Tangalora the Samoan Scribe—Where the Gods and Goddesses
first met in Council—The Materials of which the first
Mortal Children were Fashioned—The first Wondering
Men—The first Women—How the first Babies came to their
Mothers.
IT was nearly three months before I found myself in Samoa again. O’Hara
had shipped from Hawaii for the Solomon Isles, and I had signed on as
“deckhand” on a fore-and-aft schooner that was bound for Apia. I missed
the society of my Irish comrade; but we met long after, as will be seen
in the last chapters of this book. However, I soon made another friend,
for I came across a high chief, Tangalora, who was an aged Samoan. I
came to value his friendship greatly. He dwelt in a cave on the shores
of Savaii Isle, a cave wherein he lived in primitive comfort and seemed
happy enough. He was one of the last of the wandering Samoan scribes—men
who, with tappa robe flung across the left shoulder, wandered from
village to village in pursuit of their romantic calling. These scribes
would enter the small pagan villages at sunset, take their stand on the
village forum-stump (sometimes a tree trunk or a heap of coral stone
that denoted where some mighty warrior or poet was buried), then,
lifting one arm towards the sky, commence to pour forth in dramatic
fashion their own versions of the old mythological tales and legends.
Such a scribe was Tangalora, with whom I became on the most intimate
terms. As I have said, Tangalora was a very old man. I believe he was
nearly eighty years of age. Consequently, he was unable to travel from
village to village singing his romantic chants and legends to Samoan
maids and youths. I found him a most agreeable old poet, perfect in
every way, except that I noticed a tinge of jealousy arose whenever I
spoke of his contemporaries. But even that very human failing was
forgivable, for competition was keen among the poets of those days, and
I myself heard many followers of the Muse, as they stood on those
Parnassian heathen slopes, cursing the lying tongue of some wandering
scribe who had forestalled them by arriving at the forum-stump before
they did. However, it’s not my wish to go into detail over Tangalora’s
failings; all I will attempt is to tell from my own impressions some of
the incidents of the _extempore_ verse which he rattled off in his
cavern homestead. I must first say that he used this cavern as a lecture
hall as well as a homestead, charging a small fee to the native men and
crowds of children who collected outside his rocky door at sunset. It
was a sight worth seeing as those little native children, their eyes
bright with mystery, waited to enter the cavern and hear the wonderful
old wizard man, Tangalora, tell of the mysteries of shadowland. It was
such a sight that met my eyes when I arrived at that cavern’s entrance,
as eager as any of the forest children, I am sure.
The sun was setting on the sea skyline and the shadows falling over the
mountains as Tangalora sat on his coral throne at the far end of his
weird-lit cavern hall. He was fully decorated with all the insignia of
his office, wearing his tappa robe, and with his ornamental war-club by
his side, as he sat there before me.
“Talofa!” he said, and all the children responded:
“Talofa, O Tangalora!”
Then he said that which translated into our language would run in this
wise:
“Now then, _fantoes_ (children), come round close to me, my sight is
dim; sit by my knees, for I am old.”
In a moment the tawny children of the south were hustling and bustling
to secure their favourite position at the feet of the aged poet. Placing
his hand to his wrinkled mouth, he coughed twice, as he always did ere
he commenced to tell his stories.
“Are you all here?” His voice trembled into echoes.
“We are all here!” cried the children, as they crossed their arms and
legs and prepared to listen attentively. Then he began as follows:
“Thousands of years ago, when the sun, the moon, and the stars shone in
the sky and saw no one alive on the isles of these seas, the heathen
gods were walking across the wide floors of Mbau. Suddenly
Raitumaibulii, who was the god of Fruit and Taro, said: ‘I say, look at
that great ocean shining under the sun down there above unpeopled,
palm-clad isles.’ Then the god continued: ‘Is it not a shame that all
those beautiful palms and those breadfruit trees of mine should be laden
with such nice fruit and yet none there to eat of it?’ ‘It really does
seem a pity,’ replied the god of Fire; and he continued: ‘I also think
it sad that none can light fires in those deep forests. Look how
comfortable they would feel were they to see my flames brightly shining
beneath the palms by night.’ As the god Raitumaibulii and the god of
Fire ceased speaking and sighed over their thoughts, the beautiful
heathen goddess of Mburoto (the Paradise of Love and Bliss) came up to
them and said: ‘Ah! I have just heard your lament. I too feel sad to
think that there are no handsome youths and maidens in those beautiful
leafy forests.’ As the two gods listened and gazed on her beauty, she
lifted her hands and lovely eyes towards the mountains of Mburoto, and
continued in this wise: ‘Oh! think how pleased the moons would be to
light up the eyes of handsome lovers and reveal the bronze-hued faces of
pretty maidens if they roamed those now silent lands.’ It was then that
the great Thangi-Thangi, the god of Hate and Sin, stepped forth. He,
too, looked thoughtfully down on those far-distant beautiful isles and
murmured: ‘What a waste, what a waste it is, when I think how I could
make the folk of a world to hate each other and deeply sin.’
