Some sixty or seventy natives clustered round the boat as she touched
the shore. With smiling faces and outstretched hands they surrounded
the captain, and pressed upon him their simple gifts of ripe bananas
and fish baked in leaves, begging him to first eat a little and then
walk with them to Mataveri, their largest village, distant a mile,
where preparations were being made to welcome him formally. The
skipper, nothing loth, bade his crew not to go too far away in their
rambles, and, accompanied by his boatsteerer, was about to set off with
the natives, when he remembered the object of his visit, and asked a
big, well-made woman, the only native present that could speak English,
"Where is the man you hid from the man-of-war?"
* * * * *
There was a dead silence, and for nearly half a minute no one spoke.
The keen blue eyes of the American looked from one face to another
inquiringly, and then settled on the fat, good-natured features of
Varua, the big woman.
Holding her hands, palms upwards, to the captain, she endeavoured to
speak, and then, to his astonishment, he saw that her dark eyes were
filled with tears. And then, as if moved with some sudden and sorrowful
emotion, a number of other women and young girls, murmuring softly in
pitying tones, "E MATE! E MATE!" ["Dead! Dead!"] came to his side, and
held their hands out to him with the same supplicating gesture.
The captain was puzzled. For all his island wanderings and cruises he
had no knowledge of any Polynesian dialect, and the tearful muteness of
the fat Varua was still unbroken. At last she placed one hand on his
sleeve, and, pointing land-ward with the other, said, in her gentle
voice, "Come," and taking his hand in hers, she led the way, the rest
of the people following in silence.
For about half a mile they walked behind the captain and his
boatsteerer and the woman Varua without uttering a word. Presently
Varua stopped, and called out the name of "Taku" in a low voice.
A fine, handsome native, partly clothed in European sailor's dress,
stepped apart from the others and came to her.
Turning to the captain, she said, "This is Taku the Sailor. He can
speak a little English and much Spanish. I tell him now to come with
us, for he has a paper."
Although not understanding the relevancy of her remark, the captain
nodded, and then with gentle insistence Varua and the other women urged
him on, and they again set out.
* * * * *
A few minutes more, and they were at the foot of one of the
massive-stoned and ancient PAPAKU, or cemeteries, on the walls of which
were a number of huge images carved from trachyte, and representing the
trunk of the human body. Some of the figures bore on their heads crowns
of red tufa, and the aspect of all was towards the ocean. At the foot
of the wall of the PAPAKU were a number of prone figures, with hands
and arms sculptured in low relief, the outspread fingers clasping the
hips.
About a cable length from the wall stood two stone houses--memorials of
the olden time--and it was to these that Varua and the two white men,
attended now by women only, directed their steps.
* * * * *
The strange, unearthly stillness of the place, the low whispers of the
women, the array of colossal figures with sphinx-like faces set to the
sea, and the unutterable air of sadness that enwrapped the whole scene,
overawed even the unimaginative mind of the rough whaling captain, and
he experienced a curious feeling of relief when his gentle-voiced guide
entered through the open doorway the largest of the two houses, and, in
a whisper, bade him follow.
* * * * *
A delightful sense of coolness was his first sensation on entering, and
then with noiseless step the other women followed and seated themselves
on the ground.
Still clasping his hand, Varua led him to the farther end of the house,
and pointed to a motionless figure that lay on a couch of mats, covered
with a large piece of navy-blue calico. At each side of the couch sat a
young native girl, and their dark, luminous eyes, shining star-like
from out the wealth of black, glossy hair that fell upon their bronzed
shoulders, turned wonderingly upon the stranger who had broken in upon
their watch.
* * * * *
Motioning the girls aside, Varua released her hold of the white man's
hand and drew the cloth from off the figure, and the seaman's pitying
glance fell upon the pale, sweet features of a young white girl.
But for the unmistakable pallid hue of death he thought at first that
she slept. In the thin, delicate hands, crossed upon her bosom, there
was placed, after the manner of those of her faith, a small metal
crucifix. Her hair, silky and jet black, was short like a man's, and
the exquisitely-modelled features, which even the coldness of death had
not robbed of their beauty, showed the Spanish blood that, but a few
hours before, had coursed through her veins.
Slowly the old seaman drew the covering over the still features, and,
with an unusual emotion stirring his rude nature, he rose, and,
followed by Varua, walked outside and sat upon a broken pillar of lava
that lay under the wall of the PAPAKU.
* * * * *
Calling his boatsteerer, he ordered him to return to the beach and go
off to the ship with instructions to the mate to have a coffin made as
quickly as possible and send it ashore; and then, at a glance from
Varua, who smiled a grave approval as she listened to his orders, he
followed her and the man she called Taku into the smaller of the two
houses.
Round about the inside walls of this ancient dwelling of a forgotten
race were placed a number of seamen's chests made of cedar and camphor
wood--the LARES and PENATES of most Polynesian houses. The gravelled
floor was covered with prettily-ornamented mats of FALA (the
screw-palm).
Seating herself, with Taku the Sailor, on the mats, Varua motioned the
captain to one of the boxes, and then told him a tale that moved
him--rough, fierce, and tyrannical as was his nature--to the deepest
pity.
* * * * *