\ndwelt Ndengi. Prostrating herself before the sentinel gods (for such\nthey were who stood for ever watching by the great hollow of the doorway\nwhere she stood), she said: \u201cI am Kasawayo, the goddess of\nhalf-remembered dreams, and it is my wish to enter the mighty halls of\nMbula.\u201d\n\nThe taller sentinel, who stood as high as a mountain, and who was busy\ntattooing the sky with stars, dropped his mighty calabash that was full\nof the dead hopes of human dreams, and said:\n\n\u201cVanaka! O Le Su Kasawayo.\u201d\n\nIn another moment Kasawayo had entered the doorway of the underworld,\nand was travelling along a track that had mighty mountains on each side.\nLooking upward she saw the spirits of the dead flying ahead of her, on\nthe way to the wrathful Ndengi to be judged for their sins on the great\nliving world.\n\n\u201cVanaka!\u201d she cried, waving her hand as the sorrowing souls passed right\noverhead. Death had reshaped them into beautiful bird-like things that\nhad the faces of handsome youths. Kasawayo sighed as their glimmering\nwings flitted beneath the stars that shone over the mountain peaks; then\nthey passed from her sight.\n\nKasawayo felt very sad and weary when she at last arrived before the\nvast _pae-pae_ (throne) whereon sat the great god Ndengi. Across the\nroof of the underworld shone a myriad stars, and many moons sent wistful\ngleams across the mysterious forest regions of Spiritland.\n\nKasawayo trembled as she approached the vast _pae-pae_. A stream of\ngreen light fell slantwise through the branches of the giant palms that\nleaned over the god\u2019s throne, sending wistful gleams down on the small\nform of the ambitious goddess. As the moonbeams trickled over her\ntresses that fell in a shining cataract down to her bare feet, she said:\n\n\u201cO great Ndengi, I have travelled far, for I wish to go down the skies\nand live on the isles of Fiji.\u201d\n\nThen Ndengi spoke, and his voice sounded like the far-off muttering of\nthunder in the mountains:\n\n\u201cI will let you go down over the waters of the sunsets, but ere you go I\nmust turn you into a bird.\u201d\n\nAt hearing that she would be turned into a bird that could so easily fly\nto the homes of mortal men, Kasawayo was delighted, and at once fell on\nher knees before Ndengi and sang a prayer in this wise:\n\n           \u201cOh, great Ndengi, God of Mbau,\n            My heart murmurs, full of love for you;\n            And the flowers and foaming rivers of shadowland\n            Are singing of the splendours of Ndengi.\n            The beauty of your wandering thoughts, the stars,\n            Sing passionless in the hollow of your hand,\n            Telling of your love for mighty things.\u201d\n\nThen she gazed up softly in the great god\u2019s eyes, and whispered in a\nfrightened way:\n\n             \u201cI am a woman of half-remembered dreams,\n              Where forests sigh above the stealing streams,\n              And so I long to gaze in warm, wild eyes\n              Of men where Passion in her sorrow sighs.\u201d\n\nLike a great wind was the sigh of Ndengi as Kasawayo ceased her sweet\nsong. Then he said: \u201cArise!\u201d and the goddess rose to her feet and\nstumbled on her thin legs, for she had been turned into a great bird!\nHer eyes were still beautiful and sparkled like unto the stars. Her\nwings were tipped with gold and striped with deep crimson and green, her\nbreast was as snowy white as the orange blossom. Ndengi leaned against\nthe mountains that were pillars of his throne, and, gazing on the\ntransformed Kasawayo, said:\n\n\u201cI have disguised you so that no mortal will dare to love you.\u201d\n\nKasawayo, on hearing this, smiled in her heart as she stared in Ndengi\u2019s\ngreat mirror, a lagoon that imaged him as he sat on his throne. She saw\nthat she had a woman\u2019s eyes, and she knew what a woman\u2019s eyes could do.\nThen, down the mountain\u2019s paths and across the valleys of Mbau, the\ngoddesses came running, for they had heard the echoes, and would wish\nKasawayo good-bye ere she left shadowland.\n\n\u201cVanaka! Le tao. O Kasawayo, you look beautiful, though you are a bird.\u201d\n\nKasawayo lifted her eyes in her vanity and saw her own image reflected\nin Ndengi\u2019s great eyes! \u201cHe warns me!\u201d she muttered.\n\nThen Kasawayo spread her new wings, and without a moment\u2019s hesitation\nflew off into the starlit, silent night. Often her wings brushed against\nthe soft light of the stars as she curved in her downward flight ere she\ncame to the Fijian Isles, which she had seen in dreams and heard about\nfrom sinful spirits. She was well pleased as she fluttered over the\nbreadfruit trees that grow in such abundance near Nadronga on the isle\nof Viti Levu. Sitting on the topmost bough of a tall coco-palm, she\ngazed down, and stared curiously on a flock of Fijian children who were\nromping in the drala-weed and deep fern of the forest floor. The sight\nof those children awakened strange old memories in her mind. Looking\ndown in a sidelong look, as a bird must look, she said:\n\n\u201cChildren of the forest, I am the goddess Kasawayo, and have come from\nshadowland to watch over you all!\u201d\n\nThe children gazed in surprise as they looked up and saw a wonderful\nbird with a human face speaking to them from the topmost bough of the\ncoco-nut palm. Then they all shouted back to the goddess:\n\n\u201cAre you Kasawayo, she of whom the great chiefs of our village so often\ntalk and pray about?\u201d\n\nThen a fierce-looking boy looked up and said:\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve caused a lot of sorrow in our hut, you have. Why didn\u2019t you hear\nmy mother\u2019s prayers?\u201d\n\nBut Kasawayo only flapped her wings, and gazed down on the children in\nsorrow. At this moment a serpent crawled out of the thick bamboo bush\nhard by the swampy lagoon. It had a long, crimson-hued neck that soared\nupwards and fell as it crawled, like the neck of a _lika-bird_ (swan).\nOn seeing the children it at once stood erect on its twisted tail, and\nhissed forth:\n\n\u201cChildren, what are you talking to up in that tree?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are talking to a bird, O god of the shore caves,\u201d said the children,\nas they all pointed up into the coco-palm.\n\nThe serpent, who was a disguised god, looked curiously up into the\ncoco-palm, and then said in a soft, insinuating way:\n\n\u201cWhy, Kasawayo!\u2014it\u2019s you!\u201d Then it added: \u201cWhy, I never thought to see\nyou down here after all these thousands of years!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it\u2019s I, right enough; Ndengi let me come down and see you all for\na while.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he?\u201d responded the serpent.\n\nKasawayo felt a bit worried as she looked sideways down at the serpent.\nThen, feeling it would be best to be quite pleasant, she said as she\ngave a coquettish glance:\n\n\u201cI am pleased to see you again, but what I really wish to see is a\nhandsome Fijian youth who will love me and return with me to the halls\nof Mbau.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do, do you?\u201d thought the serpent-god as it looked up at Kasawayo, a\ncrafty, envious gleam in its big green eyes.\n\nKasawayo, who now had a woman\u2019s instincts, trembled slightly as she\nnoticed that look. Then she said:\n\n\u201cI know you\u2019ll help me to find a handsome, passionate mortal, won\u2019t\nyou?\u201d\n\nThe serpent-god swelled to double his size, and, looking up at Kasawayo,\nthought to himself:\n\n\u201cWhy, I like the look of you myself, and I can be a passionate lover if\nI like.\u201d\n\nBeing a wary serpent-god, he took care that Kasawayo should have no\ninkling of his thoughts. Then he unrolled his spotted body so that he\nmight reveal his vivid colours to the best advantage. Having shown his\nbeauty, he said:\n\n\u201cKasawayo, I will do my best to find you a handsome lover.\u201d\n\n\u201cVanaka! O serpent-god,\u201d quoth Kasawayo, as she spread her wings that\nthe serpent might see that she was as well-coloured as he was. In\nanother moment she had bravely fluttered down to the forest floor.\n\n\u201cAlow! Woi!\u201d cried the wondering children, as Kasawayo stood beside the\nhot-eyed serpent.\n\n\u201cRun away, children!\u201d said the artful serpent-god.\n\nIn a moment the children had all vanished, were running home to the\nvillage to tell their parents all they had seen.\n\nTurning to Kasawayo, the serpent-god said in his gentlest voice:\n\n\u201cCome on!\u201d\n\nAnd so Kasawayo with a trembling heart went away through the forest,\nwalking by the side of the crawling serpent-god whose heart was bitter\nindeed to think he was not disguised by the fates as a handsome youth\ninstead of an ugly serpent-thing.\n\n\u201cSing to me,\u201d said the god, as he glided by Kasawayo\u2019s side.\n\nKasawayo at once lifted her half-bird, half-human face, and sang.\n\nAnd, while the serpent-god was flattering Kasawayo and giving artful\nhints, a handsome native youth suddenly emerged from the forest shadows\nand stood before them.\n\n\u201cA youth\u2014the very one!\u201d exclaimed the goddess.\n\nOn hearing Kasawayo\u2019s unguarded exclamation, the god got into a great\nrage and cursed himself for asking the goddess to sing. For it was the\nsweet voice of the goddess that had attracted the handsome youth as he\nlay dreaming under the coco-palms.\n\nNow this youth\u2019s name was Kora, and Kora was a passionate youth. The\nserpent-god noticed the look of admiration that leapt into the youth\u2019s\neyes as he stood before them.\n\n\u201cI must get rid of him,\u201d thought the god, as he looked up into Kora\u2019s\nface and said in a very deceitful voice:\n\n\u201cKora, how very pleased I really am to see you at this moment. What do\nyou think of this beautiful bird that is here by my side?\u201d\n\nSaying this, the serpent, without waiting to hear Kora\u2019s opinion, took\nhold of the bird\u2019s wing and introduced her to Kora.\n\nAs Kasawayo\u2019s eyes sparkled with delight and the handsome youth bowed\nand kissed her tenderly on the face, the jealous serpent said quickly:\n\n\u201cSee, Kora, \u2019tis but a bird, and for all its beauty is only fit for\nflying.\u201d\n\nBut, nevertheless, the kiss that Kora gave the bird was so unduly\nprolonged, and was so passionate, that the disguised goddess hung her\nhead and blushed up to the soft feathers that adorned her brow! The\njealous serpent perceiving this, and seeing that Kora was already in\nlove with Kasawayo, looked up and said:\n\n\u201cGo away, Kora; Kasawayo is my guest. To-night she goes back again to\nshadowland, so I have little time with her.\u201d\n\n\u201cHo! ho!\u201d said Kora; \u201cso you want her all for yourself, do you?\u201d\n\nSaying this, Kora stared defiantly at the serpent.\n\nWithout any more ado, the serpent seized hold of the frightened Kasawayo\nand started off into the deeper shadows of the forest.\n\nIn a moment Kora sprang forward, saying:\n\n\u201cYou shall not take her away from me; well enough I can see that she\nloves me, and not you!\u201d\n\nThen Kora lifted his big war-club and made a desperate attack on the\nserpent. In a moment the serpent had lifted its hideous head and chanted\nforth, \u201cWathi, wathi, noko-buli!\u201d As the sad Kora heard those words, he\nrealized that the serpent was a heathen god. He knew well enough that he\nhad no power to thwart the serpent\u2019s wishes and so save Kasawayo.\n\nAs the serpent once more seized hold of the goddess, she looked over her\nshoulder and gazed into the eyes of Kora as much as to say, \u201cO beautiful\nKora, I love you. Yet must I go away into the forest with this terrible\nserpent-god.\u201d\n\nKora hung his head for shame to think that a serpent had more power than\nhe had.\n\nWhen the god came to his dwelling-cave, which was by the sea, he pulled\nKasawayo hurriedly into the dark beyond the big doorway. This great cave\nwas lit up by a dim light that was emitted from the eyes of the serpent.\nDragging Kasawayo over to the far corner he placed the trembling goddess\non a large lump of red coral that was carved into a chair. As she sat\nthere, couched in the moonlight that crept through the doorway, she\ntrembled violently, and gazed despairingly on the serpent. It was then\nthat the serpent-god crawled to the far end of the big cavern, and,\nraising his head till it touched the crystals of the sparkling roof,\nsaid, \u201cWathi, wathi!\u201d and lo, the serpent was no longer a serpent, but\nstood there before Kasawayo\u2014a handsome god!\n\nKasawayo said:\n\n\u201cThough you are now turned into a handsome god, still I do not like you.\nYou do not look as beautiful as the Fijian youth, Kora.\u201d\n\nOn hearing this, the god got into a terrible rage. Then, quickly cooling\ndown, he said:\n\n\u201cIf you will only love me, I will let you walk through the forest by\nnight in your own shape, for, though you are beautiful, you are not as\nlovely as you were when you had a woman\u2019s form in Mbau. Now will you\nlove me?\u201d\n\nFor a moment Kasawayo sat couched in the moonshine, thinking over what\nthe god Buli-buli had said. Then she looked up into his glistening\nserpent-like eyes, and said:\n\n\u201cI am in your power, so I will do my best to please and love you.\u201d\n\nImmediately the god heard Kasawayo say this, he said in a terrible voice\nthat echoed through the hollow cavern:\n\n\u201cWathi! wathi!\u201d\n\nBefore the echoes had faded away Kasawayo stood shining in the\nmoonshine. She was once more transformed back into a beautiful goddess.\n\nBeing a heathen serpent-god, and having none of the passions of the\nmortals, Buli-buli simply gazed upon Kasawayo, and said:\n\n\u201cNow that I have made you a goddess again, you must sit here in this\ncavern and sing to me all through the day and all through the night.\u201d\n\nAnd so for many days and nights Kasawayo sang and sang till her throat\nwas tired. At length her heart began to long for the voice of Kora, and\nher eyes for one sight of his beauty.\n\nOne evening, as the sun was setting, she said to the god Buli-buli, who\nwas at that moment dozing by the cavern\u2019s door:\n\n\u201cOh, I am so tired of singing away in this cave; though I love you,\nBuli-buli, still I feel that I would like to go out into the forest by\nnight alone.\u201d\n\nFor a moment the god looked at Kasawayo, growled, and then said:\n\n\u201cIf you go out into the forest alone, I shall be turned into a serpent\nagain till you come back; and, were you to be unfaithful to me by\nallowing the lips of a mortal to touch your own, I should be doomed to\nremain ever in the shape of a serpent.\u201d\n\nSaying this, the god looked fiercely at Kasawayo, as though he would\nread her soul.\n\nKasawayo, being a true Fijian goddess-woman, put her most innocent look\ninto her bright eyes.\n\nThen the god continued:\n\n\u201cNow, will you promise me that, if I let you go out into the forest\nalone, you will be faithful and return again?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes, I promise faithfully that I will be true to you and return to\nthe cave again.\u201d Saying this, Kasawayo\u2019s heart beat violently with joy\nat the thought that she might meet the handsome Kora once more.\n\nBuli-buli looked up into her face for a long while, then said:\n\n\u201cThe sun has dipped his head into the _moani aili_ (ocean); the stars\nare marching across the plains of shadowland; go, Kasawayo, into the\nforest alone!\u201d\n\nKasawayo jumped to her feet, delight shining in her dark eyes. As she\npassed out of the cavern, she looked over her shoulder to bid farewell\nto the god, but she only saw a huge serpent crawling on its spotted\nbelly across the floor of the cave.\n\nDirectly she arrived outside the cavern she ran away at full speed into\nthe moonlit forest. She was indeed beautiful to look upon. Her hair hung\nin thick, curling tresses down to her smooth brown back, and often got\nentangled in her soft feet as she ran. A girdle of sweet-scented flowers\nswathed her loins. As she ran along, the forest winds put out their\nspirit fingers, lifted her masses of hair tenderly, and looked at her\nbeautiful form; and the moo-moo flowers scented her body as she brushed\npast. Coming to the hollows, where grew the taro and the fruits of the\nmortals, she turned aside and went inland. For she heard the laughter of\nthe little mortal children in the villages and the sounds of drums\nbeating. Her heart fluttered as she heard those mortal noises, and knew\nthat the forest high chiefs were worshipping their Meke idols beneath\nthe big crimson blossoms of the ndrala-trees.\n\n\u201cTani! Vanaka! O Le saka!\u201d were the words that came to her ears like\nechoes of some far-away memory.\n\nA great longing came to her soul. She felt that she would love to go\ninto the village that was just by and look upon the faces of the\nmortals. But she stifled the feeling, for had she not promised the god\nBuli-buli to keep away from them?\n\nShe had not gone far down the little track that led away from the native\nvillage, when she came to a moonlit space that was just by a forest\nlagoon. She knew not why it was, but her heart beat rapidly as she crept\nnearer and nearer. And no wonder, for there, sitting on a mossy stump of\na dead breadfruit tree, with head bowed with grief, was Kora.\n\nLifting the big palm-leaves that brushed against her face, Kasawayo\ngazed on the weeping youth with loving eyes. Then in her sweetest\naccents she commenced to sing this song:\n\n                \u201cOh, love of my life, like unto the stars\n                 And the winds and the waving trees,\n                 And the singing pines by the coral bars,\n                 Loud with the voices of roaming seas,\n                 You are to me, you are to me!\u201d\n\nKora slowly raised his head. For a moment he gazed like one who still\nthought that he dreamed. The _O Le maun oa_ (nightingale) ceased to sing\nin the backa trees just overhead, so delicious was the warm-throated\nmelody that Kasawayo sang. Then Kora started up to his feet. He realized\nthat some beautiful goddess was singing to him. He knew well that no one\nbut his lost Kasawayo would have so beautiful a voice.\n\nStill the goddess sang on. And as she sang she thought of the\nserpent-god who had, for her sake, been transformed into a serpent so\nthat she might go into the forest alone.\n\nShe longed to rush forth from the bamboos and reveal herself to Kora.\nBut how could she do so when she had promised the serpent-god to be\nfaithful to him? So she still remained hidden, and sang on.\n\nKora listened to her voice with delight. Then he cried out:\n\n\u201cKasawayo! I know \u2019tis you who sing; come forth and let me see you.\u201d\n\nOn hearing the voice of the youth calling her, so strong was her love\nthat she almost rushed forward. For a moment she controlled the awful\nimpulse, and started to sing once more, and these were the words of her\nsong:\n\n     \u201cOh, Kora, my beloved, your eyes are like the moo-moo flowers;\n      Your form is as straight as a young coco-palm.\n      So my heart, my heart is on fire with thoughts of love;\n      Yet I dare not reveal the beauty of my face to you;\n      For, oh, listen to me! I have made a vow to the serpent-god;\n      And I must not reveal my beautiful face to your sweeter eyes.\n      Oh, Kora, my heart is heavy with grief; what shall I do?\u201d\n\nThen Kora also made up a song; and the words of the song were like unto\nthis:\n\n \u201cOh, come to me, my Kasawayo, for my heart is full of joy.\n  Vinaka! O loved one, all praise to Mbete and the great Ndengi of Mbau\n  To think that you love me\u2014oh, to think that you love me!\n  And oh, Kasawayo, if two people love, who shall deny them?\n  Cannot I see thy face, look into thine eyes, and love thy form,\n     Kasawayo?\u201d\n\nThen Kasawayo answered in this wise:\n\n\u201cIf I show you my face, will you promise not to kiss me, or say those\nbeautiful words of love that I would so love to hear you say? For, Kora,\ndear one, I am a goddess, and, though I have a heart that feels some of\nthe passions of the mortals, it is sinful that I should love a mortal.\u201d\n\nSaying this, Kasawayo looked about her, and whispered through the\nsilence of the bushes:\n\n\u201cHush, Kora, listen. The serpent-god may be able to know what I am\ndoing, though his eyes be far away!\u201d\n\n\u201cO Kasawayo, I promise to do as you wish,\u201d responded the handsome youth.\n\nThen Kora commenced to sing his beautiful song, as with complete trust\nKasawayo stepped forth from the bamboo trees and stood before the youth\nin all her loveliness!\n\nFor a moment the young chief Kora placed his hands over his eyes. The\nbeauty of Kasawayo was so dazzling that he dared not gaze upon her\nwithout wanting to embrace her. At length, feeling that he could\nwithstand the temptation of her sight without risk, he uncovered his\neyes. Then the youth and the goddess gazed upon each other in perfect\nstillness as though they were perfect figures of cold carven stone, so\nentranced were they with the sight of each other\u2019s beauty.\n\nThe goddess was the first to break the silence. With all the sweet\nfrailness that is born of woman, she, notwithstanding that she was a\ngoddess, put forth her beautiful face and said:\n\n\u201cO Kora mine, let us each close our eyes, and then, inclining our forms\none towards the other, imagine that we are lovers kissing.\u201d\n\nKora replied:\n\n\u201cO Kasawayo, I will do this that you ask of me, but still am I sad to\nthink that the meeting of our lips is only to be imagined. For we\nmortals love to feel the beauty of the maiden that we love; for, though\nthe imagination is always more beautiful than the reality, still we love\nthe beauty and sorrow that we see more than the heaven that we imagine.\u201d\n\nSaying this, Kora sighed and closed his eyes. Bending forward, he\nstretched out his hands, and then, kissing the air fondly with his\nimpassioned lips, tried to imagine that he held the beautiful Kasawayo\nin his arms.\n\nAnd Kasawayo the spirit-woman?\u2014she did likewise. Only for a few moments\ndid they both stand wrapt in the ecstasy of their imagination. The\nforest winds sighed amorously through the branches of the ndralas,\nkissing Kasawayo\u2019s shining tresses that hung around her like a tent as\nher form inclined towards Kora. Then, lo! the magic fingers of the\nwinds, that were caressing Kasawayo\u2019s tresses, accidentally brushed them\nagainst the bare knees of the inclining, impassioned Kora! At this the\nyoung chief, through the ecstatic joy of his feelings, lost his balance\nand, stumbling over a little twig, fell forward into the outstretched\narms of Kasawayo!\n\nFor a moment their lips met in a passionate kiss; their eyes, out of\nwhich shone the light of their love, gazed fondly upon each other.\n\nThe travelling fingers of the winds wailed a tender, love-like _adagio_\nacross the night\u2019s brooding harp of mighty forest trees. Suddenly\nKasawayo\u2019s lips gave forth a scream. Alas! she had remembered her\npromise to the serpent-god.\n\nAs remembrance came to her, her arms, that were still folded round the\nhandsome Kora in a fond embrace, shrivelled up, lo!\u2014changed into a\nbird\u2019s wings.\n\nThe serpent-god, far away in his cave, knew what Kasawayo was doing!\nFull of jealousy and hate, he waited for the lovers to kiss again. But\nKasawayo, who also knew the magic of seeing and knowing things that were\nfar away, looked up into Kora\u2019s eyes and said: \u201cO my Kora, kiss me not\nagain; should you do so, the serpent will be able to turn my body, that\nyou so love, into that of a bird.\u201d\n\nDirectly Kora heard the scream and felt the rustle of the feathery wings\nabout his shoulders, he stepped apart. Looking into Kasawayo\u2019s eyes, he\nsaid:\n\n\u201cI will do as you wish, nor would the thing have happened but for the\ninterference of the winds and the twig of the ndrala-bush. But still it\nmatters not; we will thwart the serpent-god\u2019s spite. You are still very\nbeautiful, though your arms have changed into the wings of a bird.\u201d\n\nAs Kora whispered this into her ears, Kasawayo ceased weeping, gazed up\ninto his eyes, and murmured:\n\n\u201cAm I really as lovely as I was before I had these wings?\u201d\n\nSaying this, Kasawayo spread out the wings, and in doing so revealed the\ntopmost curves of her bosom to Kora\u2019s eyes. So exquisite was the sight\nto the youth, that in a moment of forgetfulness he stepped forward to\nkiss her once again on her lips and so assure her of his love.\n\nKasawayo, seeing the brightness of his eyes, and guessing that which he\nwas about to do, ran backwards a few steps. Putting her wings out, she\ncried:\n\n\u201cO Kora, kiss me not, for if you do I shall lose these limbs that you\nhave touched and told me are so beautiful!\u201d\n\nKora, in the distraction of not being able to fold her in his arms and\nkiss her lips, placed his hand to his eyes and stared across the moonlit\nforest in deep thought. Then, turning to Kasawayo, he said:\n\n\u201cWhere is this terrible serpent-god? I am determined to have your love\nand kisses. I will go and kill the serpent.\u201d\n\nSaying this, Kora drew his stalwart form up to its full height, and,\ntaking hold of his big war-club, swung it around his handsome head three\ntimes! Kasawayo, who possessed all the beautiful cunning that mortal\nwoman reveals when she would protect the one she loves, gazed upon the\nyouth with thoughtful eyes.\n\n\u201cKora, my beloved, you are only a mortal; and, though I know well that\nyou are brave and strong, still my heart is heavy at the thought of your\nmeeting the serpent-god in combat.\u201d\n\nSide by side the lovers walked through the forest and said not a word to\neach other. Kasawayo, who longed to feel Kora\u2019s arms about her, said not\na word, because in her heart she knew that her companion was but a weak\nmortal, and so might be tempted to do the very thing that would enable\nthe god to turn her into a complete bird again.\n\nMany times did Kora glance sideways at her beauty, and his frame was\nthrilled with thoughts of love. At length he looked around at Kasawayo,\nwho, truth to tell, had slipped a little into the rear so as to help\nKora to resist temptation. Then he said:\n\n\u201cO lovely spirit from shadowland, I can stand this delay no longer. If\nyou do not let me go and fight the serpent, I am quite certain that I\nshall embrace and kiss you.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it!\u201d said the sad spirit-woman, for she too longed for the kisses\nof that mortal youth.\n\nWith her heart trembling violently with a great fear, Kasawayo said:\n\u201cCome on! come!\u201d and, turning round again, led Kora towards the sea in\nthe direction of the serpent-god\u2019s cavern.\n\nAs they walked along, Kasawayo\u2019s wings drooped and almost covered the\ndelicate flanks of her form. Kora, who enviously watched every step of\nher soft feet as they stirred the moonlit flowers of the forest floor,\nsighed and sighed at the thought of the serpent-god\u2019s power. Often as\nthey tramped along, Kora had to hide his eyes with one of his hands,\nfor, as Kasawayo turned round the bends of the twining forest track, one\nwing would flop slightly sideways and so reveal the smoothness and\nexquisite beauty of her form.\n\nPresently they arrived at the mossy slopes that led down to the\nseashore. For a moment they both stood still and gazed through the\nforest breadfruit trees out upon the silvered moonlit waters of the sea.\n\nSuddenly Kasawayo cried out:\n\n\u201cOh, hark! though the ocean is calm, I can hear the moaning of the\nthundering seas beating against the barriers of the serpent-god\u2019s\ncavern.\u201d Then, with a deep sigh, she continued: \u201cO Kora, that noise that\nwe hear is a sure sign that the serpent is in a terrible passion because\nI love you. Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do?\u201d\n\nShe gazed into Kora\u2019s eyes with tenderness, for the beauty of mortality\nand immortality shone in the same eyelight.\n\nSuddenly, with a cry of delight, as a thought came to her, she said:\n\n\u201cO my beloved Chief, I have just thought how we can outwit the\nserpent-god. For listen! though you die, still you will be mine, for,\nbeing a spirit, I shall then be able to take you away to shadowland.\u201d\n\nAs the handsome Fijian chief listened, he lifted his war-club and half\nimagined that he was already fighting the serpent-god.\n\nKasawayo gazed with admiration upon his herculean frame, and sighed at\nthe thought that she would never possess him in a mortal state. Then she\nthought like unto this:\n\n\u201cBut, still, I shall have his spirit in shadowland, and, though even\ngoddesses cannot have all they want, I shall be satisfied with the\nspirit of so beautiful a youth, and, more, I can fold him in my arms and\nimagine he is a beautiful mortal.\u201d\n\nHer reflections were suddenly interrupted by Kora, who gazed upon her\nwith impassioned glance, and said:\n\n\u201cKasawayo, tell me where this cavern is. I would meet the serpent at\nonce, and, vanquishing it in combat, possess your love and kisses.\u201d\n\nKasawayo looked earnestly into Kora\u2019s eyes, then, falling forward on one\nof her rounded knees, and holding a small bamboo branch in front of her\nbosom so that their figures should be shielded from temptation, said:\n\n\u201cKora, O beloved, let us gaze upon each other a moment, for methinks it\nwill be the last time I can drink in your mortal beauty with these\neyes.\u201d\n\nSo for a little while did they kneel together, inclining their figures\none towards the other. Poor Kora, who was so truly mortal, gently blew\nhis breath so that it would reach Kasawayo\u2019s tresses. As the soft, jetty\ncurls swayed gently to and fro to the zephyrs that crept from his\nimpassioned lips and revealed the curves of the goddess\u2019s dimpled\nshoulders, he said:\n\n\u201cO Kasawayo, \u2019tis sweet to breathe so, and know that at least my\nbreathing caresses your loveliness.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh me!\u201d softly responded Kasawayo, as she, too, breathed likewise,\nblowing the curls of Kora\u2019s forehead to and fro with the warm breath of\nher passion. The very branches of the tall bamboos and palms seemed to\nbend in leafy sympathy over them as they knelt and gazed into each\nother\u2019s eyes.\n\n\u201cMay I not touch, with my finger outstretched so, the softest dimple of\nyour throat, Kasawayo?\u201d\n\nKasawayo trembled from head to feet and nearly fell forward at the\npleading of the one whom she so much loved. And it is rumoured that all\nthe maidens who slept at that moment in the native village of Nadranga,\nwhich is on the banks of the river a mile away, dreamed of the _one_\nyouth who truly loved them, not only for their beauty, but for the light\nof shadowland that shone in their eyes.\n\nIt so happened that Kora, seeing the weakness of Kasawayo, as she nearly\nfell forward into his arms, quickly came to the rescue; for he at once\nceased blowing his breath into the tangled mass of hair that fell on the\ngoddess\u2019s bosom. Then he swiftly placed his hand before his eyes, and\nhid from Kasawayo\u2019s sight the light that he knew would prove their\nundoing if he persisted in gazing upon her.\n\nLeaping to his feet he said:\n\n\u201cCome, O my loved one, let me go and vanquish this serpent-god. I never\nknew that I could hate a god so much as I now hate the god who has come\nbetween us.\u201d\n\nKasawayo led the way down the slope. In a few moments they both stood,\nlike statues of despair, outside the door of the serpent-god\u2019s cavern.\n\n\u201cCome forth, O serpent!\u201d said Kora, as he struck his war-club a mighty\nblow against the coral rocks that stood like pillars at the awful\ndoorway.\n\nKasawayo, remembering how she had promised to be faithful to the god,\ntrembled as her lover once more struck the coral-pillars, till one of\nthem fell crash at her feet.\n\nIt was then that a great, roaring sound, and what sounded like the angry\nlashing of a mighty tail, came out from the cavern\u2019s gloom. Then the\nserpent\u2019s huge head appeared at the cavern\u2019s door. In a moment Kora\nbravely sprang forward, and the battle began.\n\nSilently Kasawayo watched. She knew that Kora was mortal, and so had\nlittle chance in such an unequal combat. So well did she know how the\nbattle would go, that she did not even cry out when the serpent\u2019s tail\ngave the brave Kora a terrible blow that stretched him dead at her feet.\nFor a moment she watched with a strange look in her eyes. She knew that,\ndid he not truly love her, he would still lie as one dead. But it was\nnot so, for, as she watched, and the moonlight touched Kora\u2019s dead face,\nhis shadow left his mortal body and leapt straightway into Kasawayo\u2019s\noutstretched arms. The serpent-god, seeing this happen before his eyes,\nroared with rage till the cavern shook and the rocks around trembled as\nthough from an earthquake. Going forward on his belly, the god slashed\nat Kora\u2019s body with his tail. But it was only a dead body, and could not\nbe hurt more than death had hurt it. Looking up, in his fearful rage, he\nsaw Kasawayo and Kora\u2019s spirit hand in hand as they rushed away along\nthe seashore.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe first pale glimmer of dawn tinted the eastern skyline, and yet a few\nstars were shining, when the little Fijian children awoke in the\nvillages. They all came running out of the hut doors in the village of\nRumbo-Rumbo.\n\nThere was not a breath of wind stirring the palm trees that sheltered\ntheir hut groves. So they rushed off fast towards the sea to catch the\nfish in the shore lagoons. Suddenly, as they ran along and the _Lukas_\n(parrots) wheeled across the skies from the far-off mountains, they all\nstood perfectly still. It was a wonderful sight that met their gaze. For\nthere, up in the sky, they distinctly saw the spirits of Kasawayo and\nKora, with their large wings outspread, as they faded away with the\nstars far-off over the seas.\n\nAnd to this very day, by the hut fires of the native villages, the\nfrizzly-headed old chiefs tell the children how the handsome warrior\nKora was seen in the arms of the beautiful Kasawayo, as they passed\naway, flying together into shadowland\u2014ages and ages ago. And still the\nFijians gaze with eyes of awe and complete reverence at the serpents\nthat glide across the forest floor of their lovely isles. And if a chief\nshould kill a bird with gold tipping its wings, loud are their\nlamentations.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few days after my experiences in Fiji, I secured a berth on a\nfore-and-aft schooner that was bound for Samoa. After the usual\ndiscomfiture and rebellious irritation to one of my temperament when\nobeying the orders of disciplinary shipboard life, I arrived at Apia.\nThe skipper, who had relieved the monotony of the voyage by telling me\nof his experiences when he sailed as mate under the notorious Captain\nBully Hayes, gave me several pounds above my set wages, thus showing his\nappreciation of my violin-playing. I had often done my level best to\nextemporize suitable obligato to his vocal attempts when he invited me\ninto the stuffy cuddy after eight bells. The mate died on the voyage\nacross, and when we buried him in his hammock-shroud, the skipper, who\nread the burial service, had the best that was in him awakened. Like\nmost men he had a kind, brotherly side to his rough exterior, and, as is\nusual with most men, his congenial side only revealed itself through\nfeeling the near presence of the cold, poetic hand of death. I know his\nvoice was tremulous when he said, \u201cLet go!\u201d and we softly dropped\n\u201cScotty\u201d the mate into the calm depths of the hot, tropic seas, where he\nleft a few bubbles behind him. Just before Scotty died, I held his hand\nand said a few kind things, and I like to fancy that his soul remembered\nand touched the skipper\u2019s heart with a generous impulse so that I might\narrive in Samoa with plenty of cash in my pocket.\n\nBeing wealthy and having an hereditary hatred for work, I mooched about\nfor days, admiring the semi-poetic life of the natives, enjoying the\ngenerous fellowship of the truest democracy the world ever harboured or\nis ever likely to see. Then I met an aged mat-worshipper. First, I must\nsay that mat-worship was a strange old Samoan custom that was still\nbelieved in by the aged chiefs when I was a boy. A bit of old\ntappa-cloth or fibre carpet was regarded as a sacred object (_etua_).\n\nThis _etua_ was supposed to be a wonderful talisman, a kind of Aladdin\u2019s\nlamp; it was the \u201cOpen Sesame\u201d to all its worshippers\u2019 hopes on earth\nand in the underworld life-to-be. I became deeply interested in those\nold mats, my susceptibilities being aroused much the same as are the\nsusceptibilities of those who visit the ruins of ancient Rome and\nPompeii. The mat-worshipper with whom I became acquainted was an aged\nchief who lived near Safata village. He possessed one of the aforesaid\nrevered objects. There it hung, just over his sleeping-couch in his hut.\nThrough being repeatedly kissed and rubbed by the chief and his\nancestors, for Heaven only knows how many generations, it was\ndilapidated and threadbare. I recall the very light that shone in that\naged chief\u2019s eyes as he gazed on his sacred mat. Though very aged he was\nstill a fine distinguished-looking old man. A vivid scar stained his\nwell-curved, tawny shoulders, for he had been a great warrior in his\nearly days. Throwing the tribal insignia of knighthood (a large\ntappa-cloth rug of beautiful design) over his shoulders, he drew himself\nup in a majestic manner, and gave me a half-critical glance of defiance\nas I held my nose\u2014for that old mat smelt like the unclean hide of a\nmangy dog. It was, to him, the most romantic and sacred of relics and\nits odour exquisite incense! Young as I was, my curiosity was aroused.\n\n\u201cWhat is it for? Why so beautiful?\u201d I inquired. Whereupon the old\nchief\u2019s tattooed brow puckered up, looking like a piece of parchment\ncovered with hieroglyphics. He gazed upon me half in pity, half in\nscorn. Once more he reverentially gazed upon the mat. Then in pigeon\nEnglish, and with many half-childish gesticulations, he endeavoured to\nenlighten my profound ignorance as to the hidden virtues of that\nthreadbare symbol of the beautiful.\n\n\u201cIt am great god-mat, belonga to great chief only. You white man, but\nall-e-samee you fool, you not one great chief, you no got mat\u2014eh?