“The goddess of Love, who was listening to Thangi-Thangi, said: ‘Look
here, you are not wanted down there. I know well enough that if you had
anything to do with the making of the folk of another world, they would
never be really happy folk.’ As the beautiful goddess said this, her
daughter came forward. She had eyes like unto fire, and a serpent was
nestling at her breast. Gazing up into the face of the goddess of Love,
she said: ‘I am Jealousy, your sinful child; but may I help you to make
the new folk for that lovely country, those silent isles so far away,
down there?’
“For a long time the goddess of Love gazed across the terraced mountains
of Mbau. As she reflected, her hands were arched over her eyes that
shone like two lovely moons that had a bright star in their centre.
Slowly turning, she gazed sadly into her daughter’s dark, fiery eyes,
and said:
“‘I suppose you _must_ come and help me when I am making handsome men
and beautiful women. Of course, I shall have to make a few ugly mortals,
so that the favoured ones may see that they are handsome.’ Then the
goddess sighed and said: ‘So you must be there to kiss their lips, that
they may have the spirit to look after the _one_ they love.’
“After the gods and goddesses of Mbau had assembled in solemn council,
they decided that it would be best to make living people who could be
happy on the isles situated away down beneath the sun. ‘So shall it be,’
they all muttered, as they stalked across the magic mountains of
Mburoto, where they at once began to gather wonderful flowers and weeds,
stones, bits of fire, and cloudy skeins of moonlight and starlight. For
it was from the essential materials of Paradise that they must make the
children of the world that was beneath the sun.
“It was then that the aged goddess of Sorrow, who had stood silently
behind, said: ‘I also must come to help you.’
“‘Must you come?’ said the goddess of Love. And the goddess of Sorrow
replied: ‘It must be I alone who shall gather the compassionate cry of
the winds in the forest, the bundles of old sunsets, the long-ago wail
of blue sea-waves, and the songs of melancholy, small-throated birds.’
“‘But must we have such things? Cannot we make children without your
help, O goddess of Sorrow?’
“And Sorrow answered: ‘However beautiful you made the children, even
though their eyes were like unto the beauty of thine own, still they
would not be happy without being fashioned of those things that I must
gather from the graves of a million dead moons.’
“‘So shall it be,’ said the goddess of Love, as she sighed and kissed
Sorrow’s tender, trembling hand.
“‘Now then!’ said Atuaa, the chief vassal of Ndengi. ‘Come along! Come
along!’ Then, lo! on the beams of threaded moonlight that were falling
down the heavens of shadowland into the dark regions of the other world,
the gods and goddesses slid softly away, monstrous, shadowy figures as
they passed down, down through the deep skies! For a long time their
cloudy figures seemed to be falling. At last they stood, mighty shadows
in the silent forest of the isles far to the westward. They were all
much taller than the trees, their huge heads rising far above the forest
height, as their images moved across the sky. It was the god of Hate who
first spoke after they had stepped into the forest of Time. He said: ‘I
say, we must be very careful not to make these new children as big and
as strong as we ourselves are.’ For a long time the hands of the gods
and goddesses were busy, as they toiled silently, mixing up the
materials in the bundles they had brought with them. Before sunrise
appeared on the sea’s horizon, the gods had hurried back to the skies,
and were watching to see what would happen. Now the gods and goddesses
had not long left the lonely forest when old Silence trembled in his
cave at hearing the jabbering and scampering about of unusual things
amongst his solemn trees. An extraordinary thing had happened, for, as
the light of the sun stared down through the branches of the coco-palms,
six newly-created men yawned, jumped to their new, soft, brown clay
feet, and gazed on each other in mute astonishment. ‘Who am I? Who are
you?’ It sounded like echoes answering each other in a cave, as each one
gabbled forth, ‘Who am I? Who are you?’ For a long time they babbled
thus. Then they all stepped forward and said to each other: ‘Let us all
be happy, and care not at all who we may be.’
