INTERCHANGE OF CIVILITIES.
All night long, without intermission, the heavy tropical rain descended
in torrents; at sunrise it ceased, and a bright blue vault of sky stood
in a spotless dome over the island of Boupari.
As soon as the sun was well risen, and the rain had ceased, one shy
native girl after another came straggling up timidly to the white line
that marked the taboo round Felix and Muriel's huts. They came with more
baskets of fruit and eggs. Humbly saluting three times as they drew near,
they laid down their gifts modestly just outside the line, with many loud
ejaculations of praise and gratitude to the gods in their own language.
"What do they say?" Muriel asked, in a dazed and frightened way, looking
out of the hut door, and turning in wonder to Mali.
"They say, 'Thank you, Queenie, for rain and fruits,'" Mali answered,
unconcerned, bustling about in the hut. "Missy want to wash him face and
hands this morning? Lady always wash every day over yonder in
Queensland."
Muriel nodded assent. It was all so strange to her. But Mali went to the
door and beckoned carelessly to one of the native girls just outside, who
drew near the line at the summons, with a somewhat frightened air,
putting one finger to her mouth in coyly uncertain savage fashion.
"Fetch me water from the spring!" Mali said, authoritatively, in
Polynesian. Without a moment's delay the girl darted off at the top of
her speed, and soon returned with a large calabash full of fresh cool
water, which she lay down respectfully by the taboo line, not daring to
cross it.
"Why didn't you get it yourself?" Muriel asked of her Shadow, rather
relieved than otherwise that Mali hadn't left her. It was something in
these dire straits to have somebody always near who could at least speak
a little English.
Mali started back in surprise. "Oh, that would never do," she answered,
catching a colloquial phrase she had often heard long before in
Queensland. "Me missy's Shadow. That great Taboo. If me go away out of
missy's sight, very big sin--very big danger. Man-a-Boupari catch me and
kill me like Jani, for no me stop and wait all the time on missy."
It was clear that human life was held very cheap on the island of
Boupari.
Muriel made her scanty toilet in the hut as well as she was able, with
the calabash and water, aided by a rough shell comb which Mali had
provided for her. Then she breakfasted, not ill, off eggs and fruit,
which Mali cooked with some rude native skill over the open-air fire
without in the precincts.
After breakfast, Felix came in to inquire how she had passed the night in
her new quarters. Already Muriel felt how odd was the contrast between
the quiet politeness of his manner as an English gentleman and the
strange savage surroundings in which they both now found themselves.
Civilization is an attribute of communities; we necessarily leave it
behind when we find ourselves isolated among barbarians or savages. But
culture is a purely personal and individual possession; we carry it with
us wherever we go; and no circumstances of life can ever deprive us of
it.
As they sat there talking, with a deep and abiding sense of awe at the
change (Muriel more conscious than ever now of how deep was her interest
in Felix Thurstan, who represented for her all that was dearest and best
in England), a curious noise, as of a discordant drum or tom-tom, beaten
in a sort of recurrent tune, was heard toward the hills; and at its very
first sound both the Shadows, flinging themselves upon their faces with
every sign of terror, endeavored to hide themselves under the native mats
with which the bare little hut was roughly carpeted.
"What's the matter?" Felix cried, in English, to Mali; for Muriel had
already explained to him how the girl had picked up some knowledge of our
tongue in Queensland.
Mali trembled in every limb, so that she could hardly speak.
"Tu-Kila-Kila come," she answered, all breathless. "No blackfellow look
at him. Burn blackfellow up. You and Missy Korong. All right for you. Go
out to meet him!"
"Tu-Kila-Kila is coming," the young man-Shadow said, in Polynesian,
almost in the same breath, and no less tremulously. "We dare not look
upon his face lest he burn us to ashes. He is a very great Taboo. His
face is fire. But you two are gods. Step forth to receive him."
Felix took Muriel's hand in his, somewhat trembling himself, and led her
forth on to the open space in front of the huts to meet the man-god. She
followed him like a child. She was woman enough