\u201d\n\nSo saying, he reverently lifted the mat from the wall-nail and carried\nit outside the hut, where I discovered that it was not such a dirty old\nbit of rubbish after all. I quickly cast aside the assumed reverential\naspect with which I had masked myself that I might hide my boyish\nlevity. For, suddenly, I too gazed with genuine interest on that mouldy\nobject. Lo! particles of its threadbareness glistened, shone in the\nsunlight! A tender feeling came to me for that dirty old bit of matting\nwhen I did exactly as the old native bade me\u2014touched with my fingers the\nshining skeins that waved among its coarse fibres: it was the hair of\nsome dead woman! It appeared that some ancestress of the old chief\u2019s had\nimparadised that relic, for there shone her hair that had been\ndelicately, cleverly woven into the fibres of his sacred mat.\n\nI was greatly impressed by that old mat\u2019s secret. Often in my world-wide\ntravels I have been asked to inspect the heirlooms of great families and\nthe relics of faded dynasties, but nothing seems to have affected me or\naroused my admiration as that old mat and the pride of its possessor\ndid.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was about this period that I met another character whom I found quite\nas interesting as my friend who owned the sacred mat. This new character\nwas a poet.\n\n\u201cTalofa! Tusitala!\u201d said the wrinkled native poet when he welcomed me\ninto his humble homestead.\n\nThen I played him several heathen strains on my violin. His profile was\nof a Dantesque type, the nose finely curved, and the deep-set eyes full\nof intellect. He prostrated himself at my feet when I had finished\nplaying to him. I can never feel grateful enough to the old\nmat-worshipper for introducing that mighty poet to me. The wonderful\ntales he told and the delight I derived from his friendship (for we went\ntroubadouring together), have made me wealthy in many a memory since.\n\nIn Part II of this Volume I will endeavour to give an impression of my\nmemory of O Le Langi, the pagan poet.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               _Part Two_\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                PART TWO\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER X. O LE LANGI THE PAGAN POET\n\n        A Pagan Poet\u2014Influence of Byron and\n        Keats\u2014Star-myths\u2014Enchanted Crab.\n\n\n      The imaged stars the oceans knew a million years ago\n      Are dancing in the eyes of all the cities that I know!\n      The man who sails to heathenland to preach the newest creed\n      Sees in the happy pagan\u2019s eyes his own soul\u2019s greatest need.\n      But these are aimless rhymes and will be understood by few,\n      Because I am the poet of those old things men call new.\n\nIN the shadowland regions of a barbarian poet\u2019s brain flows the river\nLethe that murmurs the most subtle music of sentient Nature. Of such a\npoet I shall tell in the following pages, one whom I instinctively\nunderstood. For I also have stood in the primeval forest and \u201cheard the\nsilent thunders of the leaves\u201d and seen the lightnings of a wild bird\u2019s\neyes, and God\u2019s hand carving a thousand pillars for the temples of\nNature, painting magical halls with the storied history of the blue days\nand daubs of all the dead sunsets. Wonderful eerie temples they were\ntoo. I have even been a pagan and half fancied I have seen the dead\nchildren creep out of the shadows and gaze around as they heard the sad\nsongs and whisperings of those old forest trees. Nor was I deaf to the\ncry of anguish from the bleeding forest flowers as my foot crushed their\nuplifted faces of brief enough beauty. O Le Langi saw the world with\nsuch eyes. He was the first poet of his race. He was crammed full of\nmythical light, his imagination touching with splendour all that his\neyes gazed upon. He hated most white men and their wretched boast of\nadvancement. He deeply read the books of Nature, but threw the white\nman\u2019s _lotu books_ into the sea! He too might well have cried out to his\nchastened people who had accepted the white man\u2019s dogmas and gifts of\nclothing from the European morgues:\n\n          \u201cLo! thirty centuries of literature\n           Have curved your spines and overborne your brains.\u201d\n\nO Le Langi\u2019s ever earnest cry was:\n\n          Lo! centuries of grand belief in gods\n          Have chasteneth us; my mind a forest is\n          Of budding-light and thought\u2019s bright spirit-flowers\n          And faery-wings of Beauty\u2019s moving hours.\n          I am the darker-age grown old and thin\u2014\n          Personified, tattooed from toes to chin,\n          And for you and your God care not one pin!\n\nSuch was O Le Langi\u2019s cry to the white men\u2014O Le Langi, who stands out\nlike some wonderful, tattooed bas-relief in the background of my memory.\n\nO Le Langi means _Chief of the Heavens_, and, so far as his handsome\nphysique and fine, expressive face were concerned, he deserved that\nname. He was a fine sample of his race. Though he lived in Samoa, he was\na full-blooded Marquesan, having emigrated from Nuka Hiva to Samoa in\nhis youth. His father had been high chief of Queen Vaekehu\u2019s royal\nbodyguard when that South Sea Semiramis had reigned supreme over her\ndominions and a thousand death-drums had called the hour of the\nsacrificial festival. O Le Langi\u2019s mother had escaped from the rods of\nthe French officials by beating a hasty retreat from Nuka Hiva to\nPapeete some fifty years before I met him. From Papeete she had stowed\naway in a trading schooner with her three little children, O Le Langi\nand her two daughters.\n\nBoth the girls had succumbed to the privations and terrors of some long\nvoyage in an open boat which had finally drifted O Le Langi and his\nmother to the Samoan Isles. The incidents of that terrible voyage O Le\nLangi only hinted about. Nor was I one who would attempt to learn more,\nit being quite obvious to me that the sad old chief had some strange\nidea that the whole truth of those days were best kept a secret in his\nown heart.\n\nThough secretive over the tragic history that had caused his father\u2019s\nexecution and his mother\u2019s flight from her native land, O Le Langi never\ntired of telling me the wonders of his tribe, and commemorating in words\nthe mighty deeds of his forefathers.\n\nHis knowledge of heathen mythology was marvellous, as were the tattooed\narmorial bearings, the insignia of blue blood, which were visible on his\nmassive chest. I entertained no doubt whatever as to Le Langi\u2019s royal\npedigree. Seeing that massive human parchment inscribed with wondrous\nsavage hieroglyhpics, the truth of all he said was perfectly evident. I\nknew that the Marquesans of royal blood had the tribal mottoes and\nfamily crest tattooed on their sons before puberty.\n\nLangi looked liked some Greek god as he stood on his village stump, his\nroyal robe of the best tappa-cloth swung about his rosewood-hued,\nmajestic frame. Never were the graceful, god-like shoulders wholly\ncovered. Even the maids, as they listened to his impassioned oratory,\nsighed as the lightnings of poetic imagination leapt from those fine\ndark eyes of his. Yes, old as he was. By profession he was a travelling\nscribe, a genuine South Sea poet. This talent he had inherited. For I\ndiscovered that his father had once stood in the barbarian forums of\nTai-o-hae and spouted the charms of his queen, Vaekehu, commemorating in\nverse the warrior-like deeds of the many brief kings who had ascended\nher throne\u2014and their deaths when she had tired of them.\n\nHis temperament was Byronic, but at times he would become strangely\nimbued with the savage instincts of his race, becoming extremely bitter\nand cynical when his fortunes were at a low ebb. For I must confess he\nhad a large share of the commercial spirit. This much I noticed when he\nlooked into the coco-nut-shell that he always passed around amongst his\naudience. Often one could see a poetic grin of extreme satisfaction end\nthe handsome wrinkles in a bunch up to the northern territory of his\nhigh, bald, intellectual physiognomy as he counted the collection.\n\nI never tired of listening to his way of telling the poetic legends of\nhis island world to the white men, though I must admit that, beyond\nmyself, few men of my colour were interested in all he had to say. Grins\nand jokes and indecent remarks were their highest contribution in the\nway of interest or gifts when he finished his poems.\n\nI do not exaggerate in saying that, though Langi could not speak our\nlanguage better than an English child of ten years, he was conversant\nwith the works of many of our poets. He had an old volume of Byron. He\nasked me if I knew Keats!\n\n\u201cHe great Tusitala chief!\u201d he said, when I told him Keats was dead. Then\nhe started off in raptures over Saturn and the fallen deities and\ngoddesses of _Hyperion_! He had also read Longfellow\u2019s _Hiawatha_.\n\nIt seemed a wonderful thing that one should leave one\u2019s country and\ntravel thousands of miles across desolate seas and pioneer lands, to\nfind, at last, on a savage isle of the remote wild South Seas, a savage\nwho loved poetry!\n\nIt is true enough that the old chief got little appreciation out of his\ntalent, but many kicks.\n\nPoor O Le Langi! None of the natural chances of the literary world came\nhis way either by birth or luck. He was born in a spot remote from all\nthe dubious possibilities that the civilized world offers to budding\naspirants. He had none to puff him. With all his astuteness he could\nseize on no scheme that would elevate him on a pedestal in the eyes of\nmen. Alas! no starving, unrecognized poet of another tribe expired on\nhis doorstep, so that the O Le Langi family for successive generations\nmight write the dead poet\u2019s memoirs, and the memoirs of their father\u2019s\nmemoirs concerning the poet\u2019s last sigh and the benevolence of the O Le\nLangi family to the dying poet\u2019s last ten minutes! Ah me! No publisher\nchanced upon sad O Le Langi till I, a penniless traveller, appeared on\nthe scene, recognizing his wonderful genius. And now that his body is\ndust beneath his beloved coco-palms, I would write these humble memoirs\nand commemorate the dust of the greatest poet I ever met on earth.\n\nIt is nothing against the posthumous poetic fame of O Le Langi to say\nthat he had loved passionately, more than twice. Indeed, it is well\nknown that men who are not poets have this mortal failing.\n\nThe amorous weakness of O Le Langi was impressively forced upon me, for\ndid I not walk beneath the coco-palms and breadfruits to that silent,\nhallowed spot where slumbered his sleeping passions?\u2014the little native\ncemetery where slept the dead women and children that he had loved.\n\nIt was through this sad visit that I heard so much; for as O Le Langi\nknelt over each little mound of crumbling dust he kissed the earth and\nwept like a child. I saw at a glance that the solid earth did not hide\nfrom the eyes of imagination the stretched figures, the eyes, the lips,\nand the little fingers that he had once loved.\n\nRising to his feet he surveyed me with solemn eyes, then said:\n\n\u201cAh, Papalagi, me now grow old and weak; me now belonger to fool time.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you don\u2019t, great O Le Langi, high chief of handsome bearing, and\nmightiest poet of the South Seas,\u201d said I.\n\nMy heart was truly sorry for the old savage man, and well I knew that\nsuch flattery was worth its weight in gold at such a melancholy hour.\n\nThen I continued, as with an effort he drew his tattooed shoulders up to\ntheir full proportion and looked at the sky:\n\n\u201cO Le Langi, they still live, those whom you love. We all live again.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I no _cliston_ or _popy mans_\u201d (christian or prayer-man), he\nresponded in a mournful voice.\n\n\u201cPhew! O great O Le Langi! It matters not a tinker\u2019s curse _what_ you\nare so long as you _remain_ as you are.\u201d\n\nFor a moment the old chief looked about him, as though half in fright,\nthen, seeing that we were unobserved, he leaned forward and said:\n\n\u201cYou nicer man. You no think much of ole white-beard-Man-big-nose?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s he?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201c_Ole Misson-loom mans_ (mission-room man) who mournful voice, and who\nlook at me and tell me that I one big liar!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d said I, as the old poet\u2019s face seemed to flush beneath its tawny\nhue at the thought of such an affront to his veracity.\n\n\u201cI tells \u2019im I wanter no go white man\u2019s \u2019eaven. I go \u2019eathen \u2019eaven.\nThen \u2019e says, \u2018There am no \u2019eathen \u2019eaven; yous sinfuls mans!\u2019\u201d\n\nSaying this, the old poet squatted down on his mat, which he ever\ncarried under his arm, and inspired by grief dropped into the following\npoetic effusion. (The sun had long since set, and the shadows lay deep\nin the hollows by Mutoua. I sat down beside him, and as he commenced in\nsombre tones, the _o le manoa_ sang its passionate strain up in the\nflamboyants over and over again.)\n\nI recall the very note of that strange night-bird\u2019s song as O Le Langi\nmeandered on in this wise:\n\n            _O white mans from across big waters,\n            I die not though my body die, be dust:\n            The waving pauroas, the ripening coco-nuts,\n            The _maona_ in the forest singing, singing,\n            The stars softly dropping from great darkness\n            To whisper as they meet in deep, still lagoons,\n            The deep caves by Savaii, and Momo,\n            The eyes of children romping by the red seashore\n            When even falls\u2014I say, O white mans,\n            All these things shall be my dead-heart dreaming!\n            I great chief of gods, so never die dead._\n\n\u201cAnd will you see your loved ones again when you die, O Le Langi?\u201d\n\n         _My love ones live, they are not dead.\n         They shine, their eyes in sky of darkness\u2014\n         When sings the maona my dead love makes stars four!\n         Her children shine as eight stars far away.\n         She watch down sky, ever look far north-west,\n         As the big night passeth over_ moani ali_[5]\n         Sometimes my love blink her eyes, and then\n         The little stars all laugh and clap hands!\n         And lo! stars shoot \u2019cross sky out of Poluto\u2019s halls._\n\nFootnote 5:\n\n  The sea.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis good O Le Langi, to know that your loved one watches with her\nstarry eyes over your dead children,\u201d I responded, as the scented sea\nwind stirred the feathery palms and dying forest flowers. The very trees\nseemed to sigh some mystery into my ears as the old poet spoke, or\nrather chanted on, saying that which I have so weakly told. For a moment\nO Le Langi did not answer. Then, with his massive chest swelling with\nemotion, he slowly raised his handsome, old wrinkled face. He looked\nlike some marvellous bronze statue as he lifted his head and chin\nskyward. I dared not speak as I saw him lift his arm and, with hand\narchwise over his eyes, stare at that tremendous manuscript of\nheathen-night. Then he pointed with one long, tawny finger to the\nheavens. For a little moment that dark, thin finger wavered with\nindecision, then it steadily pointed straight toward the far\nnorth-west\u2014and lo! I saw his beloved dead (her who had died thirty years\nbefore) looking out of the sparkling constellation. Yes, two bright\nstars\u2014her eyes! It appeared that she was watching over the little group\nof pale stars that wistfully stared from the east to the north-west\u2014they\nwere the spirits of O Le Langi\u2019s four dead children. It was some time\nere he lowered his chin, for he had watched long and strangely those\nstars that he claimed.\n\nAs the shadows deepened and wild odours of citrons and decaying\npineapples drifted on the cool sea wind, I relit my pipe. Once more the\nold poet looked at me with ambitious pride gleaming from his eyes over\nmy rapt attention and praise. Then he continued in sombre tones that\nwhich was apparently of magnificent import to him:\n\n _One night I stand by sea-coast, dreaming\n Of old chief who had longer been dead in forest grave.\n I felt much sad as shadows of night falling\n Went like big lava-lava round the waist of Night\n As her big black feet rest on side of moonrise!\n Long before stars in sky go indoors of morning,\n As god open door and let sun walker out \u2019gain into sky.\n Then I looker at sea and saw old crab out walking:\n Creepy up shore it looker me sideway artful.\n \u201cI know! I know!\u201d I say to myselfs, \u201cyou am no crab that belonger sea,\n You am ole chief from Poluto, disguised in crab-case.\n That\u2019s whater you ares!\u201d_\n\n\u201cWhat did the old crab, the chief, I mean, say then?\u201d said I, as the old\npoet leaned his chin right down to the hieroglyphic tattoo of his chest,\nlapsing into deep thought. In respectful attitude I awaited his next\ninspiration, which came in this wise:\n\n _He wise ole crab-chief and know much, O Pagalagi.\n So he look up at me and say in voice like deep music of waters:\n \u201cO Le Langi, greatest high chief of these parts,\n O Chief who \u2019ave listen to the Miserilinaries[6] and hung head,\n But still thoughter mucher of great gods all while,\n I say: the gods of Poluto and the great Tangaloa\n Still tramp, tramp across the great sky-floors of shadowland.\n They do say with voice of thunders in mountains:\n \u2018That great O Le Langi seems most faithful to us;\n Therefore, though all the forest children desert us,\n We still put forth our hands and scatter stars\u2014\n Stars across the skies of shadowland.\n We still break old moons across our mighty knees\n To brighten the Atua halls of long ago!\n We still catch winds that creep across worlds of mortals\n And take from their shifting, clutching fingers\n The thoughts of dead mothers for children.\n We still gently pull out the thoughts of dead maids and hopeful loves\n As we pull up the old sunsets from the oceans.\n Our vassal, the great Matagi wind, it still catch the prayers of our\n    faithful children\u2014\n And yet who am more faithful than the great O Le Langi?\u2019\u201d_\n\nFootnote 6:\n\n  Missionaries.\n\n\u201cO Le Langi,\u201d said I, \u201cI feel sure that the gods have no more faithful\nservant.\u201d\n\nLifting his hand aloft as he stared seawards to hide the embarrassment\nhe felt over my praise, he continued:\n\n _\u2019Tis I, O Le Langi, who maker children faithful:\n I preach on sly to all little ones and old chiefs and chiefesses.\n I tell them wonders of shadowland as the evening falls.\n The fantoes creeper from huts doors and kneel at my feets and listen\n    and listen!\n Some nights I go down, down in great caves of Underworld!\n A longer way I go, till I at lasse come to big \u2019nother world.\n It shine \u2019neath \u2019nother big sky of blue and red stars.\n I sit on small star and great god Tangalora sit on his throne by the\n    big moon, and he say:\n \u201cHalloa! great O Le Langi, what you wanter?\u201d\n Then I says: \u201cShow me ole chiefs who die, and all dead peoples.\u201d\n Great Tangalora say: \u201cO Le Langi\u2014look!\u201d\n He have lift big veil of Night, quick!\u2014I stare and see\n Beautiful country of mighty trees and fruits,\n Big moonlit seas dashing by shore of bright Atua;\n I see my dead tribe dancing, waving arms, singing, singing to heathen\n    land stars!\n Then big shadow hand of god Tangalora move and drop big veil of Night\u2014\n And I no longer in Underworld._\n\n\u201cBut what became of that old crab?\u201d said I, as the old chief looked\nabout him and seemed to have forgotten the commencement of his story.\n\n _Ah me, Papalagi, the old crab look up and say:\n \u201cHalloa! O Le Langi, you been in Underworld?\u201d\n And then I say \u201cYes.\u201d\n And then crab say: \u201cDid you \u2019appen to see beautiful\n Linger Loa, whom I once love mucher, she who once my wife?\u201d\n Then I look at crab and say:\n \u201cWhy, yes! I did see Linger Loa! and she say to me:\n \u2018Have you see old crab on shores by Savaii Isle?\u2019\n And I say: \u2018Yes!\u2019\n And then she say, as she beat bosom liker this (here the chief punched\n    his breast vigorously),_\n\n\n _\u2018O great O Le Langi, when you nex see the old crab, you tell him I\n    still lover him much;\n And tell him that, when ten thousand moons have passed away,\n He once more be turn to chief by gods, and so\n Will come back to arms of poor Linger Loa who longer see \u2019im.\u2019\u201d_\n\n\u201cAnd what did the old crab say to all that, O Le Langi?\u201d said I.\n\n       _Ah me! The great chief-crab looker up at me with sad eyes.\n       Then he sigh and walk sideways down to sea,\n       And, shedding tears, plunged into the deep water._\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                     CHAPTER XI. R. L. S. IN SAMOA\n\n        O Le Langi\u2019s Influence\u2014Heathen Magic\u2014Poetic\n        Aspirations\u2014Ramao and Essimao-Samoan Types\u2014Robert Louis\n        Stevenson and the \u201cBeautiful White Woman\u201d\u2014O Le Langi\n        becomes a Part of the Forest\u2014\u201cHere Lies O Le Langi\u201d\u2014A\n        Great Truth.\n\n\n               Here, by a tiny pagan hut,\n               A kid, star-eyed and brown,\n               Chews off the milky coco-nut\n               That grew just up the town!\n               As I, my back turned t\u2019wards the sun,\n               Stare out across the seas\n               Wherefrom strange melodies come in and run\n               Across the Island\u2019s trees.\n\nAH, sublime poet O Le Langi! It was your elemental poetic genius, more\nthan the inspirations of the poets of my own land, that first turned my\nthoughts to the magic of the seas, skies, travelling stars, and the\nstrange look in men\u2019s eyes. \u2019Twas you who made me hear the ineffable\nsounds of music, the visionary sights and the wonders of night and\nmoonlight in the forest. Yours was the mercy that lent me the ear to\nhear the pleading voice of the unfledged song in the red-splashed bird\u2019s\negg, till I carefully climbed back and laid it once more in the mossy\nnest high in the banyans. It was you who inspired me to stand on the\npalm-clad slopes, by the sapphire-hued Pacific waters, and see the\nglorious mist of God\u2019s breath pervade the circumambient life of this\nmirror of a universe that shadows forth His infinite dreams. \u2019Twas you\nwho led me into the magic parlour of infinite splendour where birds,\ngoddesses, and gods sang and lifted their goblets of nectar, toasting in\nsong their joy and thanksgiving to the laughing, flying hours\u2014hours that\npeeped through the magic door of the sunrise. I too stood by that\nwondrous shanty door, where the palms sang, and stretched my shadow-arm\nto the skyline, while with goblet in hand I dipped and filled it to the\nbrim with the sparkling foam from the golden sunsets of the wine-dark\nseas! Yes, Langi, I also drank the intoxicating ecstasy of those foaming\nhours of crimson and golden light. Yet, Langi, I, sceptic that I was,\nonce doubted you when you stood by the moonlit waterfalls of the forest\nand swore that you saw the silvery flowing beards and big jagged knees\nof the gods. In the blindness of my worldly vision I swore that it was\nnothing more than the foaming moonlit waters falling down the fern-clad\ncrags of the mountain\u2019s side: no knees, no gigantic rugged faces of gods\nat all! I even doubted that the dark, Old-Man-Frog\u2019s hind-legs, as he\nswam deep in the still depths of the star-mirroring water of the lagoon,\ntouched with his webbed feet and scattered the constellation of stars\nthat were the proud eyes of your mighty ancestors who ever watched over\nyou from the skies out to the north-west. Ah, how blind I was! But I\nbecame a true pagan after that. It was I who taught you to sing the\nsongs of Cathay and the melodies of medi\u00e6val romance of Long Ago. Who\nwill believe that we heard the winds tolling the bells of Time, faintly,\nfar away in some infinite belfry of the stars, as the violin wailed and\nyour aged, cracked voice chanted? Yes, long ago, when strange, blue-eyed\nDanes and Homeric sailormen from the semi-fabled seas threw silver coins\ninto our old collecting-calabash! I thank you and Heaven, O Le Langi,\nthat once I was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Notwithstanding the\nbeauty and truth of the Christian apostles, it was you, old heathen, who\ninvested me with a glamour, threw over the shoulders of this dilapidated\ncatastrophe Me, a magical cloak, the texture whereof I am unable to\nexplain. That old cloak of many colours and glorious illusions has long\nsince been torn to a thousand shreds. But out of each old heap, the\n_d\u00e9bris_ of shattered illusions, have blossomed, from the seeds of old\nenchantments, other flowers. Beautiful too are the flowers of\ndisenchantment! But away with such rhapsodizing, for I must return as\ngracefully as possible to my immediate memoirs.\n\nAbout this time I had a recurrence of yellow jaundice. My liver was a\nhealthy one; but on my first visit to Samoa, a year before, I had\nfoolishly eaten of some red-berry fruit that turned out to be most\npoisonous. I had, in consequence, suffered a serious illness. Indeed, I\nhad turned a yellowish-green, and finally had taken a voyage to Honolulu\nto seek special medical advice. Whilst in Honolulu my visage became so\ndistressingly yellow and my aspect so melancholy that the chief\nundertaker, Rami Sarhab, gave me fifteen dollars a week to act as chief\nmute and mourner at the royal burial ceremonies. But even in this\ncapacity my services failed lugubriously; for I felt such pain in the\nabdomen, was so intensely sad, that the envy expressed in my eyes and on\nmy bilious-green physiognomy for the deep, painless slumber of the\ndefunct was conspicuous to all eyes, as I walked ahead of the hearse,\nendeavouring my best to mourn over the dreamless sleep of the departed.\nThank Heaven, my second attack of jaundice left me in a few days. A\nlocal native physician, Rimoloo, recommended me to drink deeply of the\nwater from boiled yams and breadfruits flavoured with Holland gin; and\nmy delight on changing colour at the fourth gallon can be better\nimagined than described to those who have drunk of the aforesaid\nmixture.\n\nWhile enjoying the congenial companionship of O Le Langi I deserted my\nstudy of instrumental music and harmony and turned my thoughts to\npoetry. A trader at Matautu, Savaii Isle, had presented me with a volume\nof A. L. Gordon\u2019s poems and Whitman\u2019s _Leaves of Grass_. The perusal of\nthese volumes amidst romantic surroundings intensified the ardent love I\nhave ever felt for Nature in all her wildest moods. Indeed, I have often\nstood before an aged, dying forest-tree and felt some affectionate\nkinship with its sensate sorrow over its approaching dissolution.\nStrange as it may seem to some, I must confess that old wooden ships,\ndeserted huts, stuffed birds, and the like have appealed to me far more\nthan the tender melodies of beautiful songs and the thrills of romantic\nbooks. Even the thick mahogany wood of my arm-chair calls up vistas of\nsome mammoth tree of the southern forest. What song-birds settled on its\nboughs to stay and sing awhile on their flight! And what wild men,\nwomen, and weary children on the strange, long tribal march camped\nbeneath their shelter\u2014the shelter of boughs that now encircle my\nrecumbent, dreaming form in this inn\u2019s carven arm-chair!\n\nI remember that, after reading Whitman\u2019s poems, I began to write words\nto the many melodies that I was continually composing. I was surprised\nat the ease with which poetical ideas seemed to come to me. My brain\nteemed with suitable poetic similes. But my workmanship was execrable.\nMany of my lyrics were inspired by home-sickness. I recall that I wrote\nabout thirty songs. Probably three of them were good. I know that I set\na high value on those sentimental lyrics and that I placed them in my\ntin box with my prized volume of E. Prout\u2019s _Harmony and Counterpoint_,\nso that they might be safe until that day when I could submit them to a\npublisher. But no publisher\u2019s musical editor ever had them inflicted\nupon him. My ship, a year later, was wrecked off the Solomon Isles; and\nI stood under the shore palms, with all my beloved inspirations at the\nbottom of the ocean, and passed in review, so I grimly imagined, by the\ntuneful mermaids of the coral seas. Many of the stranded sailors\u2019\neffects were washed ashore the next day, but were immediately snatched\nup by the thieving natives, who bolted off with them into the mountain\nvillages. Perhaps those wild tattooed men got hold of my sacred tin box.\nAnd if any talented cannibal sings my old songs, and is well up in the\nmysteries of harmony and counterpoint, he has undoubtedly made greater\nheadway in that difficult art than I had in those days. But still, it is\nsomething that I should be able to claim to be the first who introduced\nE. Prout\u2019s volume of _Harmony and Counterpoint_ into the cannibal\nSolomon Isles.\n\nI remember that O Le Langi asked me to translate the words of many of\nhis legendary poems into my own language. My heathen poet\u2019s face lit up\nwith pride when I sang some of his songs in my own tongue, and with\nequal pride made a forcible accent on the rhymes so that he could hear\nhow the lines went. O Le Langi at once enticed me to go with him round\nthe coast to Mootua, so that I might let his rival scribes hear how nice\nhis poems sounded when translated into the great Papalagi\u2019s language. He\nwas so delighted with the obvious jealousy that was expressed on the\nwrinkled faces of his rivals that he struck his chest thrice and flung\none hand behind his back. I discovered that this act of Langi\u2019s was a\ndirect challenge to them to compose the words of a song as well as he.\nOne of the older scribes, at once accepting the challenge, stepped\nforward and, swelling the magnificent hieroglyphic tattoo of his chest,\nchanted an impromptu legend. Though I could not understand all the words\nof this legendary improvization, I remember that the melody was so\neffective that I extemporized with ease an accompaniment on my violin.\nThis brought forth a volley of applause from the whole tribe, who had\nrushed from their huts to listen to the wonderful magic wood-scraping of\nthe white _Tusitala_ (maker of songs). For a while I quite expected\nthere would be a fight between the rivals. But things smoothed down. I\nwas finally awarded a calabash of kava, which I courteously placed to my\nlips, and then, whilst the chiefs were talking, poured the contents into\nthe fern grass at my feet. At this moment the high chief\u2019s daughter, a\nsea-blue-eyed maid with a veritable forest of bronze-hued hair, fell on\none knee before me and started to sing a weird melody. For a moment I\nwas considerably embarrassed. I soon, however, recovered my wits, and\nthen I took her hand and bade her rise. My imagination clothed me with a\nmajesty which I had gathered from my old novels. And I distinctly recall\nthe admiration in the eyes of the onlookers as I slightly lifted my\nhelmet hat and then bowed as though I were some mighty king paying court\nto a princess of a neighbouring dynasty. She handed me a beautifully\ncarved tortoise-shell comb from her hair, and the glance that\naccompanied the gift cannot be divulged in mere words. I responded by\ndiving my hand into my breast pocket, and then handed her a really\nvaluable silver match-box. She blushed deeply, for the munificence of my\nreturn gift was obvious. That same night O Le Langi and myself were the\nchief guests at the festival board of the _fale fapule_ (chief house).\nAnd as I sat at the head of the long low table and the steam rose from\nthe mighty dishes of roast pig and many indigenous fruit dishes, Essao\u2019s\neyes, for that was her name, gave me swift, bright glances that told all\nthat a romantic Samoan maid\u2019s eyes can tell when her heart warms to a\nstranger. But, notwithstanding my ardent nature and the lure of her\nbright eyes, I was saved from early matrimony, for when the head chief\ncaught me bowing gallant acknowledgments to his daughter\u2019s eyes, his\nbrow wrinkled up into a tortuous map of disapproval.\n\nNevertheless, when O Le Langi and I left the village that night, Essao\ngave me her tenderest secret glance and managed to present me with a\nflower from her hair. Though I did not see her again, I wrote many\nverses about her beauty.\n\nI think that it was about this period that I wrote several of the poems\nthat were later on published in my little booklet of _Australian and\nSouth Sea Lyrics_. This little booklet of verse, to my surprise and\npleasure, was highly praised in the literary journals in England, and\nalso brought me letters of encouragement from such men as Henry Newbolt,\nWilliam Michael Rossetti, and Robert Bridges.\n\nBut to proceed with those adventurous happy days when the light of the\ngreat poet O Le Langi\u2019s eyes shone upon me. Whilst stopping with Langi I\nwas down with severe fever. I was staying at the time in a native\nhomestead quite near to the aged scribe\u2019s residence. Langi was very kind\nto me, and secured the services of a native woman to attend to my wants.\nThis Samoan lady had a child who was about four years old. He was an\nintelligent little fellow and had ocean-blue eyes and curly hair. When I\nsat up on my bed-mat, tinkling melodies on my violin, Ramao, for that\nwas his name, would somersault with delight; then once again peep inside\nthe _F_ holes of my instrument to see where the music came from. Every\nday he would run off into the forest to pluck flowers for me, and would\nmake my bed with soft moss, attending to my wants with the unremitting\nsolicitude of a lovable, innocent child. Heaven knows where he learnt\nthe weird songs that he sang to me as he sat by my bedside, swaying to\nand fro like some elfin-child. Lying there stricken with fever, I would\nstare into his beautiful, original eyes till the whole world seemed to\nbe singing in its happy childhood. I realized that the age of four was\nthe golden age of mortal existence, the age that understands the\ngrandest philosophy of life, the age when all the infinite possibilities\nare as near consummation as they can well be in this world. Much that\nhad puzzled my wretched civilized brain as I listened to O Le Langi\u2019s\nlong discourses became clear to me. Langi was not such a fool after all;\nit was I who was the heathen! The iron laws of my country had sent me to\nschool so that my God-given wisdom should be strangled by dogmatic\nheathenish teachers. I recalled how the great and splendidly religious\nLangi had crashed his club down on his threshold, and in magnificent\ndeclamatory style had said:\n\n\u201cPah! Foolish white-skinned man, he come here with his mouldy skull full\nof worms so that he may teach us also to grow old, scraggy, and full of\nwretched wisdom. He hears not the voices of the gods murmuring in the\nchildren\u2019s babblings.\u201d Then that aged scribe had laid his wrinkled hand\non my head, and in sonorous, melancholy tones had said: \u201cO Papalagi, I\nsay, your people looker beyond the mountains at the stars for the wisdom\nof the great waters when \u2019tis only to be heard in the sweet-toned shells\nthat are scattered on the sunny shores of childhood.\u201d\n\nSo spake Langi. And I, who knew that we are born in fullest possession\nof the divine faculties only that we may grow old and sad, had at once\nbecome a true disciple of that glorious old heathen. Indeed, I almost\nsucceeded in realizing that the peoples of the civilized world were my\nhumble attendants, and that O Le Langi, crammed with mythology and\nstrange tales about sad old crabs, was a heathen Solomon arrayed in the\nsplendour of the stars. Langi could stand on the mountain peaks of\nsupreme \u201cignorance,\u201d whisper into the ear of the universe, and,\nlistening, hear those Truths that only murmur in some great speech of\nsilence to the soul.\n\nI know that the light of little Ramao\u2019s eyes also filled my soul with\nsome strange, intuitive wisdom. When the little fellow opened his eyes\nwide and said:\n\n\u201cOh, listen, Papalagi, to the _O le mao_ bird as it sings to the light\nof the mountain stars,\u201d I did not hear a night-bird singing to its mate\nin the banyan trees, but I heard a soft-feathered transmutation of a\nblue day of ages ago singing tenderly, sadly, to some memory of its\nbirth in the rosy eternity of the east. Ramao\u2019s presence in that hut,\nwhere I lay sick with fever, cast a poetic glamour over my existence.\nOne evening he rushed into the hut, and, stooping down by my bed-mat,\nswiftly covered my shoulders with the tappa-rug. Then he turned to the\ndoorway and gave a whistle, and softly called out:\n\n\u201cEssimao, come in and see wonderful white boy who play on magic wood.\u201d\n\nHe had brought his sister to see me. There she stood, a charming little\nmaid of about seven years, peeping curiously at me through the half-open\ndoorway. I called her; and, as though she had been born for the purpose\nof waiting on men in sickness, she straightway squatted by me and\ncommenced to sing. Her voice rippled from her lips like the\ndeep-stealing music of a forest stream. Rising to her feet she swayed\nsoftly, and it seemed that the rhythm of music rose and fell in tiny\nbillows along the graceful movements of her limbs. Her laughter was\nsweetest balm to my fevered soul. She was a perfect little gipsy of the\nsea-nursed south. I know that if the delightful George Borrow, that true\nlover of the Romany Chile, had reached the South Seas and had seen\nEssimao place a seashell to her ear and swear that she could hear the\nbig _moani ali_ (ocean) beating on the shores of God\u2019s mountain\nfootstools, he would, I am sure, have devoted pages to the beauty of\nEssimao and the religious influence her presence inspired. I know that\nshe impressed me more than all the Psalms could do. The sayings of the\nApostles and the teachings of Confucius, down to those of Kant and\nStrindberg, etc., are as nothing to me when compared with the wisdom and\ncharm of little Essimao and Ramao\u2019s four infinite years. Those little\nphilosophers made me realize, long ago, the cursed irony of the fates in\ndecreeing that man should be born the wrong way up, so that we grow old\ninstead of young. But my memory does not betray me when I assert here\nthat O Le Langi was an exception, a phenomenon who had outwitted the\nfates, had never grown out of his wise, resplendent infancy. Like the\nchild of four years, he was still a mighty philosopher, a true\nsocialist, romanticist, individualist, poet, humorist, spritualist,\nrealist, optimist, pessimist, mystic, maniac, prophet, and one who had\nthe transcendentalist\u2019s belief in a Supreme Being; and lo, all this\nencased in one skull crammed with the divine light that we are all\ngifted with when we are four years old. Ah, the wondrous book that an\nimaginative child of four years could give us could it write down its\nimpressions, its own outlook on life and all that it imagines about this\nworld! What marvellous truths would its great unworldliness spring upon\nus! Once, when I lay near to death, Ramao lay on one side of me and\nEssimao on the other, placing their fingers in sympathy through my hair.