“Saying this, they rubbed noses and became _ma pataro_ (good friends).
Now, just behind the bamboos and mangroves, not a spear’s throw from
where they were gabbling and rubbing noses, stood six newly-created
maidens. These maidens also gazed at each other in astonishment and
cried out: ‘Who are we? Who are we?’ Then in some fright embraced, much
the same as the men had done, and said: ‘What matters it who we are, so
long as we are really here?’ and then they ran down to the seashore.
“The sun had risen and set thrice when the maids danced on the shore,
all singing some song which they had learnt from the soft murmurings of
a seashell. Each had clad her form in a small lava-lava that was made of
seaweed and fastened by threaded grass about the loins. Standing on the
big lumps of red coral, they all dived into the ocean, to come forth
laughing, as the sea-water fell glistening from their tresses that half
hid their soft feet. ‘Oh, how lovely this world really is!’ they said,
as they lifted seashells to their ears, and, singing again, dived
headlong into the ocean. It so happened that the six newly-created men
had made up their minds to go down and bathe in the cool sea-water; and,
as they gazed through the belt of mangroves, they suddenly gave a cry of
astonishment. One said: ‘Did ever one see such figures?’ Another,
swallowing the lump that came to his throat, said: ‘’Tis more wonderful
than finding ourselves in this lonely forest to see such divine
figures.’ Then yet another cried: ‘They must have come to us out of the
night and the starlight by way of the Dawn!’ Then, half in fright, they
crept down towards the shore so that they might see the maids the
plainer. ‘Vanaka! Vanaka!’ they cried, losing their heads through seeing
all that they did see. Being foolish, as men have always been, they
rushed forth from the shadows of the mangroves, in haste to embrace the
maids. The maidens, looking up in wonder at hearing other voices, all
screamed out in astonishment: ‘Oh, look, such figures!—why, surely, more
lovely than we are!’ Then, seeing that the figures were rushing down the
shores towards them, they huddled in fright together, then, hastily
lifting their loosened tresses that dangled down to their feet, they ran
off towards the forest of breadfruit trees. One, who possessed a figure
like a goddess, lagged behind the others as they raced up the shore, for
so long was her hair that it became entangled in her swiftly moving
feet. Suddenly she fell down on the glistening sand. The six pursuing
newly-created men shouted with joy on observing the maiden’s distress.
He who ran first was a handsome youth. In a moment he had reached the
side of the fallen maid, who, struggling to regain her feet, glanced
despairingly over her shoulder up into the eyes of him who leaned over
her. The maid half turned her form whilst she still lay in a reclining
position. So exquisite was the sight to him who had captured her that he
nearly swooned, and so it happened that, ere the others came up, the
maid had once more regained her feet and had sped off into the forests.
Hiding amongst the trees and flowers, the girls hastily plucked hibiscus
blossoms and palm-leaves. The flowers they swiftly placed in their hair,
and, hurriedly threading the leaves with grass, they wrapped them about
their loins. ‘Was it not foolish to run away from such figures?’ said a
tall maiden, who had soft, warm eyes like unto stars in a pool. ‘It was!
It was!’ they cried together, as they leaned over the lagoon and gazed
sideways on their images, swerving slightly that they might discover why
they were so fascinating. Seeing the men no more, they all sat down on
the edge of the lagoon and wept bitterly.
“Next day they searched and searched the forest till at last they found
the men; and, lo! the men fell down on their knees before them, and the
maids blushed exceedingly, their eyes sparkling with much joy. Ere the
moon had faded to the size of a bird’s underwing, the maidens were full
of jealousy, grief, and sorrow, for they were each in love with the very
one who loved another. When the gods of the shadowland (who were, of
course, aware of all that had happened) heard the moans and wailing
lamentations of the men and women whom they had created, they said:
‘What _shall_ we do now? We have made children of the forest, and lo,
have mixed them up the wrong way!’
“The goddess of Love gazed sorrowfully across the stars, and said: ‘I
must see what can be done for them, for now that we have made them they
are our children.’
“Then all the gods and goddesses stamped their feet in grief, and,
crying out as with one voice, said: ‘What shall we do now that we have
made the first children of the forest wrong?’