\nI felt that I had travelled so far that I had stumbled on the edge of\nthe earth that is nearest the heavens. Perhaps I digress unduly in my\nreflections over Ramao and Essimao, when it is only children in the\nhey-day of life\u2019s philosophical prime who can understand the truth of\nthat which I say. Few may believe the virtues that I claim for my old\nfriend Langi and these children. Langi, who had read many of the\nabridged editions of the standard works, cursed the outrageous vanity of\nwhite men. His nervous, sensitive nostrils would dilate, his sonorous,\neloquently violent voice ringing out like the mellow poetry of old bells\nas he declaimed:\n\n\u201cPah! What am this white Papalagi more than a pale-skinned thief of the\nnight? Am he not the dark misbeliever who slay our mighty gods and doubt\ntheir virtues\u2014and us?\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue! true! O mighty O Le Langi!\u201d I\u2019d say, as I listened in\nincorrigible delight, while with chin and hand raised to the sky he\nspoke on:\n\n\u201cThe white Papalagi am one great hypocrite, who loveth the earth, money,\nand old clothes\u2014neither doth he smell over-sweet! Where? Where is this\nGod who had power to fashion this white man, yet, lo, made some First\nGreat Mistake\u2014since I am brown?\u201d And saying this, O Le Langi dashed his\ncoco-nut-shell goblet to the ground, and exclaimed: \u201cThink you \u2019tis wise\nHis faults to change?\u201d And still he would rave on in this wise: \u201cI say,\nO Papalagi, had the first white man discovered my people living in one\ngreat town that had a leaning tower, and one rotunda and nicer\ncathedrals with great stained-glass windows, they would have said: \u2018O\ngreat Samoan Peoples! God\u2019s eyelight doth shine in thy sight; your\nwomen, too, are beautiful as the stars and flowers. O wondrous brown\nmen, I greet you, Allelujah!\u2019\u201d Then, wiping the tears of tense emotion\nfrom his eyes, he wailed forth: \u201cAlas, my people lived in huts,\ntherefore were severely belaboured with rods and their daughters sold\ninto slavery and worshipped only for their bodies\u2019 beauty.\u201d\n\nEven as I write I can hear O Le Langi sigh: \u201cAlas! Alas! Papalagi the\nfaithful,\u201d as his ghost peers over my shoulder to-night as I pen these\nmemoirs. Yes, O Le Langi could see \u201cHeaven in a wild flower and Eternity\nin a grain of sand.\u201d Little Ramao, too, felt quite equal to the white\nmen, and honestly claimed everything from the stars down to my boots and\nmy violin. He even claimed my parents\u2019 photographs which I kept in my\ntin box, for he placed them carefully in the folds of his lava-lava when\nI was not looking\u2014true little socialist that he was. And, when he fell\nfrom the palm tree, whilst seeking coco-nuts, and broke his back, he\ndied with a smile on his lips that had God\u2019s philosophy in it.\n\nThe tears fell fast from O Le Langi\u2019s eyes when he said:\n\n\u201cO Papalagi, the seas do roll on for ever, but man go back to his\nfathers.\u201d\n\nThen the winds sighed mournfully in the coco-palms, and O Le Langi\nsoftly dug his fingers into the heap of soft-scented mould, and dropped\nthe first lump of earth down on to Ramao\u2019s dead, smiling face.\n\n\u201cAue! Aue!\u201d wailed the stricken mother, as we turned away from the\ngraveside. And three or four little children who had stood watching the\nburial procession from the shades of the flamboyant trees, cried: \u201cWa\nnoo! Wa noo!\u201d and then disappeared in some fright down the forest\ntracks. Such was the end of Ramao as the sunset fired the far-off sea\nhorizon. The cicalas were chrruping in the belts of mangroves as we\narrived once more at Langi\u2019s homestead.\n\nFor a long time after that sad incident I fancied I could hear some wail\nof sorrow in the mournful monotones of the waves that incessantly beat\nagainst the barrier reefs. But the splendid reality of the hot sunlight\nagain came over the world. Again Time turned the withered pages of each\nblue tropic day, pages that faded into the yellowing of each sunset.\nFlowers on the slopes grew musical with bees. Fierce happiness reigned\nin the tribal villages along the coast as the old chiefs chanted their\nsavage memories of olden time and the children thumped toy drums.\nBright-eyed maidens and amorous youths laughed and sang. Then O Le Langi\nenticed me to go off troubadouring with him.\n\n\u201cWe maker lot moneys, O Tusitala!\u201d said he.\n\nAnd so I went, and O Le Langi carried my violin as we tramped miles and\nmiles visiting the coast villages. Sometimes we hired a canoe and\npaddled to the many islets of the Samoan group. With his tappa robe\nwrapped about him, the tasselled end flung cavalier-wise over one\nshoulder, O Le Langi would stand with chin raised as he stood in the old\ntribal forums of many a lonely native village, chanting melodiously as I\nplayed on my violin. Even the white men, traders and sailors in the\ngrog-bars near Matautu, down by the beach on Savaii Isle, left their rum\nmugs, strode to the bar doorway, listened and stared, as Langi told\nwonderful things about his old gods, pointing magnificently to the\ntrees, the distant mountains and seas, calling them mighty witnesses of\nall which he would claim for the beauty of his legendary world. The old\nshellbacks opened their eyes in astonishment, tugged their beards, spat\nseaward, and stared again, as the earnest note in his voice gained even\ntheir ragged respect. It must have been a strange sight as my pagan\nbrother-artist stood before them, clothed in the majesty of a past\ntribal chiefdom and the glory of a proud imagination that they could not\nunderstand. But what cared I, as with fiddle to my chin I played on, my\nhelmet hat tilted back on my head, till O Le Langi\u2019s wheezy voice gave\nthe final chant ere he snatched that dilapidated shelter from the tropic\nsun off my head, and held it under the eyes of those sunburnt men from\nthe seas!\n\nAh, memory of Langi and true romance! Great, unlaurelled poet of the\nSouth Seas, how satisfied you were with your earthly existence! How\nsatisfied with the poetic fame you achieved as your kind critics cast\ncoins of approval into my shabby helmet hat\u2014that old hat that held the\njoy and romance of my youth and all that was wealth inexhaustible to\nyou\u2014and me! Often in my deeper dreams I see you standing beneath your\nbeloved palms near Apia as you watch the gold of the setting sun sinking\ninto the western seas. Ah, kind old heathen, again I see your grim\nglance when you look at the woebegone faces of the missionaries as they\npass you by; and, as you watch them, I see your aged lips smile and\nquiver into that poetic grin that seems to say:\n\n\u201cThere, but for God\u2019s mercy, goes O Le Langi!\u201d\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs some may think I have overestimated the comeliness and mentality of\nthe majority of the old-time Samoans, I would like to give other\nopinions than my own on the subject before finishing this chapter. First\nof all, I would mention that all observant, able authorities who have\ntravelled, and written about the South Seas, have remarked upon the fine\nphysique and general attractiveness of the Polynesian races. In my\nprofession, and I was bandmaster of the king\u2019s bodyguard band in Hawaii,\nin Tahiti, and again in Mexico, etc., I had many opportunities of\nhearing the opinions of the various representatives of the Missionary\nSocieties, and they were very often men of refined tastes, and so\ncompetent to judge. These men all seemed to share my opinion with\nrespect to the manliness and refinement of the Samoans. Of course, a\ndifference of opinion is bound to exist, for, to be sure, there is a\nclass of men who, by an inherent obliquity of mental vision, see all the\ncoloured races as something semi-bestial and unworthy of a white man\u2019s\ninterest and sympathy.\n\nI once had the pleasure of arriving in Apia with Monsieur Bassaire, a\nwell-known French artist. I vividly recall his astonishment and\nadmiration when he first saw the Samoans who came on deck to welcome us\nwhen we arrived off Mulinuu. Nor was Bassaire\u2019s surprise to be wondered\nat, for the handsome, sun-bronzed, herculean figures of the Samoan men\nwere shown off to tremendous advantage as they stood on deck amongst the\nslop-shouldered, thick-necked German crew. Bassaire, who had travelled\nin New Guinea in 1879 with James Chalmers, the God-fearing, adventurous\nmissionary,[7] was touring the world, and was taking sketches of the\nvarious races of mankind. I know that he was pleased with his artistic\nwork in Samoa. Bassaire was introduced to Robert Louis Stevenson, and it\nwas whilst they were in each other\u2019s company that I heard R. L. S.\ncomment on the clear complexions of the Samoans. We were in the\nphotographer\u2019s studio in Apia, and Stevenson was examining some of the\nphotographs. The photographer told us that, though hundreds of native\ngirls and youths presented themselves at his studio in hopes that they\nwould make photographs of commercial value for book illustrations and\nfor selling to tourists, he was invariably able to choose only two, or\nthree at most, who possessed the thick lips and sensual features that\ncoincided with the stock European idea of the South Sea type. Indeed,\nwhen Stevenson glanced through the albums, he actually mistook some of\nthe photographs of the Samoans, which were toned in a light shade, for\nEuropeans. R. L. S. remarked that he considered that in some ways the\nSamoans were amongst the handsomest races to be found in the world.\nHowever, they become slightly broad in the nose as they get older and\nthe lips become sensual-looking; the skin, which in youth is of a golden\nhue, deepens to a tawny hue with age, the complexion becoming swarthy,\nsomething akin to that of the Spanish, Italian, Southern French, and the\ndarker types of British. Of course, these remarks refer to the\ntrue-blooded types of over twenty years ago. Through intermarriage with\nMongolians, Negroes, Malays, Papuans, and low-caste British, the\nherculean Samoan is becoming a very rare individual indeed. The\nstatue-like figure is becoming bent and dwarfed, the full, clear eyes\ncrafty-looking. I know that the surviving children of the old race, who\nnow roam those palm-clad slopes, struck me, on a later day, as a kind of\nhuman rainbow, some aftermath that sadly reflected the tropic suns, the\nlight and laughter of other brighter days. For now one meets all kinds\nof complexion\u2014yellowish, brownish, white-blotched, mauve, greenish,\ntawny, and black, and eyes as multitudinous in colour as their own\ntropic flowers. At times it is hard to tell the half-caste from the\npure-blooded white man or woman.\n\nFootnote 7:\n\n  The author met James Chalmers in Apia and again at Port Moresby, New\n  Guinea. Chalmers was a splendid type of the earnest missionary\u2014manly,\n  sincere, and brave, and a true Bohemian. He was murdered by New Guinea\n  cannibals a few years ago.\n\nThe last remark recalls to my mind a little incident that it may not be\nout of place to mention here. Robert Louis Stevenson heard that a white\nwoman was residing near Matautu, Savaii Isle. He at once made up his\nmind to go and see this lady\u2014a natural enough wish in those remote\nisles, \u201cwhere white men will tramp miles to catch a glimpse of a white\nwoman.\u201d Well, R. L. S. hired a boat from a half-caste who was a\nstore-keeper, and with whom I was staying at that time. And so it\nhappened that I and the mate of a schooner had the pleasure of\naccompanying R. L. S. in the boat. After a long, very wearying row from\nManono, for it was a terrifically hot day, we arrived off the coast of\nSavaii. Even then we had to go ashore and tramp over two miles before we\ncould reach the bungalow where the white lady resided. When we did\narrive, Stevenson was nearly \u201cdead-beat,\u201d and struck me as irritated and\nfatigued. It was with much relief that the three of us at length passed\nunder the shade of the mango-trees that sheltered the approach to the\nbungalow.\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the white lady?\u201d said Stevenson, speaking in rather a sharp\nmanner to a tawny-looking female who wore a small dark moustache and\nhappened to be looking out of the bungalow\u2019s doorway. To our\nastonishment the woman screwed her mouth up and shrieked out:\n\n\u201cWhat white lady?\u2014damn yer eyes!\u201d\n\nStevenson\u2019s consternation and my own can be better imagined than\ndescribed, when I say that the sun-tanned, brown-skinned, vulgar-looking\nwoman who addressed us was the beautiful white lady herself! And, if I\nmay say so, she was a good specimen of the white lady to be found in the\nSouth Seas in those days.\n\n\u201c\u2019ave a beer, old party?\u201d she said to R. L. S., who had astutely\napologized and cursed the hot sunlight that, shining in his eyes, had\nmade him so colour-blind.\n\nStevenson\u2019s tact, after that grievous mistake, had a magical effect on\nthe manners of our countrywoman. She fastened a flower on R. L. S.\u2019s\ncoat.\n\n\u201cSay when!\u201d she said to the mate, as she clutched the gin bottle,\nholding it high as she filled the glass.\n\nThen she smacked me on the back, and filled with beer a huge receptacle\nthat looked like one of those fancy glasses wherein one keeps goldfish.\nI think Stevenson had whisky. I know he enjoyed the situation. The lady\nmade eyes at R. L. S. and the mate too. She swore and behaved with the\nconvivial vulgarity that is the sole prerogative of the low-caste\nBritish woman. I know that the Samoan servant-maid blushed as her\nmistress complained of the \u201c\u2019orrible \u2019eat,\u201d and pulled her dress down\nbelow her Camberwell-South-East bosom. Who she was, why she was there\nalone in that bungalow, only God knows. I recall that she nudged\nStevenson in the ribs and said she came from \u201cCamberwool Sarth-East.\u201d\nShe swore at everything in Samoa, and said that she never went \u201cart of a\nnight because she knew the blasted natives were cannyballs!\u201d Stevenson\u2019s\nface during all this was a perfect study in self-control and amused\npoliteness; and nothing off the stage could possibly outrival his\nsimulated interest and his convivial ejaculation of \u201cWell now!\u201d as she\nfinished each breezy yarn and ribald joke.\n\nThe mate was a London man.\n\n\u201cDo you remember the \u2018Pig and Whistle\u2019?\u201d she screamed, as she plunged\ninto reminiscent talk about the \u201cold homeland,\u201d smacked the mate on the\nshoulder, and pinched my leg! She insisted on fillng our glasses again\nand again. She commenced to sing. Her wild, silvery laughter rippled\nabout our ears, mesmerized us all, and made the roosting parakeets in\nthe orange-trees outside rise, flutter and shriek with fright. Stevenson\nwas the first to attempt to withdraw from that little realistic drama of\nlife in a South Sea bungalow. His \u00e6sthetic, intellectual-looking face\nbecame shadowed with a fierce determination as the wild familiarities of\nthe woman asserted themselves. He bowed with urbane politeness as he\nrose from the table.\n\n\u201cGit the gentleman\u2019s \u2019at, yer little brown-skinned slut!\u201d she yelled.\n\nIn a moment the trembling Polynesian maid made a dive for Stevenson\u2019s\nold peaked cap. Stevenson was still expressing in his politest terms the\npleasure he felt at meeting the lady in the island.\n\n\u201cStow it, yer son of a gun! No politeness \u2019ere! You know where to find\nme, and _don\u2019t_ forget me when yer comes this way!\u201d she said, as we\npassed through the doorway.\n\nStevenson nearly fell down her bungalow\u2019s five steps as she yelled forth\na volley of ribald farewells. The relief of that parting was very\nevident on Stevenson\u2019s face. He chuckled like a schoolboy when we had\nembarked and were all rowing our hardest, far away, safe out at sea.\n\nBut to return to O Le Langi. Many of the old-time chiefs of Langi\u2019s type\nwere faithful to their old creeds in many ways, and lived just as they\nhad done in the heathen days. Indeed, Langi lived as though white men\nhad never trod on his isles. He was deeply imbued with the old\ncommercial spirit. Like the medi\u00e6val merchants of Cathay who travelled\nfar with their scented merchandise, Langi would go wandering from\nvillage to village and isle to isle. True enough, he did not travel with\na camel across mighty deserts, but was his own caravan; for he carried,\nby the aid of a large calabash slung over his own hump, not sandalwood,\ntopazes, diamonds, and opals for mummies\u2019 eyes, but set off with pink\nshells, corals, tappa-cloth, and magic charms that had been warmed by\nthe soft bosoms of mighty queens on their wedding-nights. These charms\nwere small precious stones that he ran through his fingers whilst\nmumbling his pagan prayers.\n\n\u201cWhat may they be, those little shining stones, O mighty O Le Langi?\u201d\nsaid I one night, as he trickled the gems through his fingers and gazed\nin a most mysterious way on the stars. He then informed me that they\nwere the old magic jewels of the ancient Samoan dynasty, and their value\nwas beyond all price. It turned out that they had once been threaded on\nthe skeins of a maiden\u2019s hair so that they might be warmed on the virgin\nbosom of her whom a king was about to take to wife. It appeared that on\nthe eve of the wedding the royal bride slept with the stones warm on her\nbosom, and that the warmth imparted to them was the sapphire and ruby\nlight which shone in their depths as Langi ran them through his fingers.\n\nOne may wonder how O Le Langi obtained possession of the magic Crown\njewels of the old Samoan dynasty; but he was a true scribe and,\npossibly, knew the ropes. Even in my time, kings and queens were not too\nsevere in Court etiquette. Here I will simply say that, through\npossessing a bottle of the best Holland gin, I have received the highest\nCourt honours from South Sea Royalty. Indeed, I was once offered a\nprincess\u2019s hand in marriage, as well as being presented with the\n\u201cfreedom of the pagan city,\u201d because the half-blind old king (in the\nPaumotou group) had been told by his head chief that I had a flask of\nthe best Jamaica rum in my coat pocket. I seldom visited South Sea\nRoyalty without a bottle of gin on my person.\n\nLangi never tired of expatiating on the beauty of the Samoan and\nMarquesan maidens of his youth. He would lift his chin to the sky, and\ncurse the day when the maids were forced by the missionaries to wear the\nEuropeans\u2019 cast-off clothing.\n\n\u201cUgh! O Papalagi of the spirit-finger, we no do cover the flowers with\nstink-cloth and so hide the loveliness of their leaves; then why, I say,\nshould new-time fool-men cover nicer girls, women, and mans down to\nfeets?\u201d\n\nSo raved O Le Langi, as I sympathetically muttered: \u201cTrue! true, O\nmighty Langi!\u201d\n\nBut it must be admitted that the long pink and blue-striped\nnight-gown-like attire of the maids suited them admirably. It was a\npretty sight to see a flock of native girls running along the shore\nsands, delighting in the windy dishevelment, as they stooped and\nclutched the gowns that were lifted from their ankles as the warm,\nseductive winds blew in. And it must be confessed that many maids who\ndelighted in brown stockings would sit out on the shore reefs purposely\nto court the flirtatious of the winds as the handsome native youths\npassed by.\n\nThough I have recorded the aforesaid incidents, they appear trivial\nenough when I think of the wonders of pagan life and the poetic mystery\nof a South Sea forest that flashes on the inward eye. I myself have more\nthan once completely lost my civilized individuality and become part of\nthe South Sea forest scene. I remember that O Le Langi once took me away\nto a secret witch-hut in the forest near Mootua. Sunset had already\nthrown the silent wooded depths into deep shadow when Langi, who was\ncreeping along just ahead of me, heard a suspicious noise, and suddenly\nstood perfectly still: his tattooed wrinkled form had become a part of\nthe forest! his arms instinctively bent, twisted at the elbows,\nrepresented two short, broken branch stumps. Lo! he was no longer O Le\nLangi, but was a gnarled spotted tree-trunk with blinkless eyes and\ncarved to resemble man, apparently lifeless, as he stood with ears alert\namong the aged banyan stems! Well, just as Langi\u2019s primitive instincts\ncame to his assistance and made him unrecognizable, I too have become a\npart of the forest. I do not say that I have turned into a human\ntree-stump; but I have stood alone in the silent depths and felt my\ninner life become one with the old trees around me. It was as though my\nconscious life was splashed in spiritual colours over the leaves. I felt\nsome old sense exude from my being, like warm blood, and dye the forest\ndepth with the sunset\u2019s golden glory and poetic mystery that lay hushed\non the branched luxuriant tropical growth about me.\n\nOf O Le Langi\u2019s musical ability I can say but little. It would require a\ngenius to describe the universal music of his gifts. He was a true\nprimitive literary man and, therefore, like most true literary men, was\na musician in the deeper meaning of that word. Langi could hear the\ngrandeur of Creation\u2019s harmony and that still, small voice of humanity\nthat cannot possibly express itself by fiddling on catgut or blowing on\nbrass. I can only say that Langi wrote a great symphony that my memory\nhas vainly striven to play in these after years. The memory of his face\nand deep-set, poetic eyes seems to me as of some weird, conscious\nembodiment of all the sublimity of the rugged mountains and sunlit\npalms, the unheard harmonies of the moon-ridden seas and lagoons from\nSamoa to the Solomons, and again from Fiji to Tahiti and the far-off\nPoutomous. Those old forests are, to me, O Le Langi\u2019s now dead whitening\nbones, where through the warm sea-winds whistle wonderful legends that\nhis tongue once uttered forth.\n\nIt was years after that I went to Apia again and stood by his grave. It\nis situated by Safata village. I noticed that they had placed a wooden\ncross over the spot, and on it was written:\n\n                     \u201cHere lies O Le Langi.\n                      Died Feb. 14, 1908.\u201d\n        \u201cBlessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.\u201d\n\nHe had undoubtedly been buried by the residential ecclesiastics; and the\nspiritual text chosen by them for his memorial cross showed, to me at\nleast, that missionaries often speak great truths about dead men.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nI had it in my mind to finish this chapter with a critical discourse on\nnative and European styles of music; but I feel that I am not able to do\nthe subject justice. I am too liable to be influenced by the maze of\nmelodies that are always playing in the great invincible orchestral\nworld of my memory. There are some, too, who would consider my taste for\nmusic decidedly vulgar. Indeed, one night, whilst stopping at an old inn\non my north-west travels, I heard a barrel-organ being played outside on\nthe main country road. Looking out of the window, I saw a\nmelancholy-visaged, white-whiskered, weird-looking foreigner turning the\nhandle of a derelict barrel-organ that stood on one leg. It was an old\nmelody that it played, a ballad that I had been familiar with in my\nchildhood. Its dismal groan thrilled my soul. It took me across the\nyears! I heard the laughter of my brothers and sisters and the forgotten\nstrummings of the old piano. The old inn was transmuted\u2014it stood on the\ngrey night-hills of another age. I peeped through the window-blind and\nsaw that weird old organ-grinder, just visible by the mingy gleam of the\none lamp-post\u2019s flickering light. He had a strange look about him. He\nwore a most suitable slouched hat, too! He seemed to me some ambassador\nof Fate who had been sent out of the night to appeal to my soul. I\nfancied that the stars and the moon went round as he turned that handle.\n\u201cPlay on! Play on!\u201d I gasped mentally; and so the vision of sight and\nsound continued, yes, as I listened to the grand opera of my existence.\nThe semi-sad, half-gay ballad that he played touched my heart-strings;\nthe stars waved bright hands, dead laughter and beautiful,\nhalf-forgotten voices of long ago murmured to the wailing accompaniment\nof the poplar-trees that surely sighed over old memories just across the\nroad. I even saw the ghost of the little, curly-headed Italian\ntroubadour girl creep into our old front garden again, and once more\ncommence to play \u201cSanta Lucia\u201d on her accordion. What _maestro_ ever\nplayed as soulfully as she played for my ears?\u2014Her voice? Oh, music\ninexpressibly beautiful! Ah, the cleverness of that surreptitious\nspecial smile for me, as she peered sideways through her thrush-brown\ntresses up at our castle window! I thought of my passion for her, of my\nbetrothal to that pretty, red-rose-lipped vagabondess of the south when\nI was ten years old; of my austere father\u2019s wrath when our plans for the\nelopement were discovered, of my mother\u2019s horror\u2014and of my shame! Alas!\nLet men and women go to the grand opera, let the mighty cathedral organs\nof the world thunder and moan till their hearts are touched; but oh,\ngive me a one-legged barrel-organ under the poplar trees outside the\nwindow of some old inn\u2014playing \u201cSanta Lucia\u201d after dark!\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                   CHAPTER XII. A MOHAMMEDAN BANQUET\n\n        A Child of American Democracy\u2014Rajah\n        Barab\u2014Barbarossa\u2014Brown-Slave traffic Methods\u2014Motavia\u2019s\n        Grave\u2014The Magic Casement\u2014The Splendour of Rose-coloured\n        Spectacles\u2014Mohammedanistic Desires\u2014Giovanni\u2019s Love\n        Affairs\u2014Exit Barab.\n\n\nI WAS more than pleased to make the acquaintance of Giovonni as I\nwandered about Apia. This newfound comrade was a clever artist on the\nguitar, and our kindred tastes and mutual cashlessness was the direct\ncause of our forming a trio for troubadour purposes. To our great\nsatisfaction, we came across another who was in a hard-up state: he was\na derelict Yankee sailorman, and he told us he had been an operatic\nsinger in his youth. Whether he strayed from the truth in swearing that\nhe had charmed select audiences by his vocal accomplishments, I cannot\nsay. I _do_ know that, when he sang, his peculiar twang and\nextraordinary facial contortions at our wandering concerts amply made up\nfor the disinteresting drone of his wheezy voice. He accompanied\nGiovanni and myself on our wanderings for many miles, as we visited\nSavaii Isle and the old townships, Palaulae, Asaua, Matautu, Safune,\nMonono, also Sufatea, and all the important native villages. Our Yankee\ncomrade\u2019s swashbuckling deportment at our numerous engagements at the\nhigh-class native _fale-po-ula_ (court dance houses) caused Giovanni and\nmyself a good deal of embarrassment. The fact is that his facial\ncontortions and voice seemed to appeal especially to the seasoned\nshellbacks and traders who congregated outside the grog-shanties as we\nstood beneath the palms and sang and played on our instruments. And if\nit is a complimentary sign to have had a large bouquet in the shape of a\nputrid crab put into the collecting calabash-dish at our great mixed\nconcert-festival down at Apia, then, all I can say is that the m\u00eal\u00e9e\nthat followed the aforesaid donation was a decided success. Anyhow,\nBilly-goat whiskers, for so we called him, was not to blame. He was the\nnatural child of a vast Republic that has no historical, dynastic\nbackground such as the Samoans and most of the South Sea races can claim\nin their history. Consequently Billy-goat whiskers had based all his\nideas and ideals on the tinker-president-everyman-as-good-as-another\ncreed, and he was a fine specimen of the Yankee swanker. The American is\nunborn who could imitate the splendid bearing that distinguishes a\nFijian or Samoan chief. Most of the savage races have a splendid\nhistorical and legendary background that has influenced their actions\nfrom earliest childhood, much the same as French boys are influenced by\nthe elegant bearing and gallant manners of the characters in their\ncountry\u2019s historical novels, such as Dumas\u2019 works, etc. And so our\nYankee\u2019s apparently vulgar ways were only the perfectly natural\nexpression of a great democracy that has grown out of the soul of the\npeople. But our pal was a brave, right down good fellow. His one fault\nwas rum and gin. He carried his rum-flask, beard-comb, and pack of cards\nin a large handkerchief that was emblazoned with the stars and stripes.\nHe had short, supple legs, and could suck his big toe like a baby. I can\nswear to that peculiarity of his, for when he had a touch of the D.T.\u2019s\nhe sat up in bed the whole night long and made a most irritating noise\nwhile using his big toe as a dummy in lieu of whisky. But, withal, it is\nnot my intention to write about our Yankee comrade. I will just finish\nhim off by saying that it was he who introduced us to Rajah Barab the\nMohammedan. Rajah Barab was a Malayo-Indian. He had once lived in German\nNew Guinea, but for sound reasons had hastily migrated to Samoa. He\nlived just outside Apia.\n\nThough this Mohammedan\u2019s dwelling looked like some three-roomed\ncow-shed, it was really the deserted ancestral hall of the great chief O\nLe Sula Motavia, a heathen divine who had had his skull blown off in the\ntribal war of 1885. This dwelling was situated about two miles\nsouth-west, on the slopes of Vaea and not so far from Robert Louis\nStevenson\u2019s old home, Vailima. And while O Le Sula Motavia slept on in\nhis cold bed within eight yards of his ancestral front door, with the\nlarge orange tree spread above, and the blue jungle flowers blowing over\nhim, Rajah Barab, the sinful Mohammedan, sat in Motavia\u2019s old halls\ndrinking deeply, as warm-eyed native girls danced and sang before him.\nNow this old heathen\u2019s homestead had not been turned exactly into a\n_tambu-house_ after the New Guinea style, for Barab had no idols within.\nBut, to make up for those wooden images that were usually carved so as\nto express a heathen\u2019s ideas of Venus and jovial Bacchus, Barab himself\nwould stand erect so that the native maidens could worship the light of\nhis living eyes and kneel in complete obeisance at his sandalled feet.\nHe made a fine idol. He was a tall, broad-shouldered sinner. He wore a\nrichly-coloured turban and waist-swathing which he well knew pleased the\neyes of romantic Samoan girls. Perhaps his chief adornment was his long\niron-grey beard. He swore by it and pulled it thoughtfully when he\nappeared to meditate over his infinite wisdom. And when he squatted\nhalf-erect on his fibre mat before the admiring, awestruck maids, his\neyes had a far-away gaze in them that seemed to have kinship with the\n_vers libre_ and the poetic grin that enshrined his ugly mug. I say\n\u201cmug\u201d because it resembled the rim of a mug, and did not look like a\nhuman mouth at all. And _I_ should know, because I was a witness of his\nfar-away-looking gaze and poetic grin, for I dined with him. Truth to\ntell, Rajah Barab had plenty of cash, and so Giovanni and myself, both\nin a cashless state, were compelled to accept the liberal fee which he\noffered us should we perform on our instruments at one of his special\nMohammedan festivals. Our Yankee friend was down with the delirium\ntremens at Apia at the time. It was unfortunate, because I know that he\nwould have been a great help to us that night.\n\nWhen Giovanni and I arrived at the festival in question there were\nseveral young Indian bloods present amongst the visitors. It was a\nselect gathering, inasmuch as Barab had invited only those whose sensual\ndesires were akin to his own. The moon was well up, and not only were\nthe palms visible around his tambu-temple, but also the native maids who\ndanced beneath them. Ava and gin were plentiful. Barab stood under the\nlarge palm tree, pulling his revered beard and swearing by his Malayan\ngods and Allah as he watched the scene. As Giovanni rippled pizzicatos\nfrom his guitar and I played my violin, we watched the scene with\nintense interest. There was something phantom-like about the whole\nbusiness as the girls danced amongst the gnarled pillars of that\nprimitive forest-hall of giant trees. The native girls, who had stolen\naway from the solicitude of the missionaries, gave muffled screams of\ndelight and did such high kicks that the coco-nut-oil lamps swayed\nviolently. I might say that these lamps hung from the palm branches that\nwere immediately over the dancers\u2019 heads. One maid was decidedly\nattractive. Her name was Barbarossa. She was tastefully arrayed in some\ndiaphanous material that reached down to her ankles. Flowers bedecked\nher thick, wavy hair that rolled loose over her neck and shoulders.\nMoonlight somehow intensified the musical rhythm and charm of her form,\nas she swerved in many semi-barbarian postures. While all this was going\non, Barab squatted on his old coco-nut-fibre mat, his body erect. His\npose was that of an Indian seer, and the chant that he mumbled added to\nthe peculiar weirdness of the scene. Even the low-caste Samoans, who\nstood aside watching the performance, called out, \u201cTalofa! Talofa!\u201d\ndemanding an encore when Barbarossa finished her dance. As soon as the\ndance was over, someone banged a drum, and that barbarian thump seemed\nto echo in my heart and made me drop my fiddle, so startled was I. For\nthough my kind ancestors handed down to me a pair of rose-coloured\nspectacles so that I might see life as they saw it, they also presented\nme with a nervous temperament; consequently anything of a sudden\nsurprise is peculiarly hateful to me. This inherited nerve of mine was\npossibly the cause of my accepting the drink of gin and lime-juice that\nBarab so artfully offered to Giovanni and myself as we sat that night at\nthe festival board of his tambu-harem. Giovanni sat beside Barbarossa,\nand I sat right opposite them. I was wedged in by Barab on one side of\nme and a Malay Chinaman on the other side. I confess here that I felt\nthe degradation of my position, and can assume from that fact that I\nmust have been perfectly sober. It was a low, long table lit up by a\nhost of small hanging-lamps that were suspended from the wooden ceiling\nby threads from sennit string. I remember that the girls, who sat along\neach side, were all more or less in a maudlin condition as the fumes of\nthe gin and \u201cava\u201d rose to their weak, feminine brains. My memory is a\nbrilliant one! I distinctly recall the wonder and feverish look that\nshone in their dark eyes as the glasses clinked, when Barab and the few\nremaining young bloods of his kidney roared forth toasts to their\nbeauty. I even remember the smell of the Chinaman who sat next to me.\nYou can always smell a Chinaman; it is a peculiar odour that suggests\nsomething between orange-pekoe and chloroform, and is not absolutely\noffensive unless you happen to be chewing delicate food when he is by.\nAs the maids drank on, Barab grew extremely excited, and banged his\nfists on the low table in some wild delight of anticipation. Poor\nGiovanni had fallen madly in love with Barbarossa. The fact was only too\nevident by all that he did. True enough, Barbarossa was the queen of the\nevening. As she sat there at the table, her eyes ashine and her loosened\ntresses stirred by the scented winds that blew through the open doorway,\nshe looked out of place amongst the other thick-lipped, sensual-looking\ngirls. It was very evident, by the look in Barab\u2019s eyes, that he\nregarded her as the _pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance_ of that festival meeting.\nHowever, Giovanni was handsome and Barab\u2019s chances were small. Giovanni\nwas evidently not letting the grass grow under his feet. I shall simply\nstate that he behaved like the true Italian cavalier that he was, and\nthat I more than once lifted my glass and drank secretly to my pal\u2019s\nsuccess in his romantic courtship. I felt a bit muddled, it was all so\nunexpected and sudden. At that time I was not aware that Barab\u2019s\nfestival programme was to get the girls quite drunk and then close and\ntightly bolt the door of his tambu-house. I really thought that he had\ntaken a violent fancy to Barbarossa and intended to offer her his\nswarthy hand in marriage according to the Malay Mohammedan rites. I must\nadmit that I was not at all aware of the Malay Mohammedan marriage rite\nprocedure when one of the sect took a fancy to a certain maid. I know\nthat Barbarossa was an innocent girl. I discovered afterwards that she\nhad been enticed to attend that festival by a dissolute native\nmissionary who had accepted a large bribe from Barab. Just as there are\ndissolute houses in European cities, where men indulge in the\nwhite-slave traffic, so were there establishments for trafficking\npurposes in Samoa, and Barab\u2019s house was one of them. When Giovanni and\nI saw through the drift of the whole vile business, we determined that\npretty Barbarossa should not fall into Barab\u2019s clutches if we could help\nher. We both knew that Barab had a bad reputation; and, though he was\nour host and had paid us well, our self-respect should have prevented us\nfrom accepting his money. But it must be confessed here that Giovanni\nand I were not to be numbered amongst those virtuous folk who would\nrather die than sell their honour. Alas, many and many a time I would\nmuch rather have sold my honour than nearly died! The best of men have\ntheir weaknesses. I know that even that dear old tattooed clergyman, O\nLe Langi, had often fallen before the lure of a few half-crowns when\nvictuals were scarce.\n\nAs soon as the festival itself was finished, Giovanni and I stole\noutside the tambu-house and talked the matter over. In a very little\ntime we had decided to secure Barbarossa\u2019s person by force sooner than\nshe should fall into Barab\u2019s hands.