“The goddesses of Love and Passion replied: ‘We must now give unto them
little children of their own; then they will throw the blame of their
sorrows on themselves instead of on us who made them.’
“Then the goddess of Love continued: ‘Come on! Come on!’ and at once
started to move towards the mountains of Mburoto, and all the gods sadly
followed her. And when they stood beneath the mighty tree that threw
branches of night across all the skies and blossomed the bright-fingered
stars, she said: ‘Stay! It is here that we must gather the materials for
the children of the children of this new world which we have made.’
Saying this, she stooped and gathered little bits of starlight. And the
gods and goddesses, who followed close behind her, said: ‘What’s that
for?’
“‘That’s for the little ones’ eyes,’ answered the goddess of Love. Then
she gathered some tiny red flowers that were always murmuring music to
the soft winds on the mountain side.
“‘What’s that for?’ murmured all the gods.
“‘Why, that’s to make the children’s tiny mouths with.’
“Then the goddess looked up and gave a soft whistle; and down from the
beautiful palm trees of Mburoto came fluttering to her feet small,
black-breasted birds.
“‘Lift your heads up, O little birds!’ she said, as they all sang to
her. Then, as they still whistled and whistled, she stooped down and
with her forefinger tenderly brushed the dark down from each breast.
“‘What’s that stuff for?’ growled the old Thangi-Thangi, the god of Hate
and Sin.
“‘Why, that is for the hair on their tiny heads.’
“Then the goddess said: ‘Come on! Come on!’ and led the way to the edge
of the mighty threshold of _Atua_ (Elysium).
“Then she threw out a long fishing-net, and it fell away down the skies.
As she pulled it up very gently, it was full of old sunsets and old
broken moons.
“‘What’s that stuff for?’ murmured the gods, as the hills around were
lit up with a sad, beautiful light.
“‘Why, that is to make their little hearts with; I would have them love
and worship us, these children that we have made, so that when they die,
their spirits will come back again to shadowland.’
“Then she led them across the wide halls of Mburoto, till they came to
the lagoons that were the shining mirrors of the gods and goddesses.
“‘O gods and goddesses of shadowland, bend forward and gaze into the
deep waters so that your eyes will be imaged therein!’
“Leaning forward, they all gazed into their own mirrored eyes, thinking
the while deeply of all that they wished. The mirrored eyes of the god
of Hate gleamed like fire; Jealousy’s eyes stared and stared; and
Mercy’s eyes gazed back with tenderest beams into the eyes of Love and
her sister, Beauty.
“‘Don’t move!’ said the goddess, as she swiftly threw her magic
fishing-net into the lagoon, and caught the shining, mirrored eyelight
of the gods and goddesses. Picking it out of the net very tenderly with
her fingers, she placed the gleaming lumps of mystical light into her
wonderful bundle.
“‘Is that all?’ thundered Poluto, the Master-of-all-Desires, as he
stamped his feet with impatience when the goddess stooped yet again and
plucked the golden flowers that danced in laughter at her feet.
“‘Is that all?’ he thundered yet again, as she put the flowers in the
bundle, and then fastened her robe of the western winds about her tall,
glorious form!
“‘Alas! it is not enough,’ she responded, as she gazed tenderly into the
eyes of impatient Desire, and made great pretence to hasten. For well
she knew that he wanted nothing more than that!
“Then, in single file, the gods and goddesses tramped back the way they
had come, and their tall shadows moved along the mighty walls of the
moonlit mountains.
* * * * *
“Next night, while the moonbeams were shining over the small grass-huts
that the poor mortals had made, so that they could sleep, a shadow
passed across the whole of the sky. It was the goddess of Love. She had
arrived down in the depths of the forest wherein dwelt the sad,
newly-created mortals. She was so tall that she was obliged to use magic
and so make herself small. When she had shrunken up till she was only
about four times as big as a mortal, she could walk with ease beneath
the tall forest trees. Taking a lump of red clay out of the earth, she
strode deeper into the forest glooms. Standing beneath a giant
breadfruit tree, she made a little fire out of the old moonlights and
dead forest twigs. Often and often she blew its little flame. Then, at
last, it burnt steadily with a blue light.