\n\n\u201cAh, comrado, he cursed una vipera!\u201d said my Italian chum. Then he\nlooked at me sadly and said: \u201cWill you stick to me, and mine friend be?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will!\u201d I responded most emphatically. Giovanni was a big lump of a\nfellow and had courage written in the light of his magnificent eyes;\nalso, the idea of rescuing Barbarossa from her peril suited my\ntemperament exactly. We counted out the cash that Barab had given us\ndirectly the feast was over, then we looked significantly at each other,\nfor he had paid us several marks more than were due to us. \u201cHe wants to\nget rid of us at once, no doubt of that,\u201d was my reflection, as I looked\nat Giovanni\u2019s handsome face and then on the moonlit solitude of the\nmountain slopes around dead Motavia\u2019s old homestead. Then we walked\nback, treading very softly through the jungle as we approached the tambu\nshed. Already the small lamp-lights on the palms and within those wooden\nwalls were burning low. We listened, and heard the low wail of some\nMalayan chanty; then the drunken song ceased.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d whispered Giovanni. The door had suddenly opened, and we\nsaw two of the young bloods departing. Off they went, with three drunken\nnative girls staggering between them. So brilliant was the light of the\nmoon that we distinctly observed the girls\u2019 faces as they tossed their\nlegs and shook the brass arm-lets, and kissed the shoulders of the men\nwho were leading them away. As soon as the men were out of sight we\nlistened again. All was quiet; it was evident that most of the girls who\nremained within the tambu had fallen off into drunken slumber.\nBarbarossa had sung her swan-song (so thought Rajah Barab). We heard a\nclick; the Rajah had closed the door and bolted it! That much we\ndiscovered as we crept around the walls of that den and endeavoured to\nsee what was going on within.\n\n\u201cWait a bit!\u201d said Giovanni, as we suddenly heard someone commence to\ndrone out a weird heathen melody. It was a girl\u2019s voice. Then all was\nsilent again. We both knew that Barab would soon be drunk and in a\nsuitable condition for our immediate desires, and so we strolled up and\ndown under the palms. Then we heard the _O Le mao_ commence to sing\nsomewhere up in the lime trees.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s pretty silent now; that bird wouldn\u2019t sing if there were any\nsuspicious noises about,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cYes, comrade, \u2019tis so,\u201d whispered Giovanni, pushing his curls off his\nforehead and puffing his cigarette. I noticed that his lips were tightly\nset as he swung his huge, knotted stick to and fro and gave swift\nglances towards the dark-walled homestead before us. Then we slowly\ncrept towards the den again. The brilliant moonlight lit up the thatched\nroof and sent a ghostly glimmering all along the front of the bamboo\nverandah. I was standing just over old chief Motavia\u2019s grave; the\nmoonbeams were softly falling through the branches of the orange tree\nand had spread a silver radiance on my feet, which stood close to the\nwooden cross that said: \u201cHere lies the brave chief, O Le Sula Motavia.\u201d\nI felt sad to think how soundly dead men slept. I knew how handy that\nchief would have been to us that night, how gladly he would have jumped\nfrom his slumber to help us to repel the base intruder from his old\nhomestead.\n\n\u201cCome on!\u201d I whispered to Giovanni, as we brushed the ferns aside and\nstole softly towards the single window of the den. In a moment we were\nboth eagerly peering through the lattice-work of the wide, low\nwindow-hole. It was a true South Sea magic casement that opened on the\nfeathery foam of palms, leafy tamanu, and _masa\u2019 oi_ trees which grew\nright up to the mountain slopes. There was something fairy-like but\ntragic in the silent moonlit scene outside that window. But the most\nwonderful sight to be seen through the casement was the scene before our\neyes as we both stared between the twisted wicker-work and saw behind\nthe shutter into the gloom of that room. There sat Rajah Barab, quite\nvisible by the dim light of the hanging roof oil-lamp. He was so drunk\nthat he could hardly stoop forward to pull off his sandals. Two of the\nyoung bloods still remained, but, to our relief, we noticed that they\nwere prone, quite drunk. Pretty Barbarossa, Maroa, Niue, Singa Saloo,\nFae moa Oi, and Winga, the native missionary\u2019s daughter\u2014and who was not\na day older than fourteen years\u2014lay on the mats in deep slumber. I know\nthat my heart echoed the sigh that Giovanni gave, as, with eyes glued to\nthe casement, we gazed in mute astonishment. There lay the victims of\nthe Mohammedan\u2019s gold, _vers libres_, and hyprocrisy. No sign of vice\nwas expressed on the girls\u2019 faces as they lay there, their bodies\nhalf-couched in the flood of moonlight that fell across the corner of\nthe room. The sham jewellery that had evidently tempted them was\ndistinctly visible\u2014bangles on their legs, arm-lets on their arms. Two or\nthree had silk handkerchiefs of brilliant colours about their throats,\nthe ends tied bow-wise, native-fashion, in the folds of their\nmuch-disordered hair. The heat was terrific. A few fireflies had entered\nthe room. We distinctly saw them gleam and flash as they danced like\nminiature starry constellations over the prone forms of the girls. In\nthe helpless abandonment of their drink-enforced slumber, their limbs\nwere thrown about in the various attitudes of restless sleep. Three of\nthe girls lay with their arms half-entwined, as though in some swift\nrealization and fright over their position they had clung to each other\nere they fell and lost consciousness. \u201cCara, bellissima!\u201d Giovanni\nbreathed forth as he gazed on Barbarossa\u2019s slumbering abandonment. Her\npretty blue robe was disarranged, revealing the curves of one tiny\nankle; her olive-hued heel was visible too, for the ribbon had become\nloose, the tiny sandal had fallen half off.\n\n\u201cMia bella! mia bellissima!\u201d whispered Giovanni, as he gazed in romantic\nrapture on her form. \u201cYes, she must be saved,\u201d I said, as Giovanni\nmurmured on in his musical, impassioned language, saying things that\nneeded no translation for my sympathetic ears and eyes! No shame have I\nin writing down these things for the eyes of whoever may wish to read. I\nthink, if anything, that my thoughts were less creditable than\nGiovanni\u2019s. My Italian comrade was in love, but where was the excuse for\nmy own impassioned glance? Why should the curves of an ankle haunt my\ndreams for days? But let it pass. There are many who may understand and\nforgive. A maiden\u2019s ankle, a tress of hair, a side glance from lustrous\neyes, a ribbon round a throat, have turned the good thoughts of many a\nman from the immediate matter in hand. Just beside the large calabash\nand overturned pickle barrel lay Barbarossa\u2019s boon friend, Mademoiselle\nSinga Saloo; and the helpless abandonment of her sensuous beauty\nexpressed a fascinating twinship with all that Barbarossa\u2019s enforced\nrecumbency revealed. It seemed that even the moon would abet the\ninquisitiveness of our curious eyes, for its light streamed through the\nchinks of the bolted door and so revealed the dusky beauty of the girls\u2019\nfaces. The cool night winds swept down the mountain slopes, stirred the\npalms that silently threw their shadows over the wooden walls and along\nthe floor where Barab\u2019s huddled victims lay. Lying there, victims of\nBarab\u2019s peculiar desires, they looked like big sleeping babies. One had\nher arm outstretched as though she knew the limpness of death, while the\nother hand pillowed her head. Only the faint flutter of her delicate\nblue throat-kerchief, following the regular intervals of her breathing,\ntold that life existed.\n\nBarab had risen to his feet. His eyes shone with some terrible light as\nhe gazed on the helpless girls. \u201cBy the gods of Olympus!\u201d blurted out\nGiovanni as a puff of wind blew his hat off. The Mohammedan had lifted a\ngoblet of liquor to his lips. We saw him sway violently as he drank.\n\u201cHe\u2019s half-seas-over!\u201d was my joyful comment. He had drawn himself erect\nand had passed his hand across his brow as though he would muster up his\ndrowsy senses. Suddenly one of the girls in the farther corner lifted\nher head and looked about her with vacant eyes. She lifted one hand and\nswayed it as though she were dreaming that she conducted some musical\nchant in her native village. She staggered to her feet. Giovanni and I\nwatched, breathless, in our excitement and intense curiosity. What was\nshe going to do? Had she in that moment realized the degradation of her\nposition, and would she attempt to escape? Our very breath frightened us\nas it stirred the slender vine leaves that clustered there by our open\nmouths and eyes as we stared through the casement. The girl was\nstaggering across the room, making for Barab. He stood erect, his turban\naskew, one swarthy hand holding his beard as if he had the impertinence\nto pose for the occasion. We saw the girl\u2019s bare feet slip on the wooden\nfloor as she lurched to his side and gave him a drunken leer! \u201cWell\nnow!\u201d was our only comment, as she tossed her left leg till the brass\nbangles that encircled her limbs jingled!\n\n\u201cOh, handsome Mohamy clergyman!\u201d she babbled.\n\n\u201cPhew!\u201d was our simultaneous ejaculation, when she lifted her face and\nkissed Barab\u2019s shoulder! Such a look in a man\u2019s eyes I had never seen\nbefore. The girl had embraced him, her head was nursed in the folds of\nhis beard. She had commenced to sing some weird heathen melody or chant,\nthe chorus of the strain she had doubtless been singing ere she lost\nconsciousness. There was something indescribably weird in the sounds of\nher muffled voice as she still sang on, her mouth buried deep in the\nbushy growth of that Islamic beard! Barab seized her and was about to\nlead her from the room into the inner chamber wherein Giovanni and I had\nnot been invited to enter.\n\n\u201cNow\u2019s the time! Come on!\u201d said I, as Giovanni nudged me in the ribs to\nintimate that he had successfully placed his arm through the window-hole\nand pulled the door-bolt back! Crash! The door opened and swung\nviolently to and fro, so fierce had been my thrust as I threw my whole\nweight against it. In a moment Barab let the girl drop to the ground and\nturned towards us. The muscles stood out on his swelling throat like\nwhipcord. He had whipped his _kris_ from beneath his jerkin. \u201c_I\u00eeu tidak\nbaik T\u00fban!_\u201d (this is not friendly of you), he roared, as we stood\nbefore him. Then he noticed the look in our eyes, and yelled \u201c_T\u00f4tong!_\u201d\n(help) at the top of his voice. Fast asleep in the corner of the room\nlay two young bloods, Malays. In a moment they had leapt to their feet.\nThe immediate outlook was pretty dark for Giovanni and me. We possessed\nno firearms at all. In a moment I placed my rose-coloured spectacles on,\nso to speak, then, bang! it went. And the reader can rest assured that\nthat Islamic cranium received such a thump that its scheming interior\nwas out of action for some time. My violin case was broken, cracked down\nthe whole length. I cared not. I carefully laid it down by the door in\nreadiness for my coming hasty exit. Giovanni, who was taking no risks,\nlifted the wooden table and let it drop most artistically on to Barab\u2019s\nprostrate form. \u201cAllow me!\u201d said I, then I lifted the large calabash of\npickle oil and dashed the whole thing in the face of the young blood who\nhad come to tackle me. Then the left cheek of the other one received an\nOlympic punch from Giovanni. And then, as carefully as possible, I,\naccording to the Scriptures, smote him on the right cheek as he turned\ntowards me. By this time the native girls had staggered to their feet\nand were staring about them, rubbing their eyes as though they had risen\nin astonishment to the trump of the resurrection.\n\n\u201cQuick! out with her!\u201d I said.\n\nIn a moment Giovanni and I had grabbed Barbarossa by the arm.\n\n\u201cAue! Aue! seo, levu!\u201d she wailed, as she looked around her in wonder.\n\nBut still we dragged her on by the arms. As I rushed back into the den\nto seize my violin, the large table was already being lifted towards the\nroof as the stricken Barab heaved his back up! He was roaring forth\nterrible oaths in Malayan lingo as I once more made a hurried exit.\nBarbarossa\u2019s dishevelled tresses were streaming to the caress of the\nnight wind when I got outside. In a moment I had once more gripped her\narm. Arriving at the top of the slope Giovanni shook her rather roughly.\n\n\u201cBarbarossa, remember!\u201d he whispered.\n\nFor a moment she stared vacantly at us, and then cried, \u201cAue! Aue!\u201d and\nto my intense relief voluntarily gripped our arms as we ran down the\nslopes. Barbarossa became our eager guide after that. And though it is\nyears ago now, I can still hear the sounds of her feet pattering like\nfalling rain over the dead leaves of the forest ferns as we follow her\nacross the wild country to Mootuoa. Again Giovanni and I lift the\ncoco-nut-shell goblets and drink a toast with the big tattooed chief who\nis Barbarossa\u2019s father. For Barbarossa took us safely into her village\nthat night. And when the old chiefs and their womenkind heard about\nBarab\u2019s sinful ways and of our blessed missionary work, they swore to\nclub Barab, and cheered us exceedingly. But alas! I lost my dear chum\nGiovanni. For I composed and performed a special betrothal chant,\nplaying it at the festival that made Giovanni Barbarossa\u2019s legitimate\ntribal _fianc\u00e9_. And was he faithful to the Samoan maid? I know not.\nBut, still, I do know that Giovanni was young and romantic. And I would\nnot be surprised if, as the years rolled by Barbarossa was happy, and\nlittle children who could speak both Italian and Samoan romped about her\nknees. Fine children too, I should think, from such a splendid\ncombination from the two romantic lands of the Sunny South.\n\nSuch was my personal experience of the Samoan Brown-Slave Traffic. And I\nmight say, it is an experience that I have considerably toned down in\nthe aforesaid narrative. As I have already intimated, I have included\nthis experience here only that my readers may have a view of both sides\nof native life, and realize that native girls and women are subject to\nthe temptations of sensualists much the same as their sisters in the\nlarge cities of the civilized world. And I would say that it is a\npleasure for me to be able to record here that Barab\u2019s dwelling was\nrazed to the ground by the wrathful chiefs of Barbarossa\u2019s village. True\nenough, it was really the last homestead of that brave old chief O Le\nMatavia; but he was a good and holy heathen. And so one might well\nimagine that the flames of his corrupted ancestral halls gave cheerful\nwarmth to his ghost and cold bones as he slept on under the orange-tree,\njust outside.\n\nAnd what became of Barab the Mohammedan? All I can say is, the good work\nthat Giovanni and I began was finished off by the missionaries. Barab\nwas expelled from Samoa, and hastened seaward, doubtless to seek fresh\nconverts for his creed in other lands.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter losing Giovanni\u2019s welcome companionship, I felt very lonely, and\nso decided to go seaward again. Though I was not a sailor by profession,\nit was always an easy matter for me to get a ship. I think I had an\ningratiating way with me when I approached the mates and skippers. And\nwhen I came across a skipper or mate with a face like cast-iron and eyes\nlike a shark\u2019s, which I often did, I changed my tactics. For I\napproached him with my violin in one hand and a bottle of the best\nHollands in the other hand. I invariably found that, if music does not\nsoothe the savage breast, Hollands gin comes pretty near the mark.\nAnyway, I got a berth and sailed before the mast outbound for old\nTai-o-hae, Nuka Hiva. I had been to the Marquesas many times, but in the\nnext chapter I shall tell a few incidents that I have not recorded\nbefore.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD MARQUESAN QUEEN\n\n        In Tai-o-hae\u2014I come across a Widowed Marquesan Queen\u2014Am\n        received with Dignity\u2014The Artistic Tattoo on Loi\n        Vakamoa\u2019s Royal Person\u2014The Queen tells how she was\n        married to a certain Martin Smith of New South Wales\u2014An\n        aged Queen\u2019s Vanity\u2014A Heathen Necropolis.\n\n\n          The seas I\u2019ve roamed, hypocrisy I hate:\n          God grafted in my soul the fire of song.\n          On life\u2019s dark hills I\u2019ve wrestled, fought with Fate.\n          Here in South Seas, still young, I jog along,\n          \u2019neath strange stars dream as low the banyan bends\n          O\u2019er heathens singing by their huts\u2014my friends!\n\n          We call them heathens, well, \u2019tis habit most.\n          King Mafeleto is my royal friend:\n          His ancestors, \u2019tis true, did eat on toast\n          Their mortal enemies, but Heaven defend\n          That I should judge men by their long-past crimes\u2014\n          We White Men, too, have had some fine old times.\n\n          They\u2019re chanting pagan songs by their hut-fires;\n          At each full breast clings one sweet tiny mouth,\n          Their busy babes, unsatisfied desires,\n          Eyes sparkling starlight of the sea-nursed South!\n          As down the forest track from hut to hut\n          Pass natives, clad in half a coco-nut!\n\nI RECALL the memory of a Marquesan royal person who stands out in my\nrecollection with unusual vividness.\n\nWhilst wandering, during one of my troubadouring expeditions north-west\nof Tai-o-hae, I came across a small, semi-pagan, tribal citadel of huts\non the lower mountain slopes. It was a romantic and picturesque scene.\nThe scattered bird-cage huts, made of twisted bamboo and nestling in the\nhollows, that were shaded by feathery palms, intensified the enchantment\nof the secluded forest empire. I know that the glad reception which I\nreceived from the whole population when I entered the high bamboo\nstockade gate, my two native boys ahead of me, was as impressive as it\nwas pleasing to me. The two boys in question were Palao and Sango,\nneither of them more than ten years of age. But they were invaluable\nguides, considering the benefit their protection afforded my unarmed\nperson, for they were able to converse in the difficult Marquesan\ntongue, and could explain my wishes and friendly attributes.\n\nI was always careful in those days, and contrived that Palao and Sango\nshould move ahead of me as my advance guard, thus leaving me in the\nimmediate rear, ready for flight. The tribes about that part were\nsupposed to be friendly, but my nerves were a bit unsettled through\nhearing that two sailors had been murdered in a tribal village ten miles\nto the eastward. Indeed, more than once I had been welcomed by the\nsudden appearance of fierce warriors with raised war-clubs and other\nstrange implements of combat, which gave due notice that intruders were\nnot to call at that particular moment! Possibly a tribal battle had been\non, and had ended in the demise of a young warrior or so, and\nconsequently a happy cannibal festival was in progress. Hence, no\nadmission to the tribal stronghold for white men unless they happened to\ncall on the most secretive and intimate terms.\n\nSeeing only the smiling faces of chiefesses and chiefs welcoming me from\nthe ambush of multi-coloured flowers by the lagoon mangroves, I saw that\nI had arrived at an opportune moment. \u201cAloah! Alli, Papalagi!\u201d came from\nthe lips of the assembled natives as I placed my violin to my chin and\ncommenced to perform an old Marquesan _himine_.\n\nThe effect was magical: out of the leafy shadows and the hut doorways\nrushed the whole population, so it seemed to me, their faces bright with\ndelight. It was a sight worth travelling many miles to see: tawny, oval,\nelongated, scarred, serious, and handsome faces, with original-looking\neyes of varied brilliance, stared at me. A few tattooed warriors, clad\nin lava-lava and palm-leaf head-gear, leaned against the coco-palm stems\nregarding me with fixed, cynical-looking eyes. I did not like the look\nof them at all, but they turned out to be harmless enough. They were\nsimply the old conservatives of heathen times, who instinctively\nresented the intrusion of white men into their sylvan demesne. Flocks of\npretty boys and girls, of a pale walnut-polished hue, clambered at the\npicturesque _ramias_ (native skirts) of their deep-bosomed mothers,\ngazing with half-frightened stare as my violin bow swept forth the\nwailing strains. I must have looked like some Pied Piper as I marched\nacross the wide _rara_ (village green), with Palao and Sango singing\nlustily, one on each side of me. That pagan mountain village was part of\na true wonderland of the wine-dark seas. I am unable to describe the\nbright-eyed glances of those pretty Nausicaas and Circ\u00e9s who crept from\nthe Elysium-like shadows of heathenland and stared at me as I passed by.\nTwo stalwart chiefs, who were nibbling my present of tobacco plug, led\nthe way; they were taking me straight to the palace building wherein\ndwelt their tribal queen. This palatial stronghold was constructed of\ncoral stone and was surrounded by a wide verandah that was again\nsheltered by the beautiful pauroa and tamunu trees. Entering the palace,\nI found myself in a low-roofed apartment. On the walls hung the polished\nskulls of fallen warriors who had been renowned for bravery in their\nday. Magnificently woven tappa-mats covered the polished floors and the\nbarbarian furniture. I noticed two cases of gin and one empty rum barrel\nstanding right in the centre of the apartment. They were given that\nconspicuous position, I believe, because rum and gin denoted all that\nwas immense wealth in the eyes of the Marquesan race. But what struck me\nas the most interesting piece of barbarian antiquity was the strange\nwoman who presided over that palatial residence. She looked as old as\nher palm-clad native hills, and I discovered that she was one of the\nsurviving queens of the many who had once reigned over the small\ndynasties of the Marquesan group. I had never seen her like before; her\nphysiognomy was unique and decidedly pleasing-looking. She might easily\nhave been some happy personification of Death itself as she sat there\nand saluted me:\n\n\u201cAloah! Papalagi, you wanter see me am?\u201d\n\n\u201cOui! Aloah Majesty Imperialess,\u201d I responded, as I made an effort and\nbowed the knee to her. I had visited Queen Vaekehu, who still reigned\nsupreme in her old age down on the lower slopes by Calaboose Hill, and\nso I knew how to gain the appreciation of those heathen ex-Queens.\nVaekehu was a masterpiece in the tattoo line, but I can assure you that\nex-Queen Loi Vakamoa, for the sheer hieroglyphic-tattooed beauty that\nadorned her limbs and shoulders, could stand unrivalled throughout the\nNorth and South Pacific.\n\nAfter addressing me, she left her squatting-mat just by her gin barrel,\nand majestically mounted what I imagine was her throne (a lot of old\nsea-chests and gin-cases covered with tappa-cloth). I did my level best\nto make myself pleasant, played the violin, drank some bitter stuff, and\ntook a keen interest in all she said. Sitting up there on her old box\nthrone, her profile reminded me of those old-fashioned engravings of\nQueen Elizabeth of England. The sensual curves, once so pronounced, had\nshrunk with her lips; but the beak-like nose\u2014tattooed with tiny\nsemi-circles from the bridge down to the cheeks\u2014gave her a somewhat\nmelancholy aspect. The only perceptible determinedness of the face was\nthe sharp outline of the nose, which somehow suggested that its owner\nwould meet the accumulating calamities of age with commendable\naggressiveness. Yet her demeanour was affable in the extreme. Never\nbefore had I beheld a face that so sadly expressed the aftermath of all\nthat had been and at the same time told of a bitter forlornness through\nsenescence of frame and mind. The devious shruggings of her shoulders,\nthe pathetic semi-amorous glances, and the many hints that she gave\nwhilst striving to convince me of her once mighty Queenship and physical\nbeauty, were positively painful to my mind. After giving me a goblet of\nwhisky and lime-juice, which I must admit was refreshing, we seemed to\nbecome more confidential with each other. She took Palao by the arm and\ngot him to tell her where he had met me, and much that I, of course,\ncould not make out. By many direct hints she let me know that she had\nenjoyed a vast plurality of husbands.\n\n\u201cI been wifer to many kinks!\u201d she said.\n\nMost of what she said was translated to me by Palao as I politely sipped\nthe peculiar beverage that she herself handed me. I hardly knew which\nway to glance as she gabbled on and Palao translated and I listened.\nSuddenly she acquainted me with the fact that she had been wedded more\nthan twice to white men of distinction! She saw the look of surprise on\nmy face. Perhaps she thought I doubted her, for she lifted the lid of a\nsmall sandal-wood box and brought forth a yellowish, very faded sheet of\nfoolscap paper.\n\n\u201cSavvy, Papalagi?\u201d she almost whimpered, as I read on. (And her eyes\nwere shining with pride all the while.)\n\nAnd so I perused the following marriage lines:\n\n    \u201cThis dokerment is to certify that Old Man Martin Smith of\n    Woolloomooloo, New Sarth Wales, has from the dated day of this\n    dokerment, 14th Feb. 1861, become the lawful husband of Queen\n    Loi Vakamoa of this yere Isles and several more isles to the\n    sarthwards. The foresaid Queen agrees to hand over all her\n    monies and prufits she gits from her copra plantations and\n    howsomeever monies she gits hold on whilst the aforesaid John\n    Martin Smith remains King. And it is agreed that John Smith can\n    have a safe passage in the old ship\u2019s boat, free from any cursed\n    interference by the late dethroned King Kai Le Tua Vakamoa and\n    his b\u2014 heathen chiefs at any such time as he wants to quit this\n    yere Isles and his dominions and go back to his lawful Missus,\n    Maltida Sarah Martin Smith of Kansas City, Merica.\n\n                                                    \u201cSigned by QUEEN\n                                            \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014 (_Signature_).\n\n    \u201cOld Man MARTIN SMITH, Bridegroom and King.\n\n    \u201c_Witness_,\u2014JONATHAN BRIGGS, late Cook of S.S. \u2018Albatross,\u2019 who\n    hereby claims 25 per cent. on all profits accruing from the\n    aforesaid wedding.\u201d\n\nSo ran the wording of all that may be published here of John Smith\u2019s\nmarriage lines. My accumulated experiences of such hearties as John\nSmith and Jonathan Briggs, Esq., gave me an idea as to the fine old\ntimes those two noble papalagis had in their sojourn on those isles to\nthe southward during their brief kingship. But no hint of all I imagined\nwas visible on my countenance when I handed the tattered document back\nto the smiling ex-queen. At this moment a hideous, aged Chinaman poked\nhis face in the palace doorway and surveyed me with surprised,\nyellowish, vicious eyes. I wondered who he was, what relationship\nexisted between him and the Queen, that he could so impertinently thrust\nhis ugly physiognomy into the doorway like that. The next moment he had\ngone, and I saw him no more, though I heard him gabbling as he drove off\nthe flocks of children who persistently crowded by the palace door,\nwaiting till I should come out again. And still the Queen spoke on.\nPalao patiently translated her tales of departed lovers for my\ninquisitive ears. Seeing my curiosity, her eyes gleamed with delight,\nher two remaining frontal teeth, fitting fork-like into the gaps between\nthe two teeth of the lower jaw, gave a sardonic look to her face as she\nsat there. She wore a peculiar garb too: the remnant of some old\nEuropean skirt swathed her frame, but was cut very short, ending just\nabove the knees. On her head was an old hat that had once been a\nfashionable Parisian bonnet. Possibly this hat had been presented to her\nby one of the French officials.\n\nAs I boldly surveyed her limbs she drew one tawny finger along the faded\nblue curves and stripes of tattoo. From all that she vigorously hinted,\nthose tattoo marks were historic representations that denoted the\ninsignia and coats-of-arms of the tribes wherein she had married. \u201cWhat\nmay that mean, Palao?\u201d I said, as I glanced curiously at her anatomy,\nand observed impressionistic figures of muscular men, some standing in a\ngladiatorial attitude, spear in hand and face uplifted. And then,\nlistening carefully to all that Palao had to say, I made out that they\nwere a few of the ex-queen\u2019s old lovers\u2014men who had won her love in\nyears gone by and died in some great tribal battle that had been led by\nsome mighty chief who also yearned for her impassioned embrace! As my\nfaithful Palao and Sango translated these things to me (and more than\nonce cast their eyes in shame to the palace floor), it seemed like a\ndream that I should be standing in that coral-built place listening to\nthe memories that remained in that old woman\u2019s brain. A great deal that\nshe said sounded to my ears \u201cnot quite the thing.\u201d But I am not one who\nis too squeamish or critical over the moral codes that exist outside the\ndominions of my own land. As she gazed up into my face, and her aged\nlips quivered in the emotion she felt over her wild reminiscences, I\ntook the extended, shrivelled hand, and, with some emotional idea of all\nthat she once had been, gallantly kissed it! After that, her\nconversation suddenly changed to a subtle delivery of phrases in pigeon\nEnglish. I slowly gathered that she was telling me of wondrous\npresentations she had received from her past lovers, and how they had\neach in turn recognized the great honour conferred upon them by _her_\nacceptance of their manifold gifts. Before I had gathered the true\nimport of what she was driving at, she was beseeching me to hand over my\nviolin to her. I remained obdurate. What on earth she wanted my\ninstrument for, Heaven knows. Possibly she was childish, and so, like a\nchild, would have it as a toy.\n\nShe invited me to go out into the palace grounds. She led the way. Her\ngarden was cultivated. Pineapples, tomatoes, taro, oranges, yams, and\nmany tropical fruits grew in abundance around me. By the shade of the\nbuttressed banyans, at the far end of the cleared space, stood a huge\nwooden idol. It was a hideous thing: one large tooth protruded from its\nwide, slit, crocodile-like mouth, where in and out crawled fat insects\nwith tortoise-shell-hued wings (I think they were big ants). Though the\nQueen wore a Catholic medallion on her bosom, and had told me that \u201cShe\nbelonger Popey God, and was all-e-samee great Cliston womans,\u201d I\ndistinctly saw her aged form give a bow of heathenish reverence as we\nboth stood in front of that monstrous heathen deity! It stood nearly\nseven feet high, and standing there as some representation of infinity,\nthe hopelessness of creeds and all the ills and mockery of human\nexistence, it was a magnificent bit of perfection. When we returned into\nthe small palace, it was dusk. \u201cSalaba!\u201d called Vakamoa in a wheezy\nvoice. In a moment I heard the shuffling of running feet, and then a\nbeautiful Marquesan maid, robed in tappa-cloth, flowers, and threaded\nshells, appeared before me. She gazed on me with a quizzical lustrous\ngleam in her eyes. This maid interested me because of her European-like\nfeatures. I saw her place her fingers into the folds of her thick\ntresses to see that the hibiscus blossoms were still tastefully\narranged, in much the same way as a vanity-stricken English maid might\ndo. In a few moments this serving-maid, for such she was, lit up all the\ntiny hanging coco-nut-oil lamps in the apartment, then she went away and\nleft Vakamoa and myself alone.\n\nSquatting on the mats, I did as she bade me, and commenced to play my\nviolin. She seemed very pleased with the English melodies that I\nperformed, and once or twice mumbled as I played.\n\n\u201cYou liker see me dance?\u201d she said. Then she hummed a little _himine_\nand asked me to play it. Had I not seen that old woman career round that\nlow-roofed chamber as she danced some old barbarian rhythm, I would\nnever have believed it possible. So astonished was I, that I forgot my\npart of the business and stopped playing. \u201cAlo! Alo!\u201d (Go on! Go on!)\nshe said, almost fiercely. In a moment I placed my instrument to my\nchin, and once more fired away. The hanging lamps along the roof-beams\nswayed to and fro as her skirt swished violently, and her stiff legs\nmade such movements that it is impossible to describe them. \u201cIf this is\nhow she goes on in the dry leaf what _did_ she do in the green?\u201d was my\nreflection, as her bony legs went up with a bound, and then right over\nmy head! I\u2019ve no wish to exaggerate in the description of it all; only\nthose who have seen the fetish frenzy of an aged barbarian woman under\nthe influence of whisky (for so I concluded she must be) will know what\nI saw that night! I had no alternative but to go through with it. As she\nleapt over me her toes caught in my hair and withdrew some by the roots!\nBut I did not budge an inch; I simply played for dear life, as it were.\nI knew that she was a heathen, that she was old and childish and not\nresponsible for her actions. I also recalled many things that O Le Langi\nhad told me about heathen women\u2019s mad ways when they grow old and\nrealize the loss of their beauty. \u201cShe can\u2019t go on much longer,\u201d I\nthought, as she bounded round the room, lifting her scraggy arms and\nchanting in a weird manner. True enough, she slowed down after the\nfiftieth round, and then sat panting beside me. After that exhibition, I\ndid my best to keep on the right side of her. I handed her a piece of\ntobacco plug that I, fortunately, had in my pocket. And, though it was\nmy last piece of tobacco, I felt well repaid for its loss by the evident\npleasure the gift gave her. She immediately twisted a lump off and\nplaced it in her large corn-cob pipe, then struck a match on the boniest\nportion of her anatomy, and started to puff vigorously at my gift.\n\nAfter that I withdrew as hastily as possible from her chamber. Palao and\nSango re-entered and prostrated themselves at her feet. This pleased her\nimmensely. Going down the mossy pathway that led to the stockade gate, I\nturned my head and waved two or three farewell salutations. The last I\nsaw of her was as she stood by her door, her forked teeth close together\nas she grinned with pleasure at thinking I should return on the morrow!\nBut I did not return again. And I may say here, that I have always felt\nmore at ease in the presence of old native men than in the presence of\nnative women, be they waiting-women or ex-queens.\n\nBefore I left the immediate precincts of that bungalow, which Vakamoa\nstyled her \u201cpalace,\u201d I strolled into the tiny coral-fenced clearing by\nthe plateau of the mountain slopes. It was the lonely place where the\ntribe buried their dead. I gazed for a little time on the strange\ntomb-stones, and tried to make out the inscriptions that apparently\ncommemorated the past virtues of kings and chiefs who had passed into\nshadowland. Notwithstanding the feathery palms and the glimpse of the\nfar-away, moonlit, tumbling seas, it was a forlorn place. And now,\ndoubtlessly, that discarded Queen Vakamoa has long since dissolved, with\nall her pride of past queenship, into a little dust, and a lump of\nmemorial coral tells where she lies in that tiny, barbarian necropolis.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nNext day I accepted the invitation of Palao to stop in his father\u2019s\nbungalow near the shore. I had had enough adventure for the time being,\nand so was extremely pleased to romp with the native children and listen\nto their wonderful fairy-tales. For be it noted that those children had\ntheir Hans Andersens and Grimms, just as we have. I\u2019ll tell one of the\nstories in the next chapter.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n               CHAPTER XIV. TISSEMAO AND THE CUTTLE-FISH\n\n        Impressionistic Scene in Nuka Hiva\u2014Tissemao listens to\n        the Luring Voice of a Cuttle-fish\u2014The Love-Stricken\n        Cuttle-fish\u2014When Crabs are Brave.\n\n\nTHE pagan city of Nuka Hiva was silent. The tired sentinel stars were\ncreeping homeward. Dawn had already arisen from her silvery couch, her\nsoft robe, cut out of the warm western winds, wrapped around her, her\nsandals dipped in light as she stood on the skyline, a few stars still\nplucking her dusky hair. Then that wonderful enchantress, who awakens\nthe ages, stepped tiptoe across the horizon\u2019s shadow hills, the echoes\nof her footfalls winging the silence of the tropic seas. Those echoes,\ncolliding with the granite hills of South Sea fairy-land, rustled the\nmagical shadows of the sylvan hollows, then, touching the winged nymphs\nand petals of the flamboyants and ndrala blossoms, sped onward into the\ndeeper glooms of the forests. An aged cockatoo who had spent its best\nyears as a vassal of the god _Atua Mao_, looked sidelong at the golden\ngleams of the eastern sky and called out hoarsely:\n\n\u201cTalofa! Aloah! Awake, O birds of the forest! Morn is here! Arise!\u201d\n\nNow, all this happened in full view of a little heathen village by a\nmossy slope near Tai-o-hae. And who was it could see so strange a\nfairy-land in the birth of a new day breaking across the ranges? It was\nTissemao, the Marquesan maid!\n\nTissemao was up very early that morning. She had been with her little\nbrother Noko-noko, fishing for _reatos_ in the blue lagoon by the bay.\nAnd Noko, burdened with fishy wealth, had hurried back home to his\nvillage hut that stood in the shadows of the mountains of _Atnana_,\nleaving his sister alone. As Tissemao dangled her feet in the cool\nwaters of the ocean the golden light was stealing from the eyes of\nsunrise; it touched the surface of the big _moani ali_ (ocean) that\nshone like a mighty mirror that stretched to the horizon. Suddenly\nTissemao felt something pull at her toes which were dangling in the sea.\nLooking down to see what it could be, she gave a cry of surprise. And no\nwonder; for a Cuttle-fish poked its head out of the sea, and said:\n\n\u201cI\u2019m so sorry to disturb you, Tissemao, but we\u2019ve all been swimming\nabout here a long time, for we can see your shadow in the waters, and\nreally it is very beautiful.\u201d\n\nTissemao blushed to hear such praise. Looking down, she saw that it was\nquite correct, for there, in the water, shone her image as clear as\nthough it was mirrored in a sheet of glass. Clad in her coloured tappa\n_holaku_ (short chemise), hibiscus flowers in her mass of dusky hair,\nshe really _did_ make a pretty picture.\n\nThe Cuttle-fish, putting on its sweetest smile, said:\n\n\u201cWould you like to come down here and see the wonders of the great world\nunder the sea?\u201d\n\nFor a long time Tissemao hesitated, then she said:\n\n\u201cWhy, Mr. Cuttle-fish, you must remember I\u2019m not like you; I should soon\ndie for the want of breath under the sea.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh dear, no!\u201d said the artful Cuttle-fish, shaking its head slowly at\nthe idea of such a ridiculous suggestion.\n\nBut very soon, hearing that there were so many strange and beautiful\nthings under the sea, Tissemao, with the Cuttle-fish\u2019s kind help, slid\ndown gently into the deep water!\n\nDirectly she got beneath the surface, the Cuttle-fish seized her tightly\nby the arm, and said fiercely:\n\n\u201cCome on! now I\u2019ve got you!\u201d\n\nPoor Tissemao was frightened out of her life as she felt the clutch of\nthe Cuttle-fish as it dragged her down, down. It seemed such a long time\nere she touched the bottom of the ocean. Still the Cuttle-fish clutched\nher, and breathed heavily, like one who had gained a rich prize and\ndreaded to lose it. Dragging her along the ocean floor, he came to a\ncavern. For a moment the Cuttle-fish looked round, then took her in.\nThis cavern was lit up by a faint glimmer from the light of the sun that\nwas shining up over the sea. As Tissemao looked round, the Cuttle-fish\nsaid:\n\n\u201cI am all that\u2019s beautiful; if you expect to see anything more beautiful\nthan a cuttle-fish, you are very, very much mistaken.\u201d\n\nSaying this, it lifted its ugly face and tried to assume a fascinating\nsmile.\n\nBut it was no good. Tissemao would have none of it, but simply said:\n\n\u201cLet me get away; let me go up into my village again, will you?\u201d\n\nThe old Cuttle-fish got into an awful rage at hearing Tissemao plead so,\nfor he had fallen deeply in love with her.\n\nNow it so happened, and by the merest chance too, that the Cuttle-fish\nwas terrifying Tissemao, trying to frighten her into subjection, when a\nvery old Crab happened to be walking by the Cuttle-fish\u2019s cavern door.\nThe Crab distinctly caught sight of Tissemao looking up with\nterror-stricken eyes at the Cuttle-fish.\n\n\u201cHo ho!\u201d he muttered to himself; \u201cso he\u2019s at it again, is he!\u201d\n\nNow, this old Crab was good-hearted, one of the respectable kind. And,\nknowing the reputation the Cuttle-fish had as a _rou\u00e9_ of the worst\ntype, he at once determined to thwart the Cuttle-fish in his endeavours\nto attempt to hurt so sweet a maid as Tissemao. So he gently looked\nround the corner of the cavern door, and said:\n\n\u201cGood afternoon.\u201d\n\nIn a moment the vicious Cuttle-fish rushed to the door, so that its bulk\ncould artfully hide Tissemao from the intruder\u2019s eyes.\n\nThe old Crab, seeing through the ruse and not wishing to let the\nCuttle-fish know that it had seen Tissemao, artfully put its claw to its\nmouth, then, yawning, said:\n\n\u201cOh dear, my eyes are so bad lately, really I can\u2019t see anything at\nall.\u201d Then it looked straight into the Cuttle-fish\u2019s eyes, and\ncontinued: \u201cI suppose you feel very lonely here in this cave of yours?\u201d\n\nThe Cuttle-fish, like all things of a wicked type, had no brains at all,\nand so was completely taken in. And the Crab, chuckling to itself, went\nsafely on its way as quickly as possible round the corner, to consider\nwhat was best to do to extricate Tissemao from her awful position.\n\nIn a moment it had made its mind up. Going up to a large cavern that\nstood in its own grounds to the south-west of the mighty forests of\nsea-weeds, it lifted its claws and gently knocked at the door. In a\nmoment it opened, and a great Sword-fish thrust its tremendous spiked\nnose out, and said:\n\n\u201cHallo! What\u2019s up now? I was just having a nap; you are the second\nperson who has knocked at my door this afternoon and disturbed me.\u201d\n\nThe old Crab bowed, and apologized profusely as it saw the Sword-fish\u2019s\nangry face. Then the Crab said:\n\n\u201cI have come to you, knowing well that you are a friend of the helpless\nand are fair-dealing in all your mighty battles with that weapon, that\nsword which is fixed on your face.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, make haste. What is it?\u201d said the Sword-fish, who, being\npowerful, was used to soft, flattering speeches from old crabs and other\nhelpless things that were at his mercy under the deep sea.\n\nThen the old Crab at once told the Sword-fish all that he had seen while\nhe had been passing the door of the Cuttle-fish\u2019s cave. The Sword-fish,\nwho was fond of Cuttle-fish as a breakfast-dish, became most indignant\nas he listened to the Crab\u2019s comments on the morals of the Cuttle-fish.\nThen, without further parley, they both sallied forth to rescue\nTissemao. Arriving outside the cavern, the Crab gently knocked at the\nCuttle-fish\u2019s door, as prearranged, and said:\n\n\u201cGood evening, Mr. Cuttle-fish; I\u2019ve called to see you because you are\nso lonely.\u201d\n\nThe Cuttle-fish, who was persuading Tissemao to give him just one kiss,\nrushed to the door, and said:\n\n\u201cClear out of this; I\u2019m busy.\u201d\n\nAt this, the old Crab swelled its breast out with bravery through its\nknowledge that the Sword-fish was stealthily waiting round the corner,\nand said:\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you talk like that to me, you ungrateful wretch, when I\u2019ve come\nall this way to pay you a friendly visit.\u201d Then, losing its temper, the\nCrab gave a knowing wink, and said: \u201cI _know_ all about you; you are at\nyour old tricks again\u2014_whose_ poor wife have you got in your house now,\nI wonder?\u201d\n\nWith its eyes ablaze with rage at hearing such a suggestion from a\ncowardly old crab, and in its knowledge that truth was spoken, the\nCuttle-fish gave a running dash, and knocked the Crab over. This act was\njust what the Sword-fish was waiting for, for as the Cuttle-fish rushed\nout of the cave so as to reach the Crab, he, too, gave a dash forward\nand so impaled the Cuttle-fish on his mighty sword! In a moment the Crab\nhad recovered its feet, delighted at the success of its ruse. For\nTissemao kissed its ugly face as it embraced her, and told of all it had\ndone on her behalf. It was then that the Crab said:\n\n\u201cCome on! Come on!\u201d\n\nThen it escorted her along the wide floor of the deep ocean till she\nreached the shore. Then it said, \u201cNever listen to the flattery of\ncuttle-fishes again, for you see that, but for an ugly old sword-fish\nand a brave person like me, you might have got out of your depth for\never. Now then, go away, silly girl!\u201d\n\nOn hearing the Crab\u2019s advice, Tissemao at once stepped out of the ocean\nwater, and saw the beautiful sun, and thereupon made up her mind to be\nsatisfied with the world she knew. In a moment she had rushed off into\nthe forest, and back again to her native village. Her mother was\ndelighted to see her again. They had all thought she was drowned, or\ndead somewhere in the forest, for though she knew it not, she had been\naway for three days! And, to this day, the people of those isles to the\nnorth-west always feel kindly toward old crabs, and look upon the big\nsword-fish as a valiant warrior.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nSuch was the simple heathen fairy story which was told to me by my\nlittle comrade the Marquesan youth, Palao, who, as the reader will\nrecall, was a member of my retinue when I paid a visit to the aged,\ndiscarded Queen Vakamoa, she who had once been the unlawfully-wedded\nwife of Old Martin Smith of New South Wales.\n\nA few days after leaving the village where my little friend Palao lived,\nI secured lodgings at the primitive inn near Tai-o-hae beach. I recall\nthat I stayed at that rum-stricken hostel for only a few days. The fact\nis, that an extraordinary old madman dwelt in the room next to mine.\nJust as I laid my weary head down and thanked Providence in my blessed\nanticipation of a well-earned month\u2019s rest, the old man went raving mad.\nWhy Ranjo, my host, put up with him was a complete mystery. Up and down\nthe room he would tramp, never ceasing, till he had wakened me for the\nnight, as he called out in a most solemn voice:\n\n\u201cSuffered under Pontius Pilate. O the quick and the dead! the quick and\nthe dead!\u201d\n\nSo would he rave on for hours till, exhausted, he fell asleep. And then\nhe would snore, and puff the lips of his toothless mouth about in such a\nterrific manner that I dreamed that I was dead and sleeping in a\ndeep-sea cave where the waves rushed in and violently lifted my\nshell-burred bones eternally. On the third night I was relieved of his\npresence, for he rose after midnight, went outside, and knelt before a\ntallow candle which he lit and placed beneath the palm grove. He would\nkneel before this humble tallow altar for about two hours, chanting in a\nsombre voice the Lord\u2019s Prayer, interspersed with ghastly epitaphs that\nmade my blood curdle as I groaned on my trestle bed.\n\nI was thankful when I made the acquaintance of a young German. I cannot\nwax enthusiastic over a member of the Teutonic race, but still, I must\nadmit, that my German friend was as clean-minded a comrade as one could\nhope to meet in the South Seas in those days. Indeed, he and I secured a\nberth as stowaways on a full-rigged windjammer, and so left Nuka Hiva,\nincognito, outbound for the glorious Nowhere of sanguine youth. I see by\nmy diary that I eventually arrived in New Guinea, where I stayed six\nmonths with a celebrated high chief and his family. Though my native\nhost was an inveterate cannibal in battle times, he and his family were\nexceedingly kind to me while I was down with malaria. After that I\nshipped on a German vessel for the Solomon Isles, where I arrived off\nBougainville in a typhoon. Our ship was wrecked off the coast, and we\nlost four hands. I had only my shirt and boots on when a huge comber\nswept me from the deck into the ocean, where I seemed to make about four\nsomersaults between the sea and the night sky, ere I was landed high up\non the sandy beach. Next day I recovered my violin from the wreck that\nlay high and dry on the barrier reefs. Unfortunately, I have no space to\nnarrate all that I experienced when I became the staunch friend of the\nSolomon Island head-hunters!\u2014played the violin to the great Ingrova, to\nOom Pa, and gave violin lessons to high chief Stem-Poo\u2019s half-caste\ndaughter, Mallio-Wao, up in the mountain stronghold at Zalabar. I will\nsimply say, that, under the friendly cover of one dark night, I\nhurriedly left Ysabel for New Guinea, and after many wanderings once\nmore came across my Irish comrade, O\u2019Hara. And in the next chapters I\nwill attempt to relate those things which I count as the most thrilling\nexperiences of wild South Sea life which I was ever thrown into by the\nmystery of circumstance.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n           CHAPTER XV. CHARITY ORGANIZATION OF THE SOUTH SEAS\n\n        I fall from Space\u2014Court Violinist\u2014Arrive in Fiji\u2014With\n        the Great Missing.\n\n\n             I wonder why men o\u2019er the buried weep,\n             When \u2019tis the wandering dead who cannot sleep?\n\nI WAS hanging by one foot from a mystical cloud, lesiurely travelling\nacross the tropic sky, then I lost my grip and fell! I distinctly recall\nthe awful sensation of that noiseless dive through space, ere I arrived\nwith a crash! I had apparently fallen through the roof of a grog-shanty\non a Pacific Isle. Many may doubt the aforesaid assertion of mine, and\nsay that such a mishap was a physical impossibility. But I would say\nthat it is only the impossible that _does_ occur. I felt the spasm of\nthat sudden headlong contact of my skull against some hard object very\nacutely. Opening my eyes I saw astonished traders standing around me,\nstill holding their rum mugs between the bar and their lips as they\nstared, open-mouthed, down on my recumbent form. I looked through the\ndoorway and saw feathery palms, and moonlit seas softly beating over the\ncoral reefs of a strange shore.\n\n\u201cIt looks as though I\u2019ve fallen on another world,\u201d thought I. But no\nsuch luck for me! The fact of the case is this. Our ship, from Honolulu,\nhad arrived off the Fiji Islands that evening. I was with O\u2019Hara, whom I\nhad re-met in Hawaii. And, in my hurry to get ashore, I had hired a\ncanoe, and whilst I was being paddled ashore, the canoe had turned\nturtle! It appeared that I had sunk twice beneath the water before\nO\u2019Hara and the native boatmen rescued me. They thought I was done for\nwhen they dragged me up the shore and carried me into the grog-shanty.\n\nThe native bar-keeper had gone off immediately to fetch a well-known\nFijian medicine-man who dwelt in Tumba-Tumba village. What on earth the\nmedicine-man did before he succeeded in restoring my heart-beats, I\ndon\u2019t know. O\u2019Hara swore that he delivered mighty blows on my hips with\na flat war-club, lifted me repeatedly up to the shanty\u2019s roof by one leg\nand let me drop with a crash! The native doctor was evidently cruel to\nbe kind, for his strange acts saved my life, and were the direct cause\nof the strange sensations and my experience as above recorded.\n\nAs the reader knows, O\u2019Hara was an old pal of mine, and, being an\nIrishman, was impulsive and entertaining. When I was down in the mouth\nhe proved a medicine-man of the spirits, for he made me laugh insanely\nwhen I was sane, and dosed me with romantic Irish songs and rum when\ncredit was scarce. As I have stated, it was after leaving New Guinea\nthat I had the good fortune to come across my old comrade again in\nHonolulu. Though I had a good musical engagement, and was getting on in\nthe world, so far as the world\u2019s opinion goes, I let everything go to\nthe winds through not keeping a square chin when O\u2019Hara asked me to go\na-roving with him. As usual, he nearly succeeded in getting us both\nhanged when we arrived at Apamama and I became Court violinist to King\nTembinok. It is _one_ thing to be loyal to a chum in adversity, but to\nbe expected to do the things that O\u2019Hara wished me to do when Tembinok\u2019s\ntawny wife fell in love with him was quite another matter. I remembered\nthe Fae Fae excursion and our flight from Tahiti.\n\n\u201cNo, thank you!\u201d I said, when he had the cheek to come and ask me\u2014\u2014\n\nBut, there, it\u2019s not my wish to deal with that business here. I am out\nto tell of quite a different adventure that befell us after we arrived\nin Fiji. Financially speaking, I had done very well in Honolulu. I had\nsecured a good engagement as violinist to King Laukauhammer, as well as\nmy salary as conductor of the royal bodyguard band. In all I managed to\nsave a thousand dollars. Though I am not a man who can see anything in\nthis world to get a swelled head about, my vanity was considerable when\nthe King presented me with the Court shield of the Kalakaua dynasty\u2014an\nequivalent to the Cross of the Chevalier of Honour\u2014thus making my\nseventh South Sea knighthood in less than twelve months, not counting,\nmind you, the proffered kingship at Temelako, New Guinea, where, on\nplaying my violin under a palm tree, outside a heathen seraglio, I was\nembraced by a widowed queen and compelled to enter the tribal palace\npalavana by royal command. Also I had, to the King\u2019s delight, composed\nspecial marches, and scored them for the strange, primitive\ninstrumentation of the King\u2019s private military band. For a while I had\nlived sumptuously at the best hotel in Beratania Street. Then I had\ndecided to start off in search of any adventure that was opposed to the\northodox route as mapped out in the twelve commandments of civilized\nlife.\n\nI recall that O\u2019Hara and I sailed as first-class passengers on the S.S.\n\u201cAlameda,\u201d which was bound for N.S.W., via Suva, Fiji. The voyage was\nmomentous for its monotony, not one storm or passionate incident. O\u2019Hara\nand I cursed everything, wished the sea yellow, the sun blue, and that\nthe crew might mutiny and pitch the skipper overboard or cast us adrift\non endless waters. Night after night we unbuttoned our clothes and\nthankfully \u201cturned in\u201d to rehearse a death-like existence in our small,\ncoffin-shaped bunks. After arriving in Fiji and those things happening\nalready narrated, we put up at the best hotel in Suva, scorning Smith\u2019s\nbar and the old fan-tan shanty at Buta. For a while we enjoyed the\ncompany of the \u00e9lite\u2014well-to-do traders, ships\u2019 mates and derelict\nskippers, stranded runaway apprentices, and strange men of better days\nwho appeared to have lost their memory and their reason for being in\nFiji at all.\n\nIt was while we were stopping at this hotel that O\u2019Hara and I discovered\nthat our improvidence necessitated our looking for cheaper diggings. An\nold shellback, seeing how things were with us, took us into his\nconfidence, recommended us to a good lodging-house, a sort of Sailors\u2019\nHome, on the Rewa river. First, one must know that this Sailors\u2019 Home\nwas primarily the \u201cCharity Organization of the Southern Seas!\u201d For,\nbeneath its kind roof, sheltered by giant breadfruit trees, men hid from\nthe Suva police\u2014men who were mostly fugitives from across the world, and\nwho had flown from the cities in haste to save their necks or their\nliberty. But this fact did not deter O\u2019Hara and myself from wishing to\ngo there. Personally, I have always thought that one has a perfect right\nto save one\u2019s neck. Man has only one neck, one life, and not always one\nchance whilst alive of doing better for himself.\n\nThe idea that there was really a lonely wooden establishment hidden in\nthe deep seclusion of a certain forest, where hunted men found refuge\nfrom the law, was most fascinating to me, and this fascination was the\nmain incentive that took O\u2019Hara and me there.\n\nWhen that old shellback stood on the Suva parade, put his finger\nsecretively up to the side of his corrugated nasal organ, and gave us a\nsignificant wink of magnificent import as to all that he could tell\nabout that Charity Organization, O\u2019Hara\u2019s heart seemed to fairly burst\nwith glorious anticipation. His curly hair seemed to bristle forth the\npossibilities before us; his face flushed till his bright blue eyes\nseemed to breathe forth the poetry of romance. Nor was I myself far\nbehind in my eagerness to get to that mysterious residence of secretive\nmen of past crime. Besides, I was out in the world to take notes, and\nwas determined to take them.\n\nWe lost no time. We packed up our goods and trekked. By noon of the next\nday we had been paddled in canoes across wide lagoons and up a mighty\nriver by friendly natives. Then we plunged into the bush-land.\n\nThe very silence of that South Sea forest and the gleam of the sea\nhorizon\u2014just visible through the woods of mighty breadfruits\u2014gave one\u2019s\nimagination the atmosphere of heathenland mystery. We could hear the\nmountain drums beating the sunset down somewhere up in the native\nvillages. To the N.N.W. were the wild, tribal, haunted mountains of\n_Vuni-cunu_, running in a westerly direction, finally meeting the ranges\nof _Muanivatu_. Around us stood huge tropical trees\u2014banyans,\nbreadfruits, big bamboos, limes, and the ndrala laden with scarlet\nblossoms. The airs of the deep glooms, heavy with the wild perfumes of\ndying hibiscus and many strange, exotic forest flowers, sent pungent\nodours to our nostrils. Not so far away tumbled the cool, swirling\nwaters of the river, hurrying on their homeward journey from the\nmountains that formed a grand, wildly picturesque background to the\ndistrict where the large, shed-like building of the Charity Organization\nof the South Seas was situated.\n\nSheltered by feathery palms and one or two mighty buttressed banyans,\nthat dark, vine-overgrown building looked like some peaceful hermitage,\nsome primitive monastery that sheltered aged missionaries. True enough,\nmissionaries dwelt therein; but what missionaries they were!\u2014men who\nrelieved unhappy men who had shaved their beards off and arrived in\nhaste overburdened with cash! Yes, they rested there in security till\nthe hot scent had blown over, and once again they could continue on\ntheir way across the wine-dark seas, outbound for the enchanted realms\nof No-Extradition Ports, where dwell the Great Missing!\n\nCould one have put one\u2019s ear to that Organization\u2019s low-roofed door, one\nwould have distinctly heard a chorus of muffled oaths and snatches of\nwild song droning from the lips of the mysterious inmates of that\nArabian Nights-like establishment. Could one have opened that door on\nthe sly and peeped in, one would have seen a sight worth seeing if only\nfor its anthropological interest. All types were there, from the genuine\n\u201chard up\u201d honest sailorman down to the reformed native from Timbuctoo.\nThere they sat: sun-tanned men from the seas, ex-convicts, _lib\u00e9r\u00e9s_\nfrom New Caledonia; handsome faces, bleared and serious-looking;\nhideous, sallow faces with pugnacious pug noses\u2014Chinese, half-caste\nMalays, and one or two runaway ships\u2019 apprentices. Most of them were\nleaning over the large bench-like table, shuffling cards and drinking\nfiery rum, as ever and anon they glanced beneath the rims of their\nwide-brimmed sombreros, and stared with hunted-looking eyes toward the\nshanty\u2019s door. They were ever on the alert! O\u2019Hara and I had been in\nthat place only two days when two runaways arrived from Suva\u2014one of whom\nhailed from London Town, the other from Noumea. They usually arrived\nwithout portmanteaux, under the cover of night, tapped at the door, paid\nthe bribe demanded, and so came under the flag of brotherhood and the\nprotection of that Charity Organization\u2019s kindness.\n\nO\u2019Hara was tremendously excited about it all, and so was I. We got to\nlove exciting cases. One day, as O\u2019Hara and I were watching the antics\nof a covey of native children romping like puppies in the forest ferns,\nwe heard the sound of voices.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\n\u201cSounds like the paddles of a canoe and voices on the beach,\u201d I replied.\n\nWe listened again, and distinctly heard sounds as of a woman weeping.\nGoing up the little slope, we peeped through the banyan trunks; sure\nenough, there were new arrivals seeking the Organization\u2019s shelter. They\nwere two in all, the third person, who was leading them across the dense\nfern scrub, was Bill Bode, the second in command of the shanty. One of\nthe fugitives was a tall, aristocratic-looking man; the other a young\nand pretty girl. It was very evident that the latter felt depressed as\nshe looked in wonder at the sombre forest surrounding us.\n\nThe shadows of night were falling when we crept softly down the tracks\nand once more entered that mysterious shanty\u2019s door.\n\nThat building consisted of several large, low-roofed rooms and two small\ncompartments that were strictly private. One was arranged with much\ntaste, even decorated with flower-pots and provided with the essentials\nfor a fragile guest; and when the fugitive arrived, bringing with him\nthe sad cause of his downfall, it was in that small compartment that she\nslept!\n\nAs O\u2019Hara and I arrived in the rooms of that Sailors\u2019 Boarding\nEstablishment, for such it was to us, the new arrival walked quietly\ninto the primitive saloon bar, gave a friendly nod to the members of the\nmotley throng, and sat down amongst the guests, who were mostly belated\nsailors awaiting a ship. For, as I have intimated before, not all who\ndwelt beneath that roof were hiding from the long arm of the law. If\nanyone had doubts as to the respectability of that place, they would\nhave been quickly dispelled had he seen the look on the faces of those\nrough men when someone tapped loudly at the door. That same evening\nKo-Ko, the half-caste native maid, was dancing on the large bench at the\nfar end of the room. Everything seemed rosy and peaceful. As the rough\nmen cheered and repeatedly encored the girl\u2019s dances, and one played the\nbanjo and step-danced an incongruous _obligato_ to the girl\u2019s song, the\nhilarity was suddenly turned off like a gas-jet! Crash! someone had\nknocked violently at the shanty\u2019s front door!\n\nEvery \u201cman-jack\u201d breathed an oath, put his hand to his sheath-knife, and\nglared his anticipation of the arrival of the police from Suva. The new\narrival trembled visibly, and turned ashy-white as once more it\ncame\u2014crash! crash! on the door.\n\nJust by the door was a huge tub which was a kind of emergency barrel.\nThe whole scene, there in the shadows, seemed like some terribly\nrealistic moving-picture show enacting before our eyes. Bones had rushed\nfrom the next room, lifted the vast lid from the barrel, while four\nstalwart men lifted the new arrival bodily\u2014crash! bang! the stranger had\ngone!\n\nOnly a muffled swear-word told the way of his going as the lid went\ndown.\n\nBones, who was the head of that Organization, and pocketed the bribes,\ngave his holiest smile, his half-humorous-looking face betraying no sign\nof the intense excitement of the moment when the new-comer had\ndisappeared from life\u2019s wildest drama beneath the lid of that huge\nbarrel.\n\nAs the door opened, a giant of a fellow stood framed by the opening. It\nappeared that he was a half-caste official from the Suva police force.\nWhen he had told Bones that a canoe had been found on the beach, and\nthat they had received information that a fugitive from the N.S.W. mail\nsteamer had landed at Suva, Bones simulated a terrible passion.\n\n\u201cWhat the b\u2014\u2014 h\u2014\u2014 yer come \u2019ere for? What\u2019s that to do with me?\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep yer wig on,\u201d said the official, standing just behind the first\nman, who by this time had given Bones a significant wink. It required\nvery little thought to enable one to discern that Bones was well in with\nthose officials. And one\u2019s suspicions would have soon been confirmed had\none seen the official in question sit down on the emergency barrel, and\ngrin from ear to ear as a muffled sneeze came from beneath the lid!\n\nIn a few moments the friendly man-hunters had passed away, happy enough\nwith their bribe\u2014bribery being the staple trade of that establishment.\n\nNext day a shot was heard in the forest. When the Organization members\nrushed out beneath the palms, they only discovered the quivering body of\nyesterday\u2019s arrival\u2014the new-comer had blown the top of his head off!\nThey hid the body beneath the scrub. Next day they buried him on the\nquiet, miles away, near the old-time sugar plantations.\n\nBones and three or four others were the chief mourners. No coffin,\nsimply a bit of old tarpaulin tied tightly at the feet and again round\nthe neck, the canvas so short that the poor fugitive\u2019s hair stuck out in\na pathetic bunch. It was like burying a man at sea as they dropped him\ndown into that hastily-dug hollow. O\u2019Hara crossed himself. Bones said\nsomething that sounded kind. As for the girl, she wept bitterly,\ntrembling like a leaf as she knelt by the grave-side. It made me wonder\nif I dreamed that sight\u2014a grave in a South Sea forest, that silent,\ncanvas-wrapt figure, and that innocent-looking girl with a world of\nsorrow, utter misery on her face. She wasn\u2019t his daughter; there was\nsomething too passionately poetical in the things she said as she knelt\nthere, caring not at all for the men who stared down at her with a misty\nlook in their eyes.\n\nTwo days after that, she had sufficiently recovered so that she could\nventure to travel. The kindness of Bones and the shady characters was\nsomething that revealed in an indisputable manner that a woman\u2019s\npresence and sorrow have more religious influence on sinful hearts than\nall the Psalms.\n\nNo one knew the exact way of that girl\u2019s going. But the favoured theory\nwas that Bones and the Organization members had made a collection and so\npaid her fare in the next steamer that was bound for London.\n\nNext day a clergyman arrived. \u201cEcclesiastical profession\u201d was writ in\nsombre lines across his lean physiognomy.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s coming here next?\u201d breathed O\u2019Hara, as we looked up from the\npages of our novels, making sure that he too was fleeing from the\nrighteous arm of justice. But we were mistaken. He was simply a\nkind-hearted religious crank who spent his days in wandering from isle\nto isle seeking to reform fallen men. His woe-begone, melancholy aspect\ncast a deep gloom over the establishment as he moaned out sad quotations\nfrom his Bible, a gloom that pervaded the forest and darkened the sea\nhorizon. Bones shook him heartily by the hand when he first arrived and\nsaid pious things. Bones had a face like cast-iron, but was soft-hearted\nand the finest hypocrite extant. Some of the honest sailormen, yielding\nto that sad ecclesiastic\u2019s soft persuasion, listened to long passages\nfrom the Psalms and Solomon\u2019s Song. Then he took O\u2019Hara and me down to\nthe tribal villages and introduced us to some of the old-time chiefs.\nShaggy old women prostrated themselves at his feet as he prayed for\ntheir souls.\n\nIt was very evident that he had been that way before. Everyone seemed to\nknow him. I got to like him immensely during the two days that he\nstopped with Bones. His madness was interesting and original, and made\nan agreeable change after consorting with mortals who were quite sane.\nThen he, too, passed away on his melancholy wanderings.\n\nAfter he went, there arrived a troupe of troubadours, who came from\nMelbourne as deck-passengers on a schooner. Among their number were\nthree American girls who turned that shanty into a kind of _op\u00e9ra\nbouffe_, as they sang and step-danced in a wonderful way. The scene\ninside when the girls danced and the fat man played his guitar, looked\nlike some living-picture representation of Madame Tussaud\u2019s, as though\nall the lifeless criminals had been mysteriously awakened and were\napplauding the visitors, waving big hats in wild ecstasy at being\nserenaded so sweetly while in their degraded state. For, as they\nlistened to the troubadours, about twenty of us stood by, looking on the\nshadowy scene lit up by the tallow candles that swung to and fro on\nwires suspended from the roof of the wide bar-room.\n\nI believe the wandering troupe made a splendid collection that night. I\nknow the fat man, with a big stomach, got very drunk, sang several\nsongs, and then fell down. And the girls giggled all night long as they\nslept in the private compartment, wherein the unhappy fugitive girl had\nrested the night before.\n\nNext day the troupe bade us all farewell, for they were bound for\n\u2019Frisco, and the boat was leaving at noon.\n\nI think O\u2019Hara and I had been at the establishment for two weeks then.\nIt wasn\u2019t a long time, but I had seen more strange sides of life in that\nshort time than one could well see under normal circumstances in twenty\nyears. But it must be admitted that my immediate experiences seemed very\nvapid compared with the exciting adventures of the peculiar men who\narrived at the Charity Hermitage and seemed never weary of telling their\nreminiscences and hairbreadth escapes to the new-comers. Even O\u2019Hara\nopened his mouth in astonishment at all he heard from the lips of those\nwho yearned to tell yarns, as over and over again some strange old\nderelict would pull his whiskers while dropping into deep meditation as\nto \u201cwhat happened next.\u201d That Hermitage of the South Seas was a kind of\nOld Inn on life\u2019s highway wherein sad men entered from the unknown, sat\nand drank, sang a song, and then departed out into the unknown,\nsometimes in a great hurry. Three extraordinary-looking beings arrived\nat the Hermitage one night. One resembled Don Quixote _in extremis_,\nanother had a huge crooked nose that was swathed by a vast reddish\nbeard, and the third had a huge, domed bald head that looked like a\nmighty billiard ball with flapping ears. They were attired in loose,\ndilapidated pantaloons, heavy belts, coloured shirts, and firearms, and\nmight have been South Sea freebooters, blackbirders, or anything that is\nwild and lawless, if appearances are to be relied upon. They hadn\u2019t been\nin the Organization Hermitage twelve hours before the half-caste\nsurveillants arrived at the door. The three new-comers at once made a\nbolt out under the palms that led down to the seashore, a quarter of a\nmile off. And, if anyone had happened to pass along the sands that\nafternoon, they would assuredly have seen three weird-looking objects\nwith twinkling eyes sticking up out of the calm blue waters by the\nshore\u2019s coral reefs. To an imaginative observer those objects would\ncertainly have resembled the figureheads of three sunken Chinese junks,\nwooden faces protruding, just visible at low-tide, the eyes glassy,\nstaring at the sky, lips tightly compressed, the nostrils level with the\nocean\u2019s surface. But then again, the vast polished bald head of one was\nunaccountable, and the bristly hair of another toned down the weird\nunreality of the scene. For who ever saw a hideous Chinese junk\u2019s\nfigure-head with thick hair on its crown, and tobacco smoke issuing from\nits mouth? In short, those three objects were the heads of the three\nnew-comers, their bodies hidden beneath the sea\u2019s surface, their heads\nand nostrils exposed just sufficient so that they might inhale the\nbreeze, as they hid from the surveillants! Next day the natives missed a\ntwelve-seater outrigger canoe. And had high chief Makaroa looked\nseaward, instead of kneeling and weeping before his old idol, he would\nhave seen a small object fading away on the ocean horizon far to the\nS.W. It was none other than Makaroa\u2019s missing canoe, with the three\nfugitives, out on the wide world of waters, bound for Nowhere! But all\nthis is only a detail.\n\nPerhaps it will not be out of place to tell one of the yarns that we\nheard at the Hermitage,\u2014not a swash-buckling story, but a tale that had\nthe indisputable ring of truth in it. The teller of the story was a\nweird-looking fellow of about fifty years of age. He had lived in the\nSolomons and Fiji for years. I think he was a trader. Anyway, he had\ntravelled the South Seas in the old heathen times, had lived in Fiji\nwhen cannibalism was in vogue, and King Thakombau reigned supreme over\nhis dominions from the old capital of Bau. In these pages I will call\nhim G\u2014\u2014. I cannot reproduce his exquisite manner in telling a story. I\nhad never heard anything like it before. He had lived in the isles to\nthe east when Bully Hayes roamed the seas, when King Tembinok of Apamama\nwas in his cannibal youthful prime, and Queen Vaekehu of Tai-o-hae\nwelcomed many a dusky potentate into her impassioned arms.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                     CHAPTER XVI. YORAKA\u2019S DAUGHTER\n\n        The Wild White Girl\u2014The Wagner of Storms\u2014A Pagan\n        Citadel\u2014Pagan Democracy\u2014Ye Old Britisher\u2014A Battle in the\n        Dark.\n\n\nFIRST I must state that G\u2014\u2014 was a casual member of the Charity\nOrganization, an Englishman, and, from the general run of his\nconversation and manner, gave one the impression that he had seen better\ndays. But there was nothing wonderful about that, for it is a fact that\nmany of the apparent rogues of those days betrayed something of past\npolish, and possessed a personality infinitely more interesting than\nthat of men who had never stepped over the border-line.\n\nG\u2014\u2014 was a big lump of a fellow, just over six feet in height, and had\nfine, expressive eyes full of humour and sometimes revealing a lingering\nsadness that made one\u2019s heart go out to him. Personally, I liked him\nimmensely. He could play the flute as well as he could tell a yarn, and\nthat\u2019s saying something!\n\nBut I would say, right here, that the story that he told me, and which I\nwill tell here, is told not so much for the presumable interest that it\nmight give as a mere yarn, as for my absolute confidence in the veracity\nof the man who told me it, his manner whilst telling it leaving such a\npossibility as doubt or exaggeration quite out of the question. Nor was\nthere any justifiable reason why one should be sceptical, since G\u2014\u2014 had\nlived, as I have said, in Fiji when cannibalism was in vogue, and white\nmen arrived at the islands and did very much as they liked,\u2014some\nresorting to savagery, some giving their hand in marriage to dusky\nqueens, ascending thrones and holding full sway over swarthy populations\nof heathenland.\n\nIt was a glorious tropical eventide when G\u2014\u2014, O\u2019Hara, and I sat under\nthe palms as the fireflies commenced to dance in the bamboos by the\nshore lagoons. G\u2014\u2014 took his pipe from his lips, stroked his bearded chin\nin his characteristic way, and commenced:\n\n\u201cYou must know, boys, that things were very different in these parts in\nthe old semi-heathen times. I had arrived for the second time in Levuka\nthen, had left a trading schooner, and was spending my time in looking\nround. I was a bit of a romantic loony in those days, and when my pal,\nMick Deny, who had been shipmate with me for two years, heard that a\nBritisher, a fugitive from justice, was living like a wild man up in the\nKai Tholos mountains with his daughter, we got interested, I can tell\nyou. We got the whole facts of the case out of one of the Kai Tholos\nnatives who had come into Levuka to get fish. Deny was a bit gone on\ngirls, and when he heard that the Britisher had brought that young\ndaughter of his out to these infernal regions and had brought her up as\na heathen amongst those tribal natives, he was as eager as I to visit\nthe stronghold in the mountains and see how matters stood. It appeared\nthat this fugitive Britisher had assumed command over the tribe with\nwhom he dwelt, styled himself as Roko (high chief), taken unto himself\nseveral native wives, and resorted to the unbridled lust and degradation\nof savagery.