“Then she started to make tiny figures out of the red clay! Opening her
bundle, she carefully took out bits of old sunsets and starlight. For a
long time she was very busy, toiling and toiling with her fingers, as
she moulded little arms, legs, and small feet. When she had completed
her task and had set the little figures all upright in a row, she very
tenderly put small pinches of sunset and starlight into the little holes
she had made beneath their brows. Then she whispered, and it sounded as
though a wind went moaning through the forest trees, and lo! the small
figures all looked up at her, for their eyes were made. Then she said
once again: ‘Now, little forest children, gaze upon me.’ Then all the
eyes of the small clay figures turned and gazed on her! ‘Now put out
your hands, and stamp, so, with your feet.’ At once the little
marionettes obeyed, stamped their feet and put forth their arms. When
the goddess had gazed approvingly at her own handiwork, she looked round
the silent forest, and said: ‘Come, my little ones, follow me.’ Then she
strode across the forest. And the tiny clay figures, looking round with
curiosity, followed her, half frightened, as they kept close to the big
ankles of the goddess who had made them. Their little eyes shone like
tiny constellations of wandering stars, as they followed their creator
through the depth of those forest glooms.
* * * * *
“At dawn, when the mortals awoke from sleep, sunrise was streaming
through the grass roofs of their huts. As they all jumped up and gazed
with astonishment at the sight they saw, the maidens, who had slept not
far away, cried out: ‘Oh, how beautiful, to be sure!’ For, lo!—a flock
of pretty _fantoes_ (children) were peeping into their wondering eyes,
laughing and clapping their tiny hands as they cried out: ‘Oh, we are
your children; the gods and goddesses of Mbau have sent us to look after
you!’
“After that the people multiplied on the island, till there were so many
that some were obliged to go forth and dwell on other isles of the South
Seas. And they were all happy for a long, long time, for they did not
have time hanging on their hands, so they were not jealous, nor did they
quarrel overmuch.”
* * * * *
“Tafola, me slo!” cried the children, as Tangalora finished his story.
Thereupon the old scribe hastened round with his coco-nut-shell goblet
to make the usual collection. The children immediately threw in the
coins which their mothers had given them, so that they might pay on a
fair royalty basis for the wonders which the tattooed Homer of their
isles had told them. I flung in two bits of silver; and, considering all
that I had heard, it was cheap at the price. Then the children, giving a
musical halloo that echoed through that small Olympus, scrambled out of
the cavern and disappeared in the forest.
Tangalora entertained me right royally that night, not only by relating
a lot of the fascinating storied history of heathenland, but because of
his thoughtfulness: he slyly pulled a piece of sacking from an old
barrel, and brought forth twelve bottles of sparkling Bass’s ale!
Squatting there, on Tangalora’s best fibre mat, things took on quite a
rosy look as I listened whilst the summer night grew old. Then I bade my
host good-night and went outside in the open to rest. There’s a good
deal of mythology in Bass’s ale: I know that much. When I had made my
bed beneath the palms and carefully placed my quilt of moss over my
tired frame, I distinctly saw the moon cheerfully wave a pale hand over
the highest pinnacle of Vae’s mountain range. It did not seem strange
that the midnight moon should laugh, and, sneezing, send a tiny spiral
of mist across the clear sky. All was as it should be when a magnificent
procession of mighty gods and goddesses from Poluto marched across my
bedroom floor, and disappeared in the adjacent glooms ere I closed my
eyes in sleep.
Referring to my diary and the scraps which I wrote down in those old
days, I find the notes considerably mixed up, parts quite obliterated
through my sea-chest getting washed about on sailing-ships. Many of the
pages are missing. But my memory is good, and I can easily fill in the
interminable gaps. Indeed, the best part of this book is being written
within the sounds of the winds in the palms. The dark, sombre green of
the tropic landscape stretches for miles and miles. There lies the
expanse of the sapphire-hued ocean, ending far away in the pale saffron
fires of the skyline’s sunset, as, in my imagination, I softly dip my
pen into the magic foams that sparkle on the coral-dust sands at my feet
and sigh with the coco-palms overhead.
I see by my notes that I have already recorded in my previous books[4]
many of the incidents connected with my visit to Samoa at this period.
And, having also previously related much that befell me on my first
voyage to Nuka Hiva and Hiva oa, I have no alternative but to revert to
the incidents of a very interesting experience which came to me after I
had “jumped ship” in Fiji. And this I will do in the next chapter.
Footnote 4:
_A Vagabond’s Odyssey_; _Wine-Dark Seas and Tropic Skies_; _Sailor and
Beachcomber_.
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