\n\n\u201c\u2018How old is the girl?\u2019 queried Deny, as the native trader told us these\nfacts.\n\n\u201c\u2018She nicer Marama, grow up beautifuls, nicer crown hair, nicer eyes,\ncolour of _moani ali_ (the ocean).\u2019\n\n\u201cAs that Fijian gabbled away, waxing enthusiastic over the beauty of the\nexiled white girl up there, imprisoned from the sight of her own race,\nDeny and I fairly gasped over the idea of it all. We got no sleep that\nnight. The idea of that girl being cruelly treated by her criminal\nparent seemed to set our brains afire with romantic ideas. By the\nmorning we had made our minds up, and had decided to make an expedition\nup into the Tholos mountains. The first thing to do was to get some\ngoods, so I went down to the schooners that lay in the harbour, cadged\nsome sugar, tea, tobacco plug, and those essentials which I guessed\nwould meet our requirements. Deny\u2019s eyes flashed with delight at the\nidea of it all. The risk of the job we were undertaking did not deter\nus, it only added spice to the business. And the natives, I can tell\nyou, were not as chummy in those days as they are now. Old Thakombau had\nonly just been converted to Christianity, had swallowed four casks of\nsacramental rum, and had shaken hands with all the missionaries. But he\nwas a sly old fellow, and didn\u2019t know anything about the tribal fights\nand the missing bodies of the dead after the _Bokolai_ feast (cannibal\nfeast). Oh no! Not he. He was quite converted! When we had packed up our\nfew traps, not forgetting my flute, and were quite ready to start off,\nlittle Sanga, the native girl who did our cooking in the beach shanty\n(only one store in Levuka in these days), started crying,\n\n\u201c\u2018You no-e takeer little Sanga longer you?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Let the kid come,\u2019 said Deny; \u2018besides, she\u2019ll be useful, knows the\nlingo, and that kind of thing,\u2019 he added.\n\n\u201c\u2018All right, Sanga; don\u2019t grizzle,\u2019 said I.\n\n\u201cThen Deny and I went into the village to get permission from Sanga\u2019s\nparents.\n\n\u201cShe couldn\u2019t go off on an excursion like that without getting\npermission from her parents. Sanga\u2019s mother, a fine-looking half-caste,\ngave us the kid in complete confidence.\n\n\u201c\u2018You noble Papalagis; me trust her with you.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes, we\u2019re holy beggars,\u2019 thought I, as we walked away across the\n_rara_, Sanga somersaulting with delight like a puppy at our heels, as\nwe left the village and started on our trip to find out all about the\nBritisher and his daughter. We _did_ take care of that kiddie too,\nalthough we had some rough times ere bringing her safely back to her\nvillage.\n\n\u201cBy midday next day we had tramped many miles inland, and had already\ncrossed the lower ranges of the mountains to the N.N.W.\n\n\u201cSanga was a blessing to us, and sang weird heathen songs as she tramped\nby our side. I had dressed her up in a little blue kimono which I had\ncut out of a large silk handkerchief, cutting holes in it for the\narmpits. When she looked at herself in the lagoon hard by, she chuckled\nwith delight. The first night was all that could be desired as we slept\nbeneath the palms, side by side, and Deny sang a highland song till I\nfell asleep.\n\n\u201cThe next night a typhoon blew. It was something that I had never heard\nbefore in the way of nature\u2019s extempore musical expression. As you know,\nI am not much of a musician. I can play the flute and knock out the\ncommon chords for a song and dance on the piano; but to describe the\nharmonies that storm made in the mountains is quite beyond me. We were\nall tired out, just going off to sleep. In fact, I heard Deny snoring.\nSanga lay at my feet, her head on my calf, as she hummed in the dark.\nThen it came\u2014no warning, mind you. Bang! It seemed as if there had been\nsome tremendous upheaval in interstellar space, that worlds and planets\nwere exploding like vast bombs somewhere beyond the moon, the\nsouth-western horizon being repeatedly blown out as the d\u00e9bris struck\nthe mountains around us. The enormous breadfruits and banyans, all\nbending and howling like the sails, rigging, and masts of ships in a\nhurricane, moaned a wild symphony in the pitch darkness, for the clouds\nhad slid over, puff! and put the moon out without any warning. Once a\nstar gleamed as the wrack raced across the sky. Sanga huddled close up\nto Deny as I put my hand out to see where they were. Then the moon burst\nthrough the cloud and the shadows went racing across the gullies till it\nseemed that the mountains themselves were moving along, sailing before a\nhead wind! Then the deluge began. We were sheltered in a native hut, but\nthe rain came in by the bucketful. Oceans seemed to crash down from the\nsky. Mighty trees were uplifted, and before they fell to the earth were\ncarried across the gullies like twigs before the tremendous violence of\nthe wind. Then there started the most wonderful thing in the way of\nsound that I have ever heard, or shall ever hear again. It seemed that a\nthousand demons had come out to carouse and play ghostly instruments in\nsome phantom military band. I never heard anything to resemble it. Drums\nbegan to beat, a thousand strong, bassoons, horns, double basses,\nclarionets, \u2019cellos, saxaphones, bugles, cornets\u2014all wailing and\nbellowing forth in the wildest orchestral combination that human ears\never heard. \u2018God! What is it pal?\u2019 yelled Deny in my ear, and his voice\nsounded like the wail of a child. My own heart thumped. \u2018Strange that I\nshould live to see the end of the world,\u2019 thought I, as that terrible\nnightmare of sound suddenly subsided, while the typhoon stopped a moment\nto take breath! We didn\u2019t know it then, but that typhoon was a kind of\nmighty Wagner of the elements that came by night with universal breath\nto blow the terrific diapasons, vast bassoons and thunderous wails,\nwhistles, and timpani effects in the mightiest orchestral instrument\nthat creation has made, so far as I know. It was like this: those\nmountains were volcanic, and so were fairly _honeycombed_ with\nprecipitous tunnels and big cavernous hollows, each hollow possessing\nits own peculiar, specific quality of sound, so that when the typhoon\narrived, and its ten thousand orchestral members, so to speak, placed\ntheir phantom lips and blew terrifically into each crevice, the noise\nresembled something like ten thousand Easter Monday steam-organs and\nbeating-drums going hard and strong on some holiday down in shadowland!\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t exaggerate when I say that some of the notes rang out in clear,\nsilvery, bugle tones, some full and mellow, tremulous with throbbing\nexpression; then the muffled sound of a mighty drum would boom out in\nthat infinite harmony of the dark and wind! When you consider that a\ntyphoon\u2019s terrific and tremendously varied breathing powers blew through\na thousand thousand deep-voiced bugles and trumpets with curling tubes\nthat went running right down into the volcanic bowels of the Fijian\nIsles, there wasn\u2019t much wonder in the fact that wonderfully marvellous\nsubtle musical effects and perfect intonation should crop up somewhere.\nOf course, Deny and I hadn\u2019t the slightest idea then as to how that\npandemonium of sound came about.\n\n\u201c\u2018The end of the world arrived and they sent some kind of a brass band\nto lead the battalions of the dead heathens into shadowland; that\u2019s what\nit is,\u2019 yelled Deny, cheering up when I touched him, to assure myself\nthat we were still in the flesh.\n\n\u201cI think Sanga cheered us up more than anything. She even laughed, just\nas we thought we were about to die too!\n\n\u201cShe was a plucky youngster, and good-looking to boot.\n\n\u201cWhen dawn came the sun burst through the sky as though it was in a\nhurry. It seemed to boil the soaking mountain forests. We could see the\nchameleon-like colours sparkling, as the steam from the heated tropical\nvegetation rolled away over the rugged hills. We were drenched through.\nBy nightfall I was seized with pains in the back. It was a kind of\nmalaria. My limbs began to quiver. By midnight I was delirious.\n\n\u201c\u2018Don\u2019t die, pal,\u2019 said Deny, as I begged him, for old-time\u2019s sake, to\nstrangle the mighty heathen god who kept peering through the clouds,\nputting his stinking mop-head against my nose as he struck me tremendous\nblows on the head with a war-club! But I could not die. When I had slept\nfor an hour and got a bit sane, things seemed as bad. For the thousands\nof insects that had sought refuge from the storm in our hut attacked me.\nScorpions, fat-bodied lizards, and huge red ants, as big as walnuts, and\nred land-crabs formed up in regiments and attacked us. I felt strange\nthings creeping up the inside of my pants as they flapped their\nrudimentary wings. Then Deny took me outside and gave me a drink of rum.\nIn a few minutes the fever had abated. By midday I was as fit as a\nfiddle.\n\n\u201cDeny was a splendid cook. He gathered some _feis_ (bananas) and yams\nfrom the garden of the deserted heathen hut, and made a glorious meal.\n\n\u201cThen we started off, Sanga singing cheerily behind us as we trekked it\nup into the higher ranges.\n\n\u201cBy this time we were near Nisao, and had already sighted one of the\nnative villages to the S.W. Though we had heard that the natives of that\npart were friendly, still we were not taking any risks, so we sent Sanga\nacross the gullies as an advance-guard. She whipped off like an arrow,\nwithout the slightest fear. When she came back she was accompanied by\nfour stalwart chiefs and two women. To our relief they were waving their\nhands friendly-wise, welcoming us to their village.\n\n\u201cAs we crossed the gully bridge\u2014a huge breadfruit trunk\u2014the sight of the\nsmall conical homesteads beneath the feathery palms, the beautiful\nmoss-ferns, and scarlet-flowered ndralas, gave one the impression that\nwe were entering some perfect, pagan city of shadowland. Romping\nchildren stopped their games, rushed out of the shadows and hut doorways\nto gaze on Deny and me in astonishment. The shaggy-haired women by the\nhuts were smoking clay pipes, squatting on mats, and staring stolidly at\nthe pretty native girls, who fawned about us, stroked our hands, and\nsaid in their own lingo, \u2018O beautiful Papalagis, with blue eyes!\u2019\n\n\u201cIt was all right, I can tell you. Suddenly a giant of a fellow stood up\nfrom among a huddled group of savages and come towards us. By the\ndistinguished tattooesque coat-of-arms on his massive chest and\nshoulders, I knew that he must be the tribal chief. Besides, as he came\ntowards us, he was followed by an obsequious retinue of eight\nhalf-decayed-looking old women, who were crawling on their wrinkled\nstomachs as they placed their travelling hands in their august master\u2019s\nfootprints. They were his old, cast-off wives. The new batch of young\nwives were squatting by the big palavana, showing their pearly teeth and\nmaking eyes at Deny and me. One cheeky little wench, who was clad in a\ntappa-gown of two inches in width and half a yard in length, took a\nflower from her hair and threw it towards us.\n\n\u201cI can remember it all as though it were yesterday. I can even hear the\nstrange bird that was singing up in the citron trees, which grew just\nover the little plot where they buried their dead. We felt a bit\nswaggery when the military band came out of the chief palavana, formed\nup with their instruments (vuvis, bone flutes, human bones, gourds with\nstrings across, lais, wooden drums, and bamboo flutes), and commenced to\nplay an anthem of welcome as we entered the stockade gateway that led\ninto that portion of the village where the head chief received\nambassadors in council. I think the sight of all was Sanga, as she\nmarched just ahead of us, a flower dangling in her hair, and her little\nchest swelled majestically, as she looked sideways on the tribal\nchildren, who were staring at her with awestruck eyes.\n\n\u201cIf I had had any poetic idea in my head about that village being some\ndwelling-place of fairy-land, I\u2019m sure it was soon dispelled when we\npassed by the village dustbin.\n\n\u201c\u2018Phew!\u2019 said Deny, as Sanga and I sniffed and held our noses. Even in\nthose high altitudes of the Fijian mountain villages there was\nconsiderable room for sanitary improvement.\n\n\u201cSuch was our reception in Nisao just twenty years ago.\n\n\u201cThat same night we got pally with the high chief, Roko (meaning\n\u2018high-born\u2019). He gave us all the direct information that we required;\ntold us that, true enough, a white man did dwell up in the cool mountain\nvillages of the cannibal Kai Tholos. Then he told us how the _White\nRoko_ had lorded it over the village folk of Tumba for quite ten years,\nafter having made himself their chief. It seemed as though we dreamed it\nall as we stood there, Deny and I, and heard the astounding facts as we\nwarily got the friendly chief on the tack that we were most interested\nin. He nodded his head and said:\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes, Papalagi, beautiful white _Marama_ (white girl) live up there\ntoo; nicer chiefess; smoother shoulders, whiter skin.\u2019\n\n\u201cSaying this, old Roko made various descriptive signs in an attempt to\nconvey to our minds the wondrous beauty of the White Roko\u2019s daughter. It\nwas then that we learnt that the Englishman was known to his tribe by\nthe name of Yoraka. Whether his name was Yorick, and this name that he\nwas known by was a bastardized equivalent of it, I don\u2019t know; possibly\nit was so.\n\n\u201cI recall that that old chief was immensely amused when he discovered\nthat Deny and I were after the white girl.\n\n\u201c\u2018How does she dress? What does she do with herself? Is she wild? Is she\nmarried?\u2019 and such-like questions did we put to Roko.\n\n\u201cRoko did not know much about the girl\u2019s habits, for she was seldom\nallowed out of the Tholos stronghold, and Old chief Roko dared not go up\nthere to his neighbour\u2019s stronghold because they were enemies. We were\ndelighted to hear that he was not on friendly terms with this\nextraordinary Yoraka, for it enabled us to extract a promise from him to\nhelp us out of it should we get into difficulties. We arranged that,\nshould our countryman \u2018turn up rough\u2019 and set his tribal heathen on us,\nwe should send Sanga back to his village for help.\n\n\u201c\u2018Things are going all right,\u2019 chuckled Deny, when the old chief took a\nvow to help us.\n\n\u201c\u2018Vinaka, O le tani\u2014geroot!\u2019 yelled the tribal warriors. Then they lined\nup; and I can tell you, Deny and I felt considerably relieved as we\ninspected Roko\u2019s bodyguard\u2014the war chiefs who would come to our help if\nwe needed them. We felt like two seasoned generals as we passed along\nthe lines, inspecting those weird-looking, tattooed warriors. They\nswelled their massive chests, their big war-club handles standing on end\nup to their shoulders. They had tremendous mouths, the teeth darkened\nwith the juice of the betel-nut; and such mops of hair, I\u2019d never seen\nthe like before.\n\n\u201c\u2018Thank God they\u2019re on _our_ side!\u2019 was my mental comment, as the great\nRoko shouted \u2018Karoot!\u2019 and up went fifty war-clubs, ere down they came,\ncrash! in the thunderous drill that would show us how easily they could\nsmash the thickest of skulls with one well-aimed blow!\n\n\u201cTwelve hours after that experience we had done the eight miles that\ndivided Roko\u2019s village from the Tholos stronghold. We were actually in\nsight of that tiny mountain citadel wherein had dwelt for nearly ten\nyears that fugitive Britisher, Yoraka.\n\n\u201cThere was something terribly weird in the thought that up there was one\nof our own race who had degenerated into complete savagery and held full\nsway over the wild Kai Tholos natives. It were impossible for me to\nattempt to find a name for the atmosphere that my imagination conjured\nup as Deny and I stood there, our white helmet hats pushed back on our\nheads, our hands arched to our eyes as we stared towards the sunset that\ngleamed on the far-off tribal huts of that solitary stronghold.\n\n\u201c\u2018What would they think of us? How would they greet us? Would the white\ngirl scream and faint away at the delight of it all when she realized\nthat Deny and I had come to rescue her? Had she seen white men\u2014other\nthan that damnable parent of hers? Or had she been a close prisoner from\nchildhood, kept in utter darkness of the great civilized world beyond\nthe seas?\u2019\n\n\u201cA thrill of romance warmed my soul, pulsing through my veins like wine,\nas the novelty, the wonder of it all seemed to shine in the magical\nultramarine of the far-off sea horizon and the mountain sunset. Within\nan hour of our romantic contemplation of the village, we had actually\nentered the stockade gates. I clutched my revolver, and Deny did\nlikewise.\n\n\u201cJust as the children had done in the last village, out ran the kiddies\nfrom the huts, rushed up to us and shouted, \u2018Vinaka! Vinaka!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018They\u2019ve seen plenty of white people before, that\u2019s certain,\u2019 said I to\nDeny, as the old, squat-looking chiefs and shaggy-haired chiefesses\nstared stolidly at us as we walked by. Possibly it was our tremendous\ncheek and helpless appearance that disarmed the suspicions of those\nwild-looking men and women as they shouted forth their acclamations of\nwelcome.\n\n\u201cWe gave them bits of tobacco plug. Thinking it was wisest to make no\ndelay in letting them know that we were there on a friendly visit, we\nstraightway asked them to show us into the presence of the great White\nRoko, Yoraka. Approaching a monstrous-looking chief who was heavily\ndecorated with insigniatorial tattoo, we expressed our wish. In a moment\na bodyguard had been formed and was solemnly walking ahead of us,\nleading us through the village. Sanga walked between Deny and me. I\nnoticed that she too looked a bit serious as she clutched hold of the\nknee of my trousers. Passing through a large archway, that seemed to be\nof natural rock formation, we entered another district of the village.\nAs we turned the bend by the orange and citron trees, our hearts\nthumped. We were standing before a large, conical-shaped building that\nhad evidently been built on European lines. We guessed that we were at\nlast standing before the residence of the ex-Britisher.\n\n\u201cIt seemed incredible as we stood there and thought of the man who had\nexiled himself from his race and had resorted to the unbridled lust and\nsqualor of all that we saw around us\u2014girls and women in all stages of\nundress and motherhood. But it was not so strange when one thinks of the\ncriminals and unbridled lust and squalor of the dens of great\ncities\u2014cities superintended by vigilant police officials with the power\nof a nation to help them put down crime. And who will deny that,\nnotwithstanding Scotland Yard, London, and White House, New York, crime\ndoes exist, that men _do_ revert back to their primitive instincts,\nresort to bestiality, murder, and all that\u2019s utterly opposed to the\ninstincts of decently trained, clean-minded men. However, the fact\nremains that there _was_ a white man who dwelt in complete savagery in\nthe mountains to the N.N.W., however incredible it may seem. And nothing\ncould be more certain than the sound of a drunken voice singing an\nEnglish song, the melody of \u2018There is a tavern in the town, in the\ntown!\u2019 coming from the inside of that primitive but palatial-looking\ndwelling before us!\n\n\u201c\u2018Keep close to me, Sanga,\u2019 said I, as the chiefs turned and beckoned\nus. Then Deny\u2019s tall form stooped as he bent forward and entered the\ndoorway, while Sanga and I closely followed him.\n\n\u201cThough I had conjured up all kinds of picturesque types in my mind as\nto what kind of a man I should see when I entered there, I\u2019ll swear that\nI was quite unprepared for the villainous type that I did see. Squatting\non a mat, native fashion, was a burly-looking man of about fifty years\nof age. His face was a dull, pasty brown; indeed, the man before us was\nmore like a half-caste than any type I could think of at the moment.\nEven his hair was done up in a large mop, native style. But the reddish\ncolour of the beard, and the deep-set, keen grey eyes were\nunmistakable\u2014there squatted a degenerate Britisher, robed in all the\nglory of primitive royalty. Hanging from the wide, low roof were some\nforty coconut-oil lamps which added to the mystery of the scene before\nus. In a semicircle, almost up to his feet, squatted several native\nwomen, some of them young girls, presumably his wives. To our\nastonishment he nodded his head, as though courteously to acquaint us\nwith the fact that he was pleased to see us. This welcome of his seemed\nincongruous enough, since he wore only a tasselled sulu about his loins,\na garb that barely reached to his muscular, hairy knees. As he stood up\nhe resembled nothing so much as some primitive blacksmith who wore a\nleather apron only\u2014had forgotten to put his trousers on.\n\n\u201cThe walls were decorated with fibre matting, skulls, old men\u2019s beards,\nand other gruesome articles that make up the furniture of barbarian\nhomesteads. On the floor in front of him were large calabashes, some\nfull of fruits, others containing fermenting toddy. These facts I took\nin at a glance as Deny stood speechless on one side of me and Sanga\nclutched my hand on the other side.\n\n\u201cSuddenly he looked up, and said: \u2018Vinaka, sirs! glader to see you, o le\nsu, ter-day, savve?\u2019\n\n\u201cSo long had it been since he had spoken to his countrymen that he had\nactually got into the habit of speaking pigeon English! For a little\nwhile he regarded us with suspicion, then, as he took another drink of\ntoddy from the calabash that the native girls held to his lips, he\nbecame garrulous. As he spoke on I noticed that his speech improved; one\ncould almost hear the awakening in his brain of words that had lain\ndormant for years.\n\n\u201cThough I courteously refused to drink of the toddy that he ordered to\nbe handed to me, Deny, to my regret, swallowed more than was good for\nhim. This convivial understanding of like appetites seemed to awaken his\ninterest in us, for ere long Deny stood before him and sang some old\nScottish songs\u2014\u2018Robin Adair,\u2019 and \u2018Will ye no\u2019 come back again?\u2019 I\nthink. He gave orders to his concubines to fetch us sweet taro,\npineapples, and many mixed dishes that were made from indigenous fruits.\nThen he shifted himself, squatted right opposite me, and commenced to\nask me questions about England.\n\n\u201c\u2018Whas London loiker? He! he! he! Does the ole Queen still sit on her\nthrone at Windsor? He! he!\u2019\n\n\u201cSaying that, he gave a lurch forward, and I saw that the pose he had\nassumed when we entered his dwelling-place had been dispelled by\ndrivelling intoxication. Still he raved on, nudged me in the ribs, and\nshouted toasts to other days! Thrusting his pallid face forward, he\nlifted the coco-nut goblet, and yelled again and again, \u2018\u2019Ows ye b\u2014\u2014 ole\nQueen!\u2019 then he gave me another violent nudge, and roared with laughter.\n\n\u201c\u2018Nasty-looking ole swine!\u2019 said Deny, as Sanga pinched my arm and said\nin a quiet voice:\n\n\u201c\u2018Come away! Come away, Papalagi!\u2019\n\n\u201cI saw that the kiddie didn\u2019t like the look of that man of my race, who\nleered towards her, and touched her smooth arms. Then Deny and he became\nreminiscent as they discovered they were both familiar with Fleet\nStreet. I must say I felt a bit ashamed of my comrade, as he too lurched\nforward and nudged that vile Britisher in the ribs. It was plain as\nplain could be that that cursed toddy stuff had made Deny forget\nhimself.\n\n\u201c\u2018Deny, Deny!\u2019 I said reprovingly.\n\n\u201cAlas, my pal responded only by looking up at me in an insane way and\ngurgling out, \u2019Awl \u2019ight, pal!\u2019\n\n\u201cAs for Yoraka, he opened his slit mouth, drivelled like an imbecile,\npoked his pallid tongue out over his sharp-edged, blackened teeth, and\nyelled:\n\n\u201c\u2018Do the b\u2014\u2014 natives on ye old Thames still wear clothes? He! he! How\u2019s\nther Derby racecourse? By the gods of my fathers, I\u2019d giver something\nfor a soda and whisky ter-night!\u2019\n\n\u201cSaying this much, as near as I can recall all that he said, he lurched,\nput his head forward, and pinched little Sanga\u2019s small fat leg! The\nkiddie almost screamed in her terror.\n\n\u201c\u2018It\u2019s all right, Sanga. Don\u2019t mind him. He\u2019s only a drunken Britisher,\u2019\nsaid I swiftly, as the degenerate stooped over his toddy calabash and\noffered Deny another gobletful. And all the while this was going on his\nwomen and girl wives and servants, squatting on a mat in a semicircle\nround him, were regarding Deny and me with curious stare.\n\n\u201cThen, once again, in hoarse acclamations, he yelled of England.\n\n\u201c\u2018Do they still read their Bibles\u2014the pot-bellied, wassailed-eyed\nEnglish? Ye souls of missionaries, I\u2019ve eaten better men than you\nblooder Englishman!\u2019\n\n\u201cListening to those wild remarks from a drunken man, and a fugitive\nBritish criminal into the bargain, I put his wild sayings down as\nfigures of speech that represented some bitterness in his heart over\nmemories of other days. By now he was drivelling copiously at the mouth,\nthe mop of hair had fallen and hung in ringlets on his brow. He\nresembled some giant chimpanzee as he squatted before us, his narrow\neyes glittering, his reddish beard bunched to his neck, as he looked at\nDeny and me and volleyed forth terrible oaths.\n\n\u201c\u2019Ow\u2019s ole Fleet Street? Did yer chance ter know the barmaid at ole\nM\u2014\u2014\u2019s, Alice M\u2019Gill eh? She was a fine wench; hell, what a figure, a\nbody, he! he! she had!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen he yelped forth another volley of disgusting ribaldry that I\nwouldn\u2019t repeat if you wanted me to.\n\n\u201cWhile all this was going on, my eyes were squinting round, wondering\nwhere on earth the girl was whom we had heard so much about.\n\n\u201cDeny had started to sing with Yoraka, who had begun to sing in a\ndrivelling voice:\n\n            \u2018There is a tavern in the town, in the town,\n            Where my true love sits him down, sits him down.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen Yoraka continued:\n\n               \u2018I\u2019ll \u2019ang me \u2019arp oner weepin\u2019 willer tree\n               And may ther worle go well with thee.\u2019\n\n\u201cNot liking to be left out of the ensemble, as the assembled wives,\ngirls, and servants beat their hands in a kind of chant,\u2014I saw that the\nBritisher had taught them all that song, for they chanted it in a rather\neffective manner,\u2014I took my flute from my breast pocket and commenced to\nplay. It must have been an incongruous sight to see and to hear as that\ndisgusting relic of our race squatted there, a grin on his blubbery\njowls, as Deny, with lifted hand, sang and made eyes at the\npassable-looking girls of the royal retinue, and I stood, _maestro_\nfashion, my helmet hat bashed against the low roof, performing on the\nflute. It was whilst this quartette was in progress that the improbable\noccurred. Suddenly the row of tattooed Fijians, who were huddled by the\ndoor of some inner compartment, all moved as though to make way for\nsomeone. The tappa curtains were drawn aside. I stopped my\nflute-playing; Deny opened his mouth and gasped aloud. There she stood,\nher pale blue eyes open with astonishment as she stared wistfully, like\na shadowy-figure in a South Sea picture, on Deny and then on me. It was\nYoraka\u2019s, that loathsome British criminal\u2019s, daughter!\n\n\u201cTo my eyes, which had never before seen a pure-blooded white girl in\nnative costume, expressing all the innocent abandonment of natural life\nin the pose of her figure and movement of her shapely limbs, she seemed\nthe most impressively beautiful example of charming womanhood that my\neyes had ever beheld. She was sun-tanned from head to feet, as though\nshe had been varnished by some artist with a wondrous mixture that\nresembled a Cremona violin\u2019s hue mixed up with sunlight. The picturesque\nraiment of threaded fern grass that swathed her thighs, like a\nloin-cloth, increased the beauty of the picture of that wild white girl\nwho stood there before us. She looked like the pictures I have seen of\nQueen Boadicea. Her hair was a bright golden-bronze hue, like that deep\nshade seen in the sunset\u2019s aftermath, her rough, loosened tresses\nfalling down to the exquisitely curved shoulders, while one or two stray\nlocks fell in front, rippling down over her bosom to the tasselled\nraiment that fell in modest modulation to her knees. I had a suspicion\nthat she had been told we were there in that palavana, that she had\npeeped through the tappa-curtains and seen us, and had then gone and\narranged her secret toilet to please our eyes. I discovered afterwards\nthat the hue of her hair and the length of her tresses were the pride of\nthe whole tribe, the chiefs giving cattle to Yoraka that they might\nbreathe through her tresses, and so treating her as a goddess!\n\n\u201cI think Deny\u2019s heart went out to her at once. However, I know that when\nthe strains of the flute mingled with the notes of the Scottish songs he\nsang that night, it was very hard to know which sounded the most\nbeseeching!\n\n\u201cThat which struck me forcibly as I scanned the girl\u2019s clear eyes and\nfine brow was, that she should really be the daughter of the\nchimpanzee-like debauchee squatting there before us. But, recalling to\nmind the trite old saying, \u2018\u2019Tis a wise child that knows its own\nfather,\u2019 I gave the girl the benefit of the doubt; nor did this opinion\nof mine cast a slur on the mother, for by the character of the man\nbefore us, none could blame her for bestowing her secret affections on\nanother than her \u2018rightful lord.\u2019 I confess that the girl had her\nfailings. But they seemed only some natural expression of the innate\ninstincts that are prominent in all the actions of her more fortunate,\ncivilized white sisters. For, as I watched, it was quite evident that,\nnotwithstanding Deny\u2019s boisterous manner as he ogled her, twirling his\nmoustache and assuming a massive gallantry that I had not thought him\ncapable of, she favoured his advances; indeed, she actually returned\nwith interest his admiring looks as her eyes roamed up and down his\ngiant figure, that swayed, drunken-wise, before her.\n\n\u201c\u2018He! he! nicer girl\u2014eh?\u2019 leered Yoraka, as he observed Deny\u2019s\ninfatuated glances.\n\n\u201cThen that heathen scoundrel lurched forward and pinched Sanga\u2019s leg\nagain, putting on such an unholy look as he gazed on her, that I felt\nlike giving him a punch under the ear. I\u2019ve seen Chinamen, Niggers,\nKaffirs, Turks, all grades of followers of Mohammed, Borneo cannibals,\nand what not, gaze on young native girls, but the look in that\ndegenerate Britisher\u2019s eyes beat them all for downright wickedness. He\nlooked like some personification of all the guile, hypocrisy, power,\nindescribable lust, and bestiality of white man, that have blighted\nnative life in these isles, crammed into one skull, gleaming forth from\none pair of terrible eyes, drivelling and chuckling from one mouth,\nexpressed on one iron brow, voiced by one filthy, fang-like tongue.\n\n\u201cDeny\u2019s dead now. I won\u2019t say a word of the further doings of that\nnight. He\u2019d been down with fever too; the weather was terribly muggy\ninto the bargain, and that does put a thirst into a man. And, moreover,\nnotwithstanding the hideousness of all Yoraka\u2019s actions, and the fright\nthat we both confessed we felt afterwards, through being in his power,\nthere was something fascinating in the novelty of it all. I think it\ntook twelve high chiefs to carry Deny across the _rara_ (space) and lay\nhim down in the hut that had been allotted to him, Sanga, and my humble\nself.\n\n\u201cI rubbed my eyes in the morning, wondering if I had dreamed it all. It\nwas no dream though; there was no mistaking the reality of the wild\nbird\u2019s song that sang in the mountain banyans just outside our hut door.\nBesides, there sat little Sanga, rubbing her sleepy eyes, and Deny was\nas real as real could be, as he sat there with his head in a large\ncalabash of cold water, cooling his fevered skull!\n\n\u201cWe had no sooner eaten the food that the natives brought to us than we\nwere outside in the clear morning air. Our great desire was to see that\nwhite girl again.\n\n\u201c\u2018We must get her away from this hell of a hole,\u2019 said Deny, turning his\neyes away from me as though he felt a bit ashamed of himself. Then he\nsaid: \u2018You got a bit rocky last night, didn\u2019t you, pal?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018A bit rocky!\u2019 said I, feeling disgusted at such an insinuation from my\ncomrade, who had lowered my prestige in that village by his drunken\nbehaviour the night before. But I said nothing. I saw how the wind blew.\nAnd it says something for Deny that he was enough ashamed of himself to\ntry and make out that I was as bad as he.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t go into all the details as to how we finally got to know where\nthe girl was to be found. It will be sufficient to say, that Deny gave\ntwo natives plugs of tobacco and promised them another drink from his\nrum-flask if they\u2019d lead us to the den where the girl resided. For I\nmust tell you that we had found out by the merest chance that the girl\ndid not live with her parent, but dwelt at the other end of the village,\nwhere the high chiefs resided.\n\n\u201cAs the natives led us across the cleared village space, we wondered\nwhat the girl would think to see us so eager to seek her presence. At\nlast we stood outside a thatched den, just on the outskirts of the\nvillage.\n\n\u201c\u2018She in there, Marama, savvy?\u2019\n\n\u201cIn a moment Deny and I made up our minds and entered the hut. The first\nthing that I did was to upset a cradle wherein lay two whitish-looking\nkiddies.\n\n\u201c\u2018Look like damned half-caste kids,\u2019 said Deny, as we cursed and made a\nswift attempt to pick them up before the distracted mother appeared.\nThey opened their reddish mouths like two young crows, and made terrific\ncaw-like sounds. Deny put his hand over one\u2019s mouth!\n\n\u201cSuddenly we felt a draught, the tappa-curtain was flung aside, the\nwhite girl stood before us, her eyes blazing as we both held the kids!\nShe really _did_ look like a wild girl, as she stood there before us\nwith her mouth open, in _d\u00e9shabill\u00e9_, an old torn sulu dangling to her\nthighs. For a moment I felt embarrassed as I looked at her bare bosom.\nThen I swiftly realized that she did not understand the novelty of the\nsight,\u2014a girl of our race dressed like that, showing so much of what\nshould have been her secret toilet, to say the least.\n\n\u201cPerhaps she saw the romantic light in Deny\u2019s eyes as she stared up at\nour flushed faces. Anyway, she cooled down, and asked us into her\nhomestead.\n\n\u201cThen she looked up at us in a startled way, and said, \u2018You be killer;\ngo way! go way!\u2019\n\n\u201cThat was the first thing she said, as we got out of earshot of the\nsly-looking old hags who were leaning against the palms smoking\ncigarettes.\n\n\u201c\u2018We\u2019ve come to save you!\u2014to take you away from this village,\u2019 whispered\nDeny, giving her a ravishing look. \u2018Take you away to another country\nwhere the white men and women live,\u2014understand?\u2014savvy?\u2019 continued Deny,\nas the girl looked up and simply stared at us.\n\n\u201cAt first we thought it might be some haunting remembrance of her\nchildhood days in England that made her stare so. It may have been so.\nHowever, the only response she made was to put forth her hand and\ncommence to caress the pendant, the brass compass, that dangled at the\nend of my silver watch chain! Then she giggled and showed us _her_\nbabies!\n\n\u201c\u2018Yours!\u2019 almost yelled Deny.\n\n\u201cThe scales fell from our eyes when we learnt from her own lips that\nthose pallid, demon-like-looking kids were hers\u2014twins too!\n\n\u201c\u2018Where\u2019s he?\u2019 we both ejaculated in a tense whisper, as we looked\naround.\n\n\u201cShe shook her head, did not understand.\n\n\u201c\u2018The old man, your husband?\u2014the father of the kids?\u2019 said Deny, trying\nto make her understand.\n\n\u201cPointing to the floor, she said, \u2018He go under, goodee job tooer!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Dead!\u2019 was Deny\u2019s and my comment. Nor did we shed any tears over the\ndead heathen\u2019s demise, I can tell you.\n\n\u201cThere she stood before us, innocent-looking as a child, a splendid\nspecimen of what an English girl was like when reared up as a savage.\nEven as I watched, I thought of the interest she would create in the\nsouls of those who went in for anthropology.\n\n\u201cI discerned at a glance that she had the instincts of a white woman the\nworld over. As she stared at us she hastily put her hand up to her hair\nto see if the hibiscus blossoms were in an attractive position. As she\nsquatted on the mat and boldly looked into our eyes, she pulled her\npicturesque raiment down over the curves of her knees. \u2018That\u2019s something\nthat a native woman wouldn\u2019t do,\u2019 was my mental comment. That one little\naction convinced me that there is an inherent modesty in women of the\nwhite races that is not conspicuous in many of the brown races. For,\n_how_ did she know that women of our race wore long dresses? All the\nnative women about her wore barely anything at all! Besides, there was\nthe swift, instinctive action of an act that could only be the result of\n_inherent_ modesty. Knowing the chance I had of testing the difference\nbetween the white and the brown races, I went through all sorts of\nartful dodges to find out the various shades of her character. I put my\nhand out in a caressing way, softly touching her fingers so that she\nmight be assured that I was there only out of friendship. Deny did the\nsame.\n\n\u201cTo our delight she repsonded by saying, \u2018Yorana, Papalagi,\u2019 and then,\nin a soft, fawning, cat-like way, returned the caress, touched my wrist,\nlooked into my eyes, and murmured, \u2018Oh, whi! whi, nicer,\u2019 alluding to\nthe whiteness of my flesh just up under my coat-sleeve. Then, in a\nreally fascinating way, she admired the smoothness of our boyish faces;\nput her fingers through my golden hair;\u2014I had hair then.\u201d (He was bald\nas a badger as he sat there telling us these things.) \u201cThen Deny took\nthe flask from his pocket and, to my surprise, asked her to take a nip\nof rum! She gave one sip, and made a wry face as she spat the liquid\nout.\n\n\u201cI looked into her eyes, held her hand, and said:\n\n\u201c\u2018Wouldn\u2019t you like to leave this village and go across the seas to your\nown people, see the big cities, large buildings?\u2019\n\n\u201cShe only stared at me. I saw that it was all Greek to her. Then I tried\nto explain civilization to her. I told her that women wore beautiful\nsilken robes to the feet, robes that were adorned with flashing gems.\nHer eyes sparkled with wonder for a while. She seemed to show true\ninterest only when I described English life, told of the comfortable,\ncosy homes, the hearth-fires in cold weather, and of the little\nchildren. Deny looked up at me, noticed my earnest manner, and thought I\nwas mad. So he said after. Sanga squatted just behind us the whole time,\nstaring at the girl with wonder in her eyes, and never said one word.\n\n\u201cAs I told her these things, I watched for some evidence of a desire in\nher heart to come with us; but the only effect it seemed to have on her\nwas that which one notices on a child when it listens to a fairy story.\nThere was something infinitely sad about it all as she sat there\u2014a girl\nof our race, lost to the world, irreclaimable, doomed to live on in that\nhell of a village,\u2014a girl with natural beauty shining from her soft,\nalmost wistful-looking eyes. The wind blew gently through the doorway,\nthe palms sighed mournfully on the mountain slopes, and it seemed that\nthe very zephyrs caressed her with sorrow as they touched the\npicturesque robe she had put on since we had arrived.\n\n\u201cI can never tell you how Deny and I appealed to that girl, beseeching\nher to come away with us. For a moment she gazed at us as though in\ngrief, then she put forth her hand and appealed to Deny to give her one\nof his coat buttons. In a moment my pal had ripped a button off and\nhanded it to her. She held it up in the ray of sunlight that trickled\nthrough the doorway, and gave a childish cry of pleasure.\n\n\u201c\u2018Look at her feet,\u2019 said Deny.\n\n\u201cI had never seen such pretty feet before. The nails were like pearls,\nand, through the foot having never been cramped up in boots, the toes\nwere exquisitely curved, the lower contours running up and finishing at\nthe ankles in a charming way. Deny took the liberty of tenderly holding\nher leg up so that I might admire the curves of the calf, the perfect\nroundness of the knee. She kept a wary eye on him: I\u2019m _sure_ that _was_\nthe look that I noticed in her eyes. Then, on hearing our impassioned\nexclamations, and seeing the appreciative glances of our eyes over the\nbeauty of her shape, she gave in; vanity was stronger than modesty. Then\nDeny spoilt it all; as he held the leg in a graceful position, he\ndeliberately kissed the knee! That\u2019s what my eyes saw! Deny swore that\nit was a mistake, that he fell forward. But I knew Deny well enough, and\nnever before saw anything so deliberate in the way of impassioned acts.\n\n\u201cFrom that moment she became reserved in her attitude and manner. But,\nstill, I noticed that her eyes softly gleamed as Deny and I and Sanga\ncrept out of the door to answer the command of Yoraka. It was nearly\ndusk then, and we had to be in Yoraka\u2019s presence by dark.\n\n\u201cIt was quite dark when we again stood outside Yoraka\u2019s palatial hut,\nhesitating before we entered. Then, seeing no way out of it, we entered\nthat home of licentiousness. All the hanging coco-nut-oil lamps were\nablaze as we stood there once more in the presence of Yoraka, the native\ngirls all staring at us. I think that I preferred the sight of them to\nthe drunken ribaldry of that British heathen. There was something\nterrible in his gaze as he looked up at us. I saw the domineering gaze\nof savagery staring from those cold, blue, British eyes. All the\ninherent might of my own race\u2014the might that had overthrown nation after\nnation, conquered the world, making all the primitive tribes suppliant\nat her Imperial Feet\u2014seemed to shine forth in the terrible glare of that\nred-bearded Britisher as he stared at us with _sober_ eyes! By the dim\nlight of the oil-lamps I discerned the tattoo that marked his massive\nchest and shoulders. It seemed impossible that he was a white man at\nall, so villainous did he look. Then he commenced to ask a thousand\nquestions as to what we wanted with him. We told him we didn\u2019t want\nanything of him. Deny came to the rescue like a brick, for Yoraka was\ngetting fierce; he handed him the remainder of his rum. In a moment the\nman seemed to forget his suspicions; he smacked his lips, looked up, and\ngripped Deny\u2019s hand. After that he drank more toddy. He was soon\ndrivelling drunk again. I shall never forget that night if I live to be\na thousand years old. As the tribal girls waited on him, he roared forth\ndisgusting songs\u2014putting words of his own to them\u2014and at each loathsome\nepithet spat up in the faces of the frightened harem-women. Looking up\ninto my face he chuckled and roared out uproariously, making remarks\nabout civilized life.\n\n\u201c\u2018Go back ter your ole Queen on the Thames! He! he! I\u2019d giver \u2019er\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018Ugh! Ugh! who\u2019 thater girl? She belonger you? I eater better girler\nthan that on toast! Savvy?\u2019\n\n\u201cStill I did not gather the terrible import of his remarks as he looked\nup, drivelling spittle from betel-nut between his clenched black teeth,\nand pinched pretty Sanga\u2019s soft arms!\n\n\u201c\u2018Comer way! Comer way! Master, don\u2019t your know?\u2019 whispered little\nSanga, inclining her curly head sideways as she slightly lifted her\npretty eyes, giving me a meaning look.\n\n\u201cBut still Deny stared and I stared, as Yoraka grovelled on his belly\nand made loathsome remarks to the women around him. Once more he sought\nDeny\u2019s conversation, and plied him with that vile toddy stuff. The night\nwas far advanced when the great climax came. Yoraka was poking Deny in\nthe ribs, and Deny was nudging Yoraka. The savage Britisher\u2019s brain had\nonce more become reminiscent, for he was shouting and yelling disgusting\nribaldry about his memories of London, Fleet Street, the Strand, and\nMarble Arch. Then he seemed to become breathless through his own\nobscenity. He drivelled at the mouth, his head swaying like an imbecile\nas he lurched forward on his stomach. Then, leaning forward, he took\nhold of Sanga\u2019s little robe, looked with some terrible meaning into her\neyes, took hold of her arm\u2019s soft, semi-white flesh between his thumb\nand forefinger\u2014and pinched it deliciously!\n\n\u201cHis hideous mouth was emitting spittle from between the gaps of his\nfilthy betel-nut-blackened teeth. I distinctly saw him give a fiendish,\nhungry leer at the girl as he stroked her leg and said something very\nunguardedly about \u2018Long pig!\u2019 and chuckled \u2018Kai! kai! I eater nicer\ngirler!\u2019 He was looking up into Deny\u2019s astonished face as he said that.\nThen he lifted his drunken eyes to my comrade and said, \u2018You giver\ngirler me? I make you great chief here!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Heavens!\u2019 gasped Deny, as he looked at me. \u2018Why, he\u2019s a cannibal!\u2019\n\n\u201cBefore I knew, or even realized the terror of the whole business, Deny\nhad expressed his horror of that fiend\u2019s remarks in a most forcible way.\nIt all looked like some unreal picture of horror as Yoraka crouched\nthere, grovelling on his stomach, the rows of coco-nut-oil lamps sending\na ghastly, unreal glare over his face and on the barbarian furniture,\nboxes, ornamental matting, calabashes, and human skulls that hung on the\nwalls. He was paralyzed!\u2014as though he\u2019d had a stroke and had died with\nhis mouth and eyes still half-open with astonishment. The native girls,\nwho had been bringing in platters of cooked yams and gourds of toddy,\nstood transfixed, like wonderful life-like statues of terra-cotta hue,\nso still did they all stand there in the dim light, some with arms still\noutstretched, one leg placed forward, one arm uplifted, their eyes\nglassy, petrified with astonishment\u2014so sudden was the onslaught!\n\n\u201cThat representative of a British criminal in savage \u2018state,\u2019 rolled his\neyes thrice; he seemed to strive to believe his own senses; his mouth\nwas wide open with astonishment and pain, revealing his sharp, dirty\nteeth, as crash! a second blow knocked them down his throat!\n\n\u201c\u2018Ugh! Ugh!\u2019 came like vomited sound from that devil\u2019s entrails as Deny\nstood there at his full height, his eyes afire with rage and drink. My\nhelmet hat was bashed down over my eyes as I leapt forward to stay Deny\nfrom quite killing our host. In a flash I saw that Deny\u2019s impulsiveness\nwould place us at the mercy of the whole tribe. But what cared old\nDeny?\u2014not a damn! He proceeded to demolish Yoraka\u2019s palavana. The native\ngirls, seeing their master prostrated, recovered and bolted! Catching\nhold of the central post, that was the mainstay for the hut\u2019s support,\nDeny tore it right out of the ground\u2014crash! the roof had fallen on the\ntop of us!\n\n\u201cIn the pandemonium that followed, amid the wild yells of Yoraka, the\nscreams of his concubines and children, I could hardly collect my\nsenses. Sanga was still trembling beside me, was clutching my hand. We\nwere on our stomachs, the heavy d\u00e9bris, planks, etc., nearly smothering\nus.\n\n\u201c\u2018Comer, Master!\u2019 murmured Sanga, as she tugged my coat and wriggled on.\nBy some wonderful instinct she found a pathway through that\nterror-stricken group of clutching figures, all huddled in mad terror to\nget out of the smothering d\u00e9bris into the open air. Outside the night\nwas pitch-black, not a star relieving the intense overhead dark as I\npeered around, calling aloud to my comrade, \u2018Deny! Deny!\u2019\n\n\u201cAs I stood there, hesitating, for I could not rush off into the forest\nand leave a pal like that, I felt something brush against me, like the\nrushing of a wind. It was a regiment of those damned cannibals. They had\nrushed forth from their huts to rescue their master, the White Roko,\nfrom the murderous hands of the two Papalagis. They were evidently\nseeking to locate the exact spot of our host\u2019s late homestead!\n\n\u201c\u2018Comer way, Master! They killer you!\u2019 said little Sanga, as she tugged\nmy hand, and I glared round in the darkness, envying that little one\u2019s\nall-seeing eyes in the gloom. I felt the exultation of battle seize my\nsoul. I no longer regretted the fact that Deny had pulled down that\nhomestead of unbridled lust about the b\u2014\u2014 cannibal Englishman\u2019s ears! I\nrushed forward, calling for my pal. Suddenly I collided with the soft,\nnaked bodies of those who were seeking Deny and myself. I heard Deny\u2019s\nvoice just by me. \u2018Thank God he\u2019s all right,\u2019 was my mental comment.\nThen, to my astonishment, I heard Deny roaring forth an old sea chanty\nat the top of his voice as he clubbed away at the natives in the\ndarkness! \u2018O for Rio Grande!\u2019 came to my ears as I too entered the fray,\nand wondered if the whole business was some nightmare. My strength was\nsuperhuman. For I tell you I was in a terrible funk, and there\u2019s nothing\nlike true, unadulterated funk to make a man brave as a lion, and fight\nsplendidly for his own life!\n\n\u201cI had no weapon whatsoever to defend myself with. Deny had a club, I\nknow. Feeling a mass of tangled arms clutching for me in the dark, I\nmade a dive and, by good luck, caught what I meant to use as a club\u2014it\nwas a soft, slippery, nude savage! I felt the bones creak as I swung\nthat living weapon round and round and aimed unseen blows at the bodies\nof the savages who tried to catch hold of me in that inky darkness.\n\n\u201c\u2018Go it, pal!\u2019 yelled Deny. Crash! came the sound of his falling club,\nthen a groan; another had gone under. Again and again came howls of pain\nto my ears as the natives fell to the forest floor before my tremendous\nonslaught as I wielded that soft, bulky weapon\u2014a weapon that gave\nterrified shrieks as it attempted to save itself, for the poor devil\nmade frantic clutches at the bodies I swung him towards as his hands\ntore at their mops of hair in terror.\n\n\u201cThen Deny came to my assistance, just in time too. But though I\u2019d got a\nnasty knock on the head and nearly fell, I managed to follow Deny and\nSanga as they called me. Then the three of us rushed away down the\nslopes. By daybreak we were miles away from that cursed village. And I\ndon\u2019t think we stopped more than an hour to rest before we got down to\nthe seaboard.\n\n\u201cWhen we arrived back in Levuka we made up our minds to go out to the\nman-o\u2019-war boat that was lying out in the bay, and tell them about\nYoraka and his daughter up there in the Kai Tholos village. We were\ndetermined to get our own back off that bloodthirsty Britisher. We\ndecided to let the matter slide for a day or so. Deny had got a blow on\nthe back of the head during the m\u00eal\u00e9e and wanted to sleep for a day or\nso before he had any more excitement.\n\n\u201cIt was during this interval that that happened which is history now. It\nwas like this. Some sailors from a man-o\u2019-war\u2014three, I think\u2014had gone\noff up in the mountains on a spree. They were never heard of again. So\nCommander Goodenough, of the British man-o\u2019-war lying off Levuka, sent a\ncrew of Jack Tars up to the tribal villages of the mountains to give\nthem a lesson and see if they could hear anything of the missing men.\nThey blew the Kai Tholos villages to smithereens! And it is common\nknowledge amongst the missionaries and traders to this day that, when\nthey searched amongst the d\u00e9bris, to see if they could find any trace of\ntheir comrades, they came across the body of a white girl, clad in\nbarbarian costume and riddled with bullets. Just by her side was the\nbody of a white man, clad in a sulu gown. He was tattooed and sunburnt,\nbut there was no mistake about his being a white man. They buried them\nboth up there in the mountains, and put a cross on the girl\u2019s grave; no\nname, just the date of the day when they had found her. Then they buried\nthe man by her side, and, as he was a Britisher, they sounded the _Last\nPost_ and fired a volley over his grave. And Deny wrapped him up in the\nUnion Jack!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, now! if that\u2019s not the irony of fate, and the way of this world\nall over!\u201d was all I could mutter, as G\u2014\u2014 knocked the ashes out of his\npipe and finished his story, took his flute from his pocket, and began\nto warble sweetly, \u201cScenes that are brightest.\u201d\n\nG\u2014\u2014 was a kind of hero to O\u2019Hara and myself after that. We followed him\nabout, and felt the glamour of romance shine whenever we stood in his\nremarkable presence. I think it was the very next day that he took us\ndown the river, then across country to a native village, and introduced\nus both to a fine-looking, native woman. She treated us in good style\nwhen G\u2014\u2014 told her that we were his friends. I noticed that she looked up\ninto his eyes as though she were some sister of his.\n\n\u201cWho is she?\u201d I ventured to ask him at last.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s her,\u2014the kid we took up into the Kai Tholos mountains that\ntime,\u2014little Sanga,\u201d he replied.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                  CHAPTER XVII. SOOGY, CHILD OF POETRY\n\n        Poetry\u2019s Legitimate Child\u2014Music\u2019s Fairyland\u2014A Civilized\n        Old Man of the Sea\u2014A Clerical Hat is the Symbol of\n        Modern Religion.\n\n\nHAD it not been for men like D\u2014\u2014 and many other striking personalities\nwho enlivened the Organization, we should have cleared out of it sooner\nthan we did. We were considerably in debt to the host of that Sailors\u2019\nHome, too. There were no certified bailiffs in the South Seas, but if\none\u2019s account was overdue, credit was taken out of the debtor in a novel\nmanner. Bones discovered that one of his customers owed him about fifty\ndollars for board.\n\n\u201cGoying ter pye up?\u201d said he laconically.\n\n\u201cHain\u2019t gotter cent ter bless meself with till I gets an adwance note,\u201d\nreplied the stranded one. There was no further parley on the subject.\nBones simply caught the culprit by the scruff of the neck, placed one\nknee in the middle of his back, and then, crash! sent the unfortunate\ndevil through the South Sea bankruptcy court at the end of his\nboot\u2014right through the open door\u2014bang! on to the sward. And the\ndischarged bankrupt, out of debt, went his way, unworried, free from all\nhis late liabilities. Once or twice there was a fight when the members\ntook sides on behalf of someone who could not pay his way; hats, rum\nmugs, and tin pots would fly about, but it was soon all over. They would\nbind up each other\u2019s wounds, shake hands all round, and end up in a\ntremendous drinking bout. Sometimes highly-cultured men would step out\nof the great unknown into that shanty\u2019s door\u2014actors, musicians, poets,\nand sad-looking literary men, who would imbibe rum and prove highly\nentertaining. Some had fine voices, others recited _Hamlet_, or made the\nplace hum with laughter ere they drank up, clinked their glass in some\ntoast, and then, to the cry of \u201cGod speed,\u201d once more departed out into\nthe great unknown.\n\nO\u2019Hara and I would go wandering through the forests, visiting the\nvarious tribal villages by the coffee plantations. On these wanderings\nwe were accompanied by our faithful little bodyguard, Soogy, a little\nnative half-caste boy. He was a mystical little beggar, not only in his\nways but in his origin. No one knew where he came from.\n\n\u201cYou no father? No mother, Soogy?\u201d\n\nHe shook his curly head and said: \u201cNo; me come down, dropper from sky!\u201d\n\nHe had beautiful eyes, and by the paleness of his complexion one easily\nconcluded that he had European blood in his veins. He was about eight\nyears old. Whenever I played the violin he would at once put his little\nchin on his knees and commence singing. Even G\u2014\u2014, who had had a lot to\ndo with native youngsters, said that Soogy was a wonder. I had no doubt\nat all that the child was a genius. His mother must have lived in a cave\nwithin sound of the seas just before he was born, for music was alive in\nhis soul. His brain was splashed over with moonlight, there was no doubt\nabout that.\n\n\u201cWhere did you learn that melody, Soogy?\u201d I\u2019d say, when he suddenly\nburst forth and sang some sweet strain with a lingering, haunting note\nof sadness running through it. He would simply look up, shake his curly\nhead, and wonder what I meant by asking him where his little brain\nlearned its own mysterious music from.\n\n\u201cLooks older than he is,\u201d said O\u2019Hara. \u201cGot eyes like a blessed girl,\u201d\nmy pal continued, as Soogy fondled my hand and stared up into my face, a\nweird look in his pretty eyes. I could not make it out; but when that\nkiddie came up to me in the forest, or crept into my hut-room, an old\nbroken-down shack near the river, the world would change, the sun shine\nwith a mysterious shadowy light, a kind of poetic atmosphere pervading\nthe deep gloom of the woods. I was not surprised when O\u2019Hara said:\n\n\u201cBegorra, pal, I wish that kiddie would keep away; he\u2019s like some little\nbeggar of a ghost hanging around. I\u2019m sure he\u2019ll bring us bad luck.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be a fool. How can a little child influence our ways or alter\nwhat must happen to-morrow?\u201d I replied, as the child noticed the angry\nlook in my comrade\u2019s eyes, and looked up to see if I too wanted him to\ngo away.\n\nI didn\u2019t send him away, though. To tell the truth, I came under the\nmystic spell of that weird child of the forest. Sometimes I\u2019d go out of\nearshot of all the world, accompanied by that mysterious little beggar,\nand, under the banyans by the lagoon, as fireflies danced in the\nbamboos, I\u2019d play the violin while he danced. Even the cockatoos, as\nthey cried out, \u201cKa ka\u2014ka to wooh! ka! ka! ka! to wooh!\u201d seemed to have\ncome under the influence of Soogy\u2019s songs. Somehow, the thought of the\nworld beyond the solitude of that forest seemed to fall away; I would\nhalf imagine that Soogy and I sat side by side in some mossy fairy-wood\nof a world far beyond the stars. We would seem to be two mighty\n_maestros_ of heathenland, both of us enthroned on the highest pinnacles\nof fame as I sat there, that weird little kiddie singing wondrous\nmelodies and dancing. It was nothing strange to me when the Old-Man-Frog\nlooked out of the moonlit marsh flowers in surprise, opened its\nweird-slit mouth, and chanted a wonderful accompaniment in perfect\n_tempo_ as Soogy danced. Then some strange thing with a green,\nsemi-human face would peep out of the _vatu_ weeds and clang its tiny\ncymbals.\n\nKnowing that the commonplace conception of reality does not exist at\nall, and that we mortals only see a nose, a mouth, a glance of the\neyes\u2014indeed, the Universe itself\u2014in the relation that it assumes by\ncontact with one\u2019s inner self, I felt no wonder as Soogy danced beneath\nthe moonlit palms, no Soogy at all, but a something weirdly beautiful\ndancing as I played the violin in the shadowland of my own mad eyes, a\n_something_ that looked to me like two fallen stars fixed in a wonderful\nlittle receptacle called a skull poised on swaying, dusky limbs, and\npossessing a sweet-voiced tongue.\n\nThe very forest trees became etherealized to my eyes as their big heads\nmoved and sighed to the soughing night winds, humming out half-forgotten\nmemories of cherished things. And when those old trees tenderly waved\ntheir arms over the weird child, then took partners, and commenced to\nwaltz slowly, I didn\u2019t wonder much; I still played on, wailing forth the\nmagical melodies that Soogy sang to my listening ears. It was clear\nenough that the child had never been taught dancing in any mortal\nschool, for, as his small limbs moved in rhythmical motion, they swerved\nnot one bit from the _tempo_ of the swaying forest flowers as the\nshifting fingers of the zephyrs tossed them gently one way, and then\nsoftly the other way. And my chagrin was complete when I realized that\nmy cultured ear served only to empower me with discernment enough to\nknow that, as a conductor of the most subtle movements in that great\norchestra of the forest-night and mighty, waltzing trees, I was simply\nnowhere where that conductor, an Old-Man-Frog, was concerned, as, with\nhis wonderful clappers going \u201cClick-er-tee-clack! currh! currh! clack-er\nto-clack,\u201d he got the most marvellous, subtle musical effects from that\nwonderful ensemble. The pathos of the tiny streamlet\u2019s voice as it\nhurried by us, then ran with fright under the forest trees and leapt\ninto the sea, convinced me that I was beautifully mad\u2014as mad as I am now\ndeadly sane. It may have been some inherited madness, or possibly Soogy\nhad some magnetic influence over me. I know not which it was. But I _do_\nknow that, sometimes when I lay half asleep under the ndrala trees of\nthe moonlit forest, he would sit singing wonderful songs for my\nhalf-sleeping ears\u2014songs that would seem to drift my life across into\nunremembered ages till I became one with the stars and the music of the\ninfinite. The very caves along the shore of my bedroom floor seemed to\nsing out some old sorrow as he came, night after night, creeping out of\nthe forest like some little phantom child, to make my mossy bed!\n\nSuch a one was Soogy. I never dreamed that such sorrow could come to one\nthrough knowing a little child\u2014sorrow that made my heart ache for many a\nday. The whole trouble came about through an old man suddenly arriving\nat the Organization just when O\u2019Hara and I had determined to get a ship\nand clear out for Nuka Hiva. We were both tired out, had been sauntering\nabout amongst the villages, and were glad enough to get back to the\nOrganization\u2019s hospitable roof; but, just as we were approaching the\ndoor, we heard a terrible row in progress. It appeared that someone had\nrobbed the aforesaid old man of his valuable pocketbook. There he stood,\nby the wide-open door, waving his hands in despair, shouting out:\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give a hundred pounds to the one who finds my pocketbook.\u201d\n\nHe was a strange-looking old fellow. He wore a clerical hat, a stiff,\nhigh collar, and grey side-whiskers; and he was purple to the forehead\nas he stood there just beneath the low-roof saloon, shouting:\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s my pocketbook?\u201d\n\nO\u2019Hara and I stared with astonishment to see that old gent, so\nfashionably attired, a bullet hole in his hat, standing up for himself,\ndefiantly facing the whole damned crew of sun-tanned, villainous-looking\nmen as they thrust their faces, chins, and fists out of the door, and\nlooked scornfully at the grand old man! Suddenly Tanner Bolt, who had\nhis nose missing and had a face like a diseased Chinaman, stepped\nforward and knocked the old fellow\u2019s hat off. O\u2019Hara and I, not liking\nsuch a cowardly act, immediately sided with the new-comer, who had\nsought protection from justice in that forest hermitage. Bones regarded\nO\u2019Hara and me rather fiercely for a moment, then, whipping his revolver\nout, turned to the men and roared:\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll shoot the first God-damned rogue who touches any of \u2019em.\u201d\n\nThen the hullabaloo subsided. After that O\u2019Hara and I made tracks\noutside, as G\u2014\u2014 went in to have his nap on the saloon settee. The old\ngent followed us outside.\n\n\u201cA lot of rogues and thieves, that\u2019s what they are,\u201d he almost squeaked,\nas he shook his fist at the half-hidden den, his false teeth dropping on\nthe sward, so violent was his rage as he shook from head to feet.\n\n\u201cDo you chaps belong to them?\u201d said he, as he surveyed us critically.\n\n\u201cNo, thank you!\u201d\n\nThe emphatic note of my reply seemed to change the old man\u2019s manner\nimmediately, and make him glad to give that confidence that so relieves\nmortals when they have the world against them.\n\n\u201cA man enticed me up here from S\u2014\u2014, telling me that I could wait here in\ncomfort till the \u2019Frisco boat arrived at S\u2014\u2014. I want to get to San\nFrancisco; got business there,\u201d he hurriedly added, as he readjusted his\npince-nez.\n\nIt was a bit of an effort for us to keep serious-looking and hide the\nfact that we well knew that \u2019Frisco was the much-sought high road to the\nNo-Extradition Ports.\n\n\u201cGet me out of this hole and I\u2019ll give you a present of fifty pounds,\u201d\nsaid the old fellow, as he gripped my hand and peered about in a\nneurotic manner.\n\nO\u2019Hara and I looked into one another\u2019s eyes. \u201cFifty pounds!\u201d I heard\nO\u2019Hara\u2019s soul gasp as mine re-echoed it. We had been on long voyages,\nworking like slaves for a mere pittance too!\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t say a word to anyone. I can get you away from here safely,\u201d said\nO\u2019Hara, giving him a quiet wink as Bones came out of the Organization\ndoor.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s yer d\u2014\u2014 pocketbook,\u201d said he, as he threw something in the\ndirection of the old gent.\n\nThat aged, fugitive bank-manager nearly fell forward on to his knees in\nthanksgiving when he opened the pocketbook and discovered his papers\nintact.\n\nAs Soogy came rushing out of the forest and commenced to gambol by us,\nBones called the old man, took him under the breadfruits, and whispered\nto him. We saw the old gent take Bones\u2019 hand impulsively in his own and\nvigorously shake it. Bones had some sense of honour, and I have no doubt\nthat he had told the new-comer that he would see that he was not\nmolested by the members of the shanty again.\n\nIt was wonderful how everything quieted down after that bit of\nexcitement. The old gent imbibed a considerable amount of whisky, told\nthe guilty men that he forgave them, shook their hands across the long\nbenchtable, and drank their health. The humour of it all even struck\nthose seasoned criminals. I saw them grin from ear to ear. It was a\nsight to see those rows of fierce, bearded faces as they sat there, clad\nin their red shirts and belted pants, the whole scene dimly lit up by\nthe swinging candles that hung in the empty gin bottles just overhead,\nevery sinful eye alert as the old man shook his finger.\n\nThat old gent\u2019s main weakness was whisky and rum. Most probably it was\nthe main cause of his taking the desperate chance that brought him as a\nfugitive from justice across the seas. He sang a song to those rough\nmen; his voice was strangely mellow and sweet, becoming pathetic as the\nfumes got thicker in his sinful head\u2014who knows what thoughts flashed\nthrough his drunken dreams?\n\nTanner Bolt, Lively Humper, and Jimmy Scratch played their mouth-organs\nand banjos as the wild chorus of those men shook the shanty. Then Soogy\ncame in and did a dance on the table. I noticed that even those drunken\nmen seemed to come under the spell of that kid\u2019s song and dance. As for\nthe old gent, he kept taking out his watch, keying it up, and staring\nwith his mouth open as he watched the child\u2019s bright eyes and his\nwonderful dancing. I think the old man was trying to recall his senses,\nwondering who he was, what he was doing there with those wild-looking\nmen as they encored that mysterious child. Then his besotted head fell\nforward and he dropped off asleep. And when I think of all that happened\nthrough him, how the innocent were punished for the sins of the guilty,\nI wish that he had never awakened again. But there, I mustn\u2019t be too\nhard on him; he never made himself, and he suffered too.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                       CHAPTER XVIII. RETROSPECT\n\n        The Modern Old Man of the Sea\u2014Fifty Pounds!\u2014A Human\n        Octopus\u2014Adrift at Sea\u2014Sorrow\u2014Saved\u2014In Tonga\u2014Our Old\n        Man\u2019s last Hiding-place\u2014Retrospect.\n\n\nTHE perspective of things as seen after a lapse of years seems gifted\nwith a visionary light that has no relation to the normal outlook of the\nintellect. The most commonplace objects and incidents, when seen and\nthought over in the pale light of memory, become tinged with that\nindefinable glamour, that something which men call poetry. A wind-blown\nship far at sea with trailing spars and torn sails beating its way into\nthe sunset; a bird travelling silently across a foreign tropic sky; a\nwild girl singing by a lagoon; a dead tree tossing its arms on a windy\nhill; an old gentleman with a little clerical hat bashed over his eyes;\nthe remembrance of a tiny, golden-eyed girl, with a bit of blue ribbon\nin her hair as she sprang into your farewell arms when you said good-bye\nand went off, a boy, on your first voyage to sea\u2014I say, all these things\nseem to be the landmarks, the promontories of the shores one has hugged\nas one sailed across the wild seas of life.\n\nAnd, in looking back, that old gent of the South Sea Organization seems\nto stand out, not so much as a wicked, eccentric individual, as he does\nof a type that represents nine-tenths of the men whom one is doomed to\nknock up against in one\u2019s pilgrimage along this shore of hope and sudden\nchills, wrecks, and buffeted dreams.\n\nI know that that old man came to us in the guise of a benefactor who\nwould bestow wealth on O\u2019Hara and on me, whereas he turned out to be a\nNemesis wrapt up in the vilest disguise, a Nemesis who seemed to take\nsome vindictive delight in the frailties of youth, and was guilty of\nunwarrantable cruelty to a child\u2019s innocence. I have sometimes thought\nthat neither he, nor the Organization itself, ever existed in this world\nas men know things to exist; that I once lived in a phantasmagorial\nworld of ghostly sunlight and shadow that was haunted by an aged man who\nwore side-whiskers, clung to my back like an Old Man of the Sea, and\nsuccessfully throttled my faith in supreme goodness. It was our lack of\nfunds and the old man\u2019s abundant wealth that brought the whole business\nabout. And, though I know that the lack of funds on the one side and an\nabundance of funds on the other side has brought about the direst\ndisasters beneath the sun, still, I feel that the sorrow that came to us\nthrough that old fellow is worth recording.\n\nI think it was the very next day that O\u2019Hara and I saw our chance of\nluring the old gentleman away from the Organization to see if he was\nreally in earnest about that fifty pounds he said he would give to the\nfirst one who got him safely away. In the little that we had seen of him\nwe observed that he was weak where native girls and dancing-women were\nconcerned. When O\u2019Hara had acquainted him with the fact that there was a\ngreat tribal-dance on down in the village of Takarora, that the chiefs\nwere going to pow-wow and the _meke-girls_ eat fire and dance, he took\nhold of our hands, and begged us to take him to see the sight.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve read a bit about these people in books, but, dear boys, I\u2019d really\nlike to see the grandeur of primitive life in the natural state.\u201d So\nspake that old man. Then off we went, with the old gent in our company,\ndown the forest track.\n\n\u201cI never _did_ see a place like this,\u201d said O\u2019Hara, as we both gave a\nstartled jump\u2014two dusky, faun-like creatures had suddenly peered through\nthe tasi-ferns and exotic convolvulus festoons, and, seeing our white\nfaces, had given a scream and sped off to their homestead in the pagan\nvillage. The old gentleman placed his hand on his heart, took a swill\nfrom his brandy-flask, and said it was enough to give one syncope to\nlive in such a blasted heathenland. Then he reshaped his clerical hat,\nthat had been bashed in by a banyan bough, and once more followed us\nthrough the interminable growth of camphor, sage-palm, and all that\nmysterious assemblage of twisting trunks and vines that nature fashions\nwhere the sunlight burns with fiery heat.\n\nWhen we got to the native village the girls, clad in decorative\nfestival costume, were dancing away in full swing. On the\nforum-lecture-stump that faced the village green stood some pagan\nphilosopher, spouting for all he was worth about the new edict passed\nby the missionaries\u2014prohibition of rum-selling on Sundays.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he saying, Soogy?\u201d said I, as that haunting kiddie rushed up to\nus, for we never could get rid of him. Then Soogy told me, in pigeon\nEnglish, that the old pagan chief was shouting:\n\n\u201cDown with the brown man\u2019s burden! Down with the cursed white man\nwrapped in clothes!\u201d\n\nI must admit he looked a nasty old heathen as he put forth his dark\nchin, lifted his face to the forest roof, and called on the old heathen\ngods to hear the prayers of their faithful child. When he had finished\nhe took a huge nip from the kava calabash, and the native girls\ncommenced to give a fascinating two-step whilst the next chief oiled his\nhair and prepared for a speech.\n\n\u201cNow\u2019s your chance!\u201d said I to O\u2019Hara, for the old gentleman seemed in\nthe most convivial of moods as he stared at the dancing maids. I confess\nthat I was not good at giving a hint to a man who had promised fifty\npounds if a certain thing was done for him and had apparently forgotten\nall about his promise. As O\u2019Hara sidled up to the old gentleman\u2019s side,\nI remained within comfortable earshot.\n\n\u201cHard times these,\u201d said my pal, as he looked first towards the old man\nand then towards the dancers. Still the old fellow stared in a vacant\nway, fingered and readjusted his pince-nez as the stout chiefess did a\nmost peculiar somersault while performing the heathen tango. O\u2019Hara got\ndesperate; it got on his mettle to be ignored like that. He sidled up a\nlittle closer to the old man, and I distinctly heard him say, as he\nstared in an absentminded way in front of himself: \u201cHard times these;\nwish there was a chance of getting fifty pounds, somehow!\u201d\n\nIt wanted some pluck to give a hint like that, I can tell you. The old\nfellow had a freezing way with him too. Polish does hang on one when one\nis born where the missing bank-managers hail from. Yet O\u2019Hara did the\ntrick; for the old fellow stared on for a long time as though he\u2019d not\nheard a word, then he turned quietly to my comrade and said: \u201cI suppose\nyou really could get me safely away to Lakemba, so that I could catch\nthe next boat?\u201d\n\nO\u2019Hara at once unfolded part of his scheme to the old chap, who seemed\nmighty pleased at the way O\u2019Hara presented the matter to him. The scheme\nwas that we should hire one of the large, full outrigger-canoes from the\nnatives, and paddle the old man across the mile or so of ocean that\nseparated us from Lakemba. We happened to know that at Lakemba there was\na schooner due to sail for Honolulu, and the old fellow knew as well as\nwe that it was an easy matter to get a boat from Honolulu to San\nFrancisco. So the matter was arranged.\n\nThen O\u2019Hara went off to the shore village, made all his plans, hired a\nlarge outrigger-canoe that could hold twenty warriors, and decided that\nat the first opportunity we should clear out with the old man, for we\nthought that we could kill two birds with one stone and get away to\nHonolulu in the same schooner. But since man proposes and God disposes,\nnothing came off as arranged, excepting that we did succeed in getting\naway from that place. The old man seemed as pleased as Punch after that\nscheme had been so rosily presented to him. When we got back to the\nshanty we discovered that the old gentleman had presented each member\nwith a five-pound note, and that they were all drinking his health from\nthe large barrel of rum he had specially purchased for them. They all\nput out their horny hands and one after the other gripped his hand,\nlooking quite affected as he called them \u201cMy dear sons,\u201d and ordered the\nnative girls to serve out the rum. I saw his old eyes shine as he looked\ninto their wicked faces. They were not all villainous-looking; some were\nas honest as the sunlight, were castaway sailormen, or traders who had\narrived at that Organization as _bona fide_ travellers who would rest\nthere a while.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nA special concert was given on the old chap\u2019s behalf that night. The\nnative women from Tambu-tambu came in and danced on the saloon\n_pae-pae_. Oaths and wild reminiscences were in full swing. The old\ngentleman became loquacious, sat with lifted finger telling Billy Bode a\nnaughty story, and everyone listened with deep respect. For those wild\nmen instinctively felt that the old fellow was an _oasis_ in the desert\nfor them. He had promised them twenty pounds apiece and another barrel\nof the best rum ere he left the Organization\u2019s roof, consequently his\ninterest and safety were _their_ interest and safety, and when suddenly\na tremendous crash came at the Organization\u2019s front door, they rose _en\nmasse_! In a flash they saw the promised rum and \u201ctwenty pounds apiece\u201d\nin danger. In a moment they were on the defensive. Piff! the packs of\nhalf-shuffled cards dropped on the table bench; puff! went forty bearded\nlips, and out went forty tallow candles\u2014candles that were suspended from\nthe low roof in gin bottles. That old gent must have thought a human\noctopus with ten thousand arms and legs had seized him! Every \u201cman jack\u201d\nof them had made a grab at him in the darkness\u2014crash! down went the vast\nlid of the emergency barrel; they had lifted him bodily to the roof, and\nthen, with a mighty thrust, so that he was sure to fit in (for he was\nstout) they had crashed him into that gigantic tub!\n\nSomeone opened the door and let the moonlight in. It gleamed across the\nstubbily whiskered, wild-looking faces of the men of the shanty, faces\nflushed with drink and the thought that the prisoner in the tub, who had\npromised such wealth, might be seized and taken down to Suva in chains!\nIt seemed that fate stared with determined eyes when those scarred faces\nlooked on the new-comers, who stood like shadows at the doorway. There\nwas no doubt about it; they were men-hunters! Then there was a lot of\nbustling and whispering, fearful efforts, and big bribes were promised\nto allay suspicion, as eight of the stoutest Organization members sat on\nthe lid of the tub, grim determination on their faces, a resolve in\ntheir eyes to sell their lives dearly ere they gave up that mighty hope\nwith side-whiskers and such promises!\n\nWhen those surveillants went away, quite convinced that they were on the\nwrong track, the whole shanty\u2019s crew breathed a sigh of relief. It\nsounded as though a young hurricane slept there, and had stirred in its\nsleep as a score of \u201cPhews!\u201d of delighted relief went across the hot,\nrum-smelling compartment, as one by one the candles were relit. Swiftly\ntaking the lid off the emergency barrel, they dragged forth the old\ngentleman. Their hearts were touched by the sight they beheld. His eyes\nrolled, his clerical hat looked like a broken pancake stuck on his head,\nit was smashed flat through the sudden uncalculated fall of the heavy\nlid in the darkness.\n\n\u201cWhat was that?\u201d he wailed, as he recovered consciousness, and the light\nof reason flickered across the pupils of his sunken eyes.\n\n\u201cNothing much,\u201d said someone soothingly, as they pushed his smashed hat\ninto shape. It was like attempting to stand a corpse on its feet, ere\n_rigor mortis_ had set in, when they tried to stand him up.\n\n\u201cBlimey! he\u2019s a-going, blest if \u2019e ain\u2019t,\u201d said one. Then they poured\nsome rum down his throat.\n\nRum seemed to have its virtues, for the old man made a wonderful\nrecovery after the dose was poured down his throat. Half an hour\nafterwards he was singing \u201cLittle Annie Rooney\u2019s my sweetheart,\u201d and\ntelling jokes. Then he sang again till his voice got wheezy, telling\ntales as he banged his fist on the bench, and nudged the men in the\nribs, while they roared with laughter! Still he drank on. \u201cRum! Rum!\u201d\nshouted he. Then he stood up on the bench and danced with a stout native\nwoman from Tambu-tambu village. The delight of the women and the shanty\nmembers was such that they nearly raised the roof with their wild\nencores and shouts. He did a two-step dance! He mimicked the\nindescribable barbarian contortions of that native woman\u2019s monstrous\nantics! He smacked her bare arms, pinched her tawny flesh, winked like\nan old _rou\u00e9_, showing conclusively what manner of man he really was.\nThe native children peeped through the shanty doorway, and when they\nobserved that fashionable old gentleman dancing away with a woman of\ntheir own land, they shrieked with delight. The atmosphere of the Stone\nAge seemed to hang about the old man as the derelicts around him cheered\nevery \u201cturn\u201d he gave, as he repeatedly recaught each \u201cfine careless\nrapture\u201d!\n\nThen the hubbub subsided, and one by one the drunken audience fell\nasleep. Old Tideman, who was a crank on astronomy, crept outside with\nhis telescope to look at the stars. The wide-open door revealed the\nmoonlit palms just outside and the few straggling figures of sulu-clad\nnatives who had crept from afar to listen to the songs of the wild white\nmen! The last that was seen of the old man that night was when he went\noff down the track, his little clerical hat bashed over his eyes, his\narms waving as he tried to make his companion understand how he admired\nher frizzly mop hair and lustrous eyes. For it was the fat native woman\nwith whom he had danced a Fijian jig on the bench table! O\u2019Hara grinned\nwhen he met the old gent in the morning. He responded by giving him a\nfreezing stare, as though he hardly knew him! He looked quite pious, as\nthough he only indulged in plain milk diet and studied ecclesiastical\nproblems. He looked bad though; one can\u2019t bribe the liver and make its\noverflow look blushing and rosy red when it\u2019s really a bilious green!\nThe night of debauchery had aged him considerably. His hands shook; he\ndidn\u2019t know which way to go. First he picked a flower, chewed it, then\nwiped his mouth and his clammy forehead. O\u2019Hara went straight into\nbusiness then, and said:\n\n\u201cI\u2019m clearing out to-day. I\u2019ve hired a fine outrigger-canoe that\u2019s big\nenough to hold twenty.\u201d Then he looked square into the aged fugitive\u2019s\nface, and asked him if he was coming along with us.\n\nHe was as pleased to get away from that place as we were, that was very\nevident, for he decided to go away with O\u2019Hara and myself at once. There\nwas no need for secrecy, the shanty was quiet as the grave; for the\nsleeping reprobates were making up by day for sleep lost through the\nnight. Only the forest banyans sighed as we three crept away into the\nshadows, and then even the wail of the derelict captain\u2019s concertina\nfaded away as we plunged into the dense wood. When we arrived at the\nnative village we found, to our disgust, that the man who had promised\nto lend us the canoe was out fishing in it.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no good getting ratty, guv\u2019nor,\u201d said O\u2019Hara, as the old fellow\nbegan to swear, and said he\u2019d go back to the Organization. We breathed a\nsigh of relief when the native boat-owner at length returned. In a\nmoment we were off, bound for the shore. The old man dropped his\nwalking-stick in his hurry; we were all anxious to get away. As we went\ndown the long grove of feathery palms and giant breadfruits the stars\nwere shining over the sea. We could feel the cool drifts of wind coming\nin as they stirred the wild odours of half-dead forest flowers and\ndecaying pineapples. As we tramped down the soft shore-track we saw the\nfireflies dancing in the bamboos that grew high up on the edge of the\nrocky slope above us, far ahead. It seemed as though we were looking\nthrough a telescope and could see myriads of tiny worlds sparkling and\ndancing far away in infinite space.\n\nWhen we arrived down by the big shore lagoon, there lay the large\noutrigger, floating on the still water, just as the native told us it\nwould be. He trusted us. For were we not \u201cnoble Papalagis\u201d?\n\nNot a soul was in sight as we stepped into that strange craft. In a\nminute or two we had pushed off into the deeper water. We were both dab\nhands at paddling. The scene looked like some picture of enchantment,\nsome picturesque landscape out of an Arabian Nights\u2019 entertainment. Only\nthe dipping of the paddles which rippled the glassy oil-painting-like\nstillness of the creek\u2019s water gave a certain reality to the mystic\nscene. The old man might have been some weird old \u201cPasha of many tales\u201d\nstarting off on a voyage into fairy-land with a clerical hat on. It was\nonly the swelling on the side of his head where he had been thrust into\nthe emergency barrel that reminded one of gross, mundane things.\n\nIt was a terrifically hot night. The sea just outside was perfectly calm\nand wonderfully bright. On the horizon shone the large, low, yellow\nmoon, bringing into relief the wild inland shores, gullies, buttressed\nbanyans, and belts of mangroves that grew down to the ocean\u2019s edge.\n\nThe moon looked like some far-off, phantom tunnel-way as the ornamental\nprow of our canoe turned and glided silently, making straight for its\nghostly rim, due south. The old fellow\u2019s face was turned towards its\nmagnificent mystery; O\u2019Hara sat in the centre of the canoe, and I aft.\nWe were not more than twenty yards from the shore then. It really _did_\nlook as though we were paddling away from some enchanted isle; only the\ncry of some strange night-bird and the leap of a tidal wave over the\nreefs, as it splashed into the lagoon\u2019s still water, made a feeble,\nghost-like noise.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s quite safe, fellows, I suppose?\u201d queried the old man, as he looked\nanxiously about him.\n\n\u201cSafe as houses,\u201d O\u2019Hara replied. Then he said, \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d\n\nWe all looked shoreward. Out by the edge of the promontory we distinctly\nsaw a tiny phosphorescent splash as though some strange animal had\ndarted from the forest and dived into the deep water.\n\nWe still watched, then we distinctly saw shivering lines of silver\nripples stealing towards us, coming fast, trembling and spreading\nswiftly on the ocean\u2019s perfectly calm, moonlit surface.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s something big swimming under the water. Begorra! a shark coming\nfor us!\u201d said O\u2019Hara. The old gent shot up on his feet with fright and\nnearly upset the canoe! I think my comrade and I looked a bit palish as\nthe uncanniness of that movement of the unseen came straight for us.\n\u201cWish I\u2019d brought a revolver. By St. Patrick! who\u2019d \u2019ave thought things\nwas a-going to swim after us under the blasted water?\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep still; don\u2019t move!\u201d said I, my heart in my mouth, for the ripples\nwere within thirty yards of our canoe, and still no sign whatever of the\ncause of that mysterious movement beneath the water.\n\nThen we stared as though we\u2019d sighted a ghost; up poked a tiny curly\nhead, two bright, beautiful eyes were staring reproachfully at me!\n\n\u201cGood Lord!\u201d I gasped; \u201cit\u2019s Soogy!\u201d\n\nWe pulled him into the canoe. O\u2019Hara used an awful swear word, said\nunprintable things. As for me, I felt some strange, haunting kind of a\nfear come over me as the child sat there.\n\n\u201cYou go tryer and getter away from your little Soogy?\u201d said that weird\nchild.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said I, shaking my head, feeling guilty as I replied, \u201cNo, Soogy,\u201d\nhalf apologetically! Then I said: \u201cWe were coming back to-morrow\nmorning. How on earth did you know we were out here in a canoe?\u201d\n\nThe little fellow\u2019s eyes brightened; he simply looked at me earnestly\nfor a while, then said:\n\n\u201cI knower all \u2019bout you! The wind blow in cave by sea and tell me all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m blithered and damned if that kid won\u2019t bring us bad luck,\u201d\nsaid O\u2019Hara.\n\nSoogy had calmly got to the rear of the canoe, had taken the\nsteering-rod, and had started to guide us with the splendid precision of\na native child. The prow was toward the south, bound for the isle of\nLakemba.\n\n\u201cI suppose you know your way?\u201d suddenly said the old gentleman, as he\nleaned forward, struck a match, and lit a cigar.\n\nO\u2019Hara never answered, simply looked contemptuously at the\nwhite-whiskered face as the mouth sent up curling whiffs of blue smoke\ninto the clear moonlit air. We were out in the deep ocean by then,\npaddling for all we were worth. The distance by night took one quite out\nof sight of land; even by daylight the nearest shore-line in the\nfarthest distance looked like a blue blotch on the horizon.\n\nI think we had been paddling about an hour when the moon suddenly went\nout and seemed to leave a puff of bright smoke behind\u2014it had gone behind\na cloud.\n\n\u201cThat was sudden-like!\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\nIt was a puff of wind; it blew the old gentleman\u2019s hat off.\n\n\u201cHope it\u2019s not going to blow,\u201d was my mental comment, as once again a\nbreath came down from the sky and stirred the glassy surface. The old\nfellow saw the look in our eyes, and, guessing that things were not as\nwell as they could be, said: \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me we had to go out of\nsight of land? I\u2019d never have risked this; I wouldn\u2019t\u2014I wouldn\u2019t,\u201d he\nmuttered to himself. Then without further warning it came\u2014crash! a\ntyphoon was on us. The first blast nearly blew the outrigger out of the\nwater. The only reason that it didn\u2019t turn turtle was that the outrigger\ncontrivance had been constructed by the superior savage intellect. It\nseemed that the bright worlds of stars and sea had been sponged off the\nmap of existence, as we clung to each other, and the mountainous seas\nheaved their backs and began to roar like thunder around us. The old\nfellow had lost his nerve, he wept and implored us to save him; but\nO\u2019Hara and I were very busy saving ourselves in that chaos of dark and\nwind and ramping seas.\n\nSoogy was there all right, I felt his hand clinging to my leg.\n\n\u201cKeep still! For God\u2019s sake, don\u2019t move!\u201d we both cried, as the old man\ncame to our end of the canoe, nearly upsetting our planet, for such that\ncraft was to us. Soogy had taken a paddle to help O\u2019Hara and so keep her\nhead on to the tremendous seas, but it was no use; she slewed round and\nwent broadside on, and so the seas swamped us. But still we did not\nsink. Those stout bamboo poles kept the craft buoyant and steady as\ncompared to what would have happened had they not been there. For Soogy\nwas sitting on the dancing outrigger, balancing it as the big seas came\non and tried in vain to turn us upside down! Ah, he was a plucky little\nbeggar, quite devoid of fear. We three men simply gave up the ghost so\nfar as making intelligent efforts to save ourselves were concerned.\nO\u2019Hara clung to me, I clung to O\u2019Hara, and the old fellow clung to us\nboth. The hot, terrific wind hissed, shrieked over us as we felt the\ncanoe go up\u2014up! on the mountainous seas, then down\u2014down! into the\nterrible thundering valleys as the angry waters fell. Then once again we\nwere climbing the travelling hills that were drifting us away far out\ninto the vast solitude of the Pacific Ocean!\n\nIt seemed as if that dark and roaring wind hung over our heads for\ninfinite ages. How we clung to that outrigger and were not washed away\nis a mystery that is connected with Providence and that word\n\u201cinscrutable.\u201d When dawn at length brightened all the east, I lifted my\nhead half fearfully. Soogy was huddled beside me, O\u2019Hara on the other\nside, so tight that we were wedged in. The old gentleman had managed to\nfix his head and neck under the forward canoe-seat in such a way that he\nhad become a part of the canoe itself! His bald head, through sea-water\nrepeatedly washing over it, had become quite bluish-looking. By some\nmiracle his clerical-shaped hat still lay just beside him. When O\u2019Hara\nsoftly pulled his coat to see if he was still alive, he half opened his\neyes and rolled them in a pathetic way. The fact that he still lived\nrelieved our loneliness. The wind had ceased, but the swell remained,\nhuge rolling hills of glassy water rising and travelling at about four\nknots an hour. We immediately commenced to bale out the canoe, using a\ncalabash and a tin which we discovered beneath the seat. Soogy and the\nold man helped O\u2019Hara and myself in this task. We all felt deeply\nthankful when the sun burst out over the great waste in all its tropical\nvigour. Soogy began to sing, and cheered us up. None of us seemed to\nrealize the true state of affairs, that we were out of sight of land,\nwere castaways on the Pacific, our paddles gone, and only about two\npints of water in a rusty tin can!\n\nThe hot sunlight soon dried our soaked clothing.\n\nThe old fugitive became transformed. The erstwhile freezing look in his\neyes had gone, and was replaced by a gleam of friendly appeal to us! It\nwas quite evident that he saw things as they were, and had admitted\nO\u2019Hara and myself into his social circle, so to speak. He gave us\ncigars. To our relief he discovered some matches in his breast pocket;\nthey were damp, but we placed them on the rim of his clerical hat and\nthey soon dried in the hot sunlight. That hat had gone through\nsomething! To this day I cannot look at a clerical hat without thinking\nof typhoons and tropic skies shining over wastes of water surrounded by\nillimitable skylines.\n\nWe commenced carefully, and drank a very small drop of water each. We\nmade several attempts to make paddles out of the spare calabash and the\nslit wood of a canoe seat, but it was no good. We were drifting at about\nfour knots an hour to the north-east.\n\nAs the hours went by we began to realize our position. And yet, somehow,\nit seemed incredible that we should be cast away on those lonely waters\nso easily.\n\n\u201cA ship is sure to pass us soon,\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\n\u201cOf course it is,\u201d I replied, as our aged companion put his hand to his\nbrow and repeatedly scanned the horizon. I even laughed, and so did\nO\u2019Hara, and I thought of my old sea-adventure books, and felt quite a\nromantic hero of the tropic seas. But I soon began to feel very\nunheroic, and felt inclined to laugh on \u201cthe other side of my mouth,\u201d as\nthey say. It was the coming of night that made the romantic novelty wear\noff. There\u2019s nothing in the world like the shadows of night coming over\nthe heads of castaways to make them sadly _realize_, so I should think.\nReality came down on us like a huge, Fate-like hand, and seemed to\ncrush, smash us as though we were bedraggled flies on a mighty\nwindow-pane!\n\nNight was a nightmare with a myriad starry eyes. Thirst had us in its\ngrip, but we dare not drink the tiny drop of water that remained in the\ncan. I fell asleep for five minutes, but only managed to fall off into\nsome gulf of misery that was mixed up with the horror of death and\ncastaway canoes. Then O\u2019Hara and I sat up and started to sing a\nsea-chanty, to cheer up the old gentleman and little Soogy. But, withal,\nSoogy was plucky enough. As for the aged fugitive, he started to carry\non in a terrible way, and kept crying out: \u201cLost at sea in a boat! Lost\nat sea in a boat!\u201d Then he got sleepy and mumbled it out in a pathetic,\nfar-away tone, and got on our nerves more than I can express in cold\nwords.\n\nI once fancied that I saw the light of a passing vessel, but it soon\ndied away, whatever it was.\n\n\u201cMay the Holy Virgin protect us all!\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\nThen dawn came. Soogy stopped singing songs. The sight of the child\u2019s\nbright, fevered eyes and parched lips unnerved us. O\u2019Hara did the worst\nthing he could do, gave the child a tiny drop of spirit as he lay\nmoaning out on the twisted bamboo grating of the outrigger. Soogy tried\nhard to buck up, but his small frame hadn\u2019t the lasting power that our\nlarger frames possessed. At the end of the second day, as near as I can\nremember, we realized our position, and knew that we were floating on\nthe very edge of eternity. The old man became quite brave. His eyes lost\nall the old cunning and craft that I had so particularly observed in\nthem. Even then, my numbed senses seemed to realize that it was only the\nworldly world that makes men bad, the earthly values of things inspiring\nthem with greed till their darker passions overgrow their better\nqualities as weeds overgrow and strangle flowers.\n\nWe shared out the last drop of water. The old gentleman gave Soogy a\npart of his share, and we did likewise. O\u2019Hara became quite religious,\nin the true sense of that much misused word. Through the whole day and\nnight we never ceased lifting our weary heads to stare on the skyline.\nBut no vessel passed. The old man placed his large red handkerchief over\nSoogy. It was a terrible sight, as Soogy\u2019s hands tossed, to see the\nblisters on the little arms. But it was no use waving to the hot tropic\nsun as it shone up there in the cloudless sky.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re done for,\u201d said O\u2019Hara; then he, too, lay down again, and seemed\nto grow careless as to whatever might happen.\n\nThat night Soogy revived in a wonderful way. I was lying in a\nsemi-conscious state when I felt someone gently touch my arm.\n\n\u201cYou sorry for Soogy?\u201d said a far-away-sounding voice. The child was\nstaring in my eyes in a strange, quiet way.\n\n\u201cPerhaps I\u2019m dreaming,\u201d I thought, as a great sense of the unreal came\nover me. My heart began to thump and my senses to whirl and swim. O\u2019Hara\nand the old man were lying just beside us, perfectly quiet, as though\ndead. I stared into the eyes of the wistful little face.\n\n\u201cIs it you, Soogy?\u201d I said in a hushed voice, as I lifted my aching\nhead. \u201cDear God!\u201d I muttered, as I realized something for the first\ntime, while the child\u2019s eyes stared into my own. I felt that I had never\nseen such soft, beautiful eyes before. Floating there, under the stars\nof the tropic seas, nothing seemed too strange or wonderful to occur. A\nterrible sorrow possessed me as I touched the soft, tiny hand, and\npressed my lips to those pleading lips! For a little while, that seemed\nlike a thousand years, Soogy huddled beneath the folds of my coat.\n\n\u201cYou come to me if I die, come to heathenland?\u201d Such was what a faint\nvoice, like far-off music, whispered in my ears. I cannot say one word\nof all that I whispered into the child\u2019s ear. I said mad things, I know.\n\n\u201cI happy now, Papalagi,\u201d whispered that faint, strange voice.\n\nAt daybreak Soogy died.\n\nO\u2019Hara laid the silent form out on the edge of the outrigger\u2019s grating.\nAll that day O\u2019Hara and I kept our backs turned towards that silent\nform, lying there, face downwards. I told O\u2019Hara to lay Soogy like that.\nI couldn\u2019t stand seeing those earnest eyes staring all night up at the\nmerciless infinity of stars.\n\nThe old fugitive became insane. We only saw his head move; he had\ncovered it over with a bit of sacking to keep the sun\u2019s rays off.\n\n\u201cForgive me, Cissie\u2014forgive me, Cissie; keep the keys\u2014keep the keys,\u201d he\nkept saying over and over again in his delirium. The sky was no longer a\nsky to me, it was a monstrous slab lying over a mighty vault wherein the\ndead still breathed as they floated and tossed their arms in agony on\nillimitable waters.\n\nSoogy\u2019s death seemed to revive O\u2019Hara and me; yet we said very little to\neach other. It was a world of dreams that we stared in, some\nphantasmagorial existence where only death whispered as the outrigger\nplopped in the star-mirroring deep around us. O\u2019Hara was no longer my\npal in sorrow; we had become rivals in some terrible struggle of\nwill-power. The energy of the whole universe seemed to be wholly\nconcentrated on one vital move on the tremendous chess-board of that\nphantasmal world of water whereon we drifted. O\u2019Hara and I were the\nsorrowing slaves of Fate; nothing else existed, only he and I and the\ndreadful thought as to which one of us must put forth our hand and make\nthat terrible move. It was inevitable that one of us must do it, for on\nthose tropic seas there was no other way than to crawl out on the\noutrigger and push that small dead form into the vast depths that moved\naround us. The tropic moon loomed on the horizon. It might have been the\nuprising sun, for all I knew, in that world of horror that I had been\nplunged into. I looked over the canoe\u2019s side and gazed into the glassy\ndepths. I saw a great shark gliding along under the surface. It seemed\nnatural that it should be there, waiting for us. I gazed in a languid,\ninterested way as that cannibal of the deep turned softly over on its\nback and revealed its shining belly. Its cruel, monstrous mouth looked\nlike some materialized jaw of pallid hate as it softly snapped at my\nshadow that lay in the moonlit deep, and severed it in two! Then O\u2019Hara\ndissolved into some cobweb-like substance and was blown away on the puff\nof wind that crept across the hot seas.\n\nDawn came like a mighty torrent of silver and swept across the silent\nworld of waters. I felt that I was floating across shadow-seas. For a\nlittle while I heard a faint moaning and felt cool sea-water slashing\nover me. I tried to move, but something held my feet down in a merciless\ngrip. It was all the more terrible because I realized in some mysterious\nway that I was far at sea on that castaway canoe. The fact was, that a\nbreeze had sprung up and the canoe was being tossed wildly to and fro.\nWhy none of us was thrown out is a mystery. Anyhow, the blow was of\nshort duration, for I suddenly lifted my head, and saw O\u2019Hara and the\nold gentleman lying perfectly still beside me. Then the world seemed to\nchange again: night fell over the sea. Again I watched that silent form\nlying out on the grating. Again the dawn sent grey wings along the\neastern horizon. It was then that I became strangely calm, and, terrible\nas the sight was, as that child lay dead on the grating of the canoe, I\nsmiled and looked upon it all as the most commonplace of experiences.\n\n\u201cGood-bye, Soogy,\u201d I said, then I gently pushed the small figure from\nthe bamboo-outrigger. Some terrible spell of curiosity gripped me. I\nstared down into the water in wistful fascination, as, leaning over, I\nwatched the spot where the ripples spread, where the small form had gone\ndown, down into the clear, still ocean depth at dawn. I could still\ndistinctly see Soogy sinking down into the grave! It looked like the\nfigure of some tiny child imaged in some vast crystal mirror as down,\ndown it went. Only the mournful cry of a solitary sea-bird, as it passed\nacross the sky and sent a shadow over that wandering grave, broke the\nstillness. Then I saw the figure begin to sway rhythmically to some deep\nocean current. Presently it looked no bigger than a penny\nterra-cotta-coloured doll.\n\nAh, I had hoped to find that it was all a dream as I still watched,\nrubbed my eyes, and hoped with a terrible hope. I well knew, as that\ntiny remnant of mortality faded from sight, that I was living in some\nterrible sorrow of reality. I thought of those forest dances away in\nFiji, of the weird, tender glances of those deep, golden-iris eyes, when\nSoogy crept out of the forest palms to make my bed. I remembered the\nsweet, weird song the heathen child had sung to me, and how the\nwitch-like little singer had stared across the camp-fire till I had felt\nsome strange fright! But the mystery of it all had vanished, for, on the\nsecond night after the storm, O\u2019Hara and I had discovered the\ntruth\u2014Soogy was no boy at all, but a half-caste Polynesian girl!\n\nA great silence seemed to come over the world after Soogy sank from\nsight. And then my dreams were broken, and I fancied I could hear the\nbreakers beating against eternity. Someone touched me softly on the\nbrow, and a voice said:\n\n\u201cTry and stand on your feet; we\u2019re saved, pal.\u201d\n\nI half realized something, and sat up. I looked immediately to the\nsouthward and saw the eternal wastes of sea-skyline, then I glanced\nround and noticed that our canoe was tossing about on a heavy swell just\noff a rocky coast. We were so near the reefs that I could head the\nsoughing of the wind along the bending tracts of shore palms (it turned\nout to be the Tonga Islands). O\u2019Hara was sitting on the bamboo grating\nof the canoe\u2019s outrigger. His face appeared extremely thin and was\nghastly pale. The aged fugitive sat huddled by the prow, his battered\nclerical hat held in his trembling hand, his chin on his chest, a wild\nlook in his eyes. They both looked like emaciated phantom-figures, quite\nunreal. Only at that moment in my life did I realize in a flash how we\nmortals are but shadows moving through some dream that divides our\nexistence from the boundless reality of the great shadowland. True\nenough, too, I had awakened from a terrible reality into a darker dream.\n\n\u201cThe child\u2019s gone!\u201d said O\u2019Hara.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d I muttered in a vacant way before I realized the truth. Then,\nin the terror of dawning realization, I gasped out, \u201cWhere\u2019s Soogy?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe must have been washed away by the squall last night,\u201d said O\u2019Hara,\nand his voice was as gentle as a girl\u2019s.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter that tragical experience we were taken in by the missionaries at\nTonga and treated with the kindness that is always shown to shipwrecked\nmen wherever they may go. We soon recovered physically from the\nbuffeting of our castaway voyage. I know that in the comfort of life\nunder secure conditions in Tonga, the old gentleman\u2019s freezing look\nalmost came back to his little blue eyes; but when he discovered that I\nwas a professional violinist as well as a vagabond troubadour, his\nmanner became almost polite. This deeply-rooted conventional attribute\nof the old man\u2019s was the more noticeable when I secured a position at\nNukualofa as Court violinist to King George of Tonga,[8] also a\nmunificent salary that was considerably augmented by gifts from the head\nmissionaries, who willingly paid me for my solos at the mission-room\nconcerts. My Irish comrade could hardly believe his eyes when I stood on\nthe primitive platforms of the native villages and became an\nenthusiastic appealer to the souls of the pagan Tongans. I recall that,\nwhen I played and conducted the royal string band in the native\nwedding-march on the marriage of some prince of the old dynasty, the\nQueen of Tonga presented me with an exquisitely carved tortoise-shell\ncomb from her hair. Indeed, I was doing exceedingly well, considering\nthat I had no letters of introduction. This kind of thing went on for\nnearly three weeks, when a full-rigged sailing-ship, the \u201cOrontes,\u201d\ndropped anchor off the island. Its sails gleaming in the sunset, shining\nlike beautiful signals of romance, called me, till the old roaming\nspirit, asserting itself, shattered all my ambitions over kings, queens,\nmissionaries, Court appointments, and salaries. The \u201cOrontes\u201d was bound\nfor Ysabel, Solomon Isles, and British New Guinea. When I went aboard\nher and interviewed the skipper, telling him I wanted a berth, he shook\nhis head, and said he could get a dozen Kanakas for the price of a\ndrink, as good as any white men, any day. And so, when the \u201cOrontes,\u201d\nwith her sails bellying to the winds, bowed to the sunset on her long\nvoyage across the Pacific, O\u2019Hara and I lay huddled on old sacks in the\ndeep gloom of the _forepeak-hold_, where we had secured the cheapest\nberth\u2014as stowaways!\n\nFootnote 8:\n\n  King George of Tonga died recently, 1918.\n\nIn my imagination I can still see O\u2019Hara\u2019s grimy, unshaven face as he\nsits in the gloom beside me, puffs his short pipe, and drinks at regular\nintervals from the water-bottle. The rats squeak.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t smoke, for Heaven\u2019s sake,\u201d I say, as O\u2019Hara strikes another match\non the ship\u2019s iron side. I feel sick enough in that stuffy hold as the\nvessel pitches to the swell. Then, as I sit there amongst the strong,\nevil-smelling merchandise of our wandering argosy, I place my fiddle on\nmy knee and go \u201cpink-e-te ponk-e-te,\u201d pizzicato style, as my fingers\nstrum out an old English melody.\n\n\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, shut up, pal!\u201d says O\u2019Hara, as we hear the sailormen\ntramping on the deck just overhead, as they go on watch in the silence\nof the hot tropic night.\n\nBut all that\u2019s past now. My Irish comrade went out of my life years ago.\nAnd I suppose the old fugitive, with his clerical hat, has long since\npaid his last debt, and kind men have hidden his artful face in that\nplace where no living man will search to find him. As for the Charity\nOrganization, it has most probably discarded long ago its primitive\nstyle and locality, and now maybe does its good work from some more\npalatial institution in the remoter islands of the Pacific. With the\nadvancement of civilization things are carried on in more sumptuous\nstyle. Indeed, I would not be surprised to hear that the new Charity\nOrganization Hermitage, that welcomes the homeless derelicts who have\nflown in haste from the western cities, has a gilded dome and spire\npeeping from a solitary forest of some remote isle of the southern seas.\nPossibly a secret cable runs under the Pacific, running straight from\nits guarding seclusion, sending out warnings to its prospective\nprot\u00e9g\u00e9s. Indeed, even in those far-off days, Bones\u2019 establishment at\nFiji had depots that extended to the extreme points of the civilized\nworld. And it was marvellous how often the keen surveillants of the\nAustralian seaboard cities were baffled in their search for missing\nbank-managers, etc. So wags the world, things only apparently changing\nas one age appears to differ from another age. It is only the hearts of\nmen that remain the same, as the centuries pass and fashions change, so\nthat men may open their doors inwards instead of outwards, and so sit\nand dream that the moral codes of the world have become reversed. Even\nmy rose-coloured spectacles remain the same; though they have become\nsomewhat dimmed, I can still fix them on and gaze with hopeful eyes on\nthe wondrous pageant of life that moves with me along the great vagabond\ntrack. And many times have I sought to lend them to sad men and women\nwho staggered beside me, yes, as they stared blindly through their bits\nof smoky glass. But sometimes I shiver with dread at the possibility\nthat I may some day grow wise and restrained, and no longer love\nfairy-tales, fallen, sinful men, and beautiful women of four years old.\nAnd so I often rekindle my camp-fire and sit alone, so that I may hear\nthe forest trees singing overhead. It is then that O\u2019Hara comes back out\nof the shadows; and, as I play my violin, sings some rollicking Irish\nsong. And, strange as it may appear to some, when the log fire is\nburning low, a misty pageant passes before my eyes. One by one my old\ntribal poets, attired in all the primitive majesty of tattoo and\ntapu-robes, stalk by me, and pass silently down the moonlit banyan\ngroves. \u2019Tis then that the call comes again; for I am the doomed rolling\nstone that gathered the magical moss of these memoirs and all that has\nmade me know how little men are, and humbly realize that I have chanced\nto live universally instead of only roaming in my boots over the wide\nspaces of this beautiful world. In this wise I have found and placed\ncarefully down any little campfire-gleams of interest which my book may\npossess, as well as having found my religion in some sorrow of the\neternity of all things past. I still jog along, carrying my staff and my\nviolin, and weighted swag of dreams, as I roam along the forest track.\nAnd, though I have many years to travel ere I become old, I can say in\nthe deeper sense of its meaning:\n\n            There\u2019s not a flower along the wild hillside,\n            Or song-bird of the woods that sang and died,\n            But it has kinship with the winds that blow\n            O\u2019er memory\u2019s forest trees of long ago.\n            And not a beggar in the distant lands\n            But I am with him, heart and soul and hands\u2014\n            To help him carry his old swag of dreams\n            In some great twinship of our shattered schemes;\n            As deep within my heart I hear the chime\n            Of night winds tolling all the bells of Time\u2014\n            In some old belfry of the stars they ring\n            The songs the dead men dream and cannot sing.\n\nEven the bluest, grandest ocean of the world exists in my mind only as\nsome deep, solemn hymning that tells the briefness of mortal existence.\nSometimes, when I hear the wind blow in the night, my thoughts go flying\nout to the wide Pacific that heaves under the stars, and is, to me, the\nvast, wandering grave wherein ill-fated Soogy, the native child, sleeps.\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n \u25cf Transcriber\u2019s Notes:\n    \u25cb Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.\n    \u25cb Typographical errors were silently corrected.\n    \u25cb Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only\n      when a predominant form was found in this book.\n    \u25cb Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).","title":"South Sea Foam: The romantic adventures of a modern Don Quixote in the southern seas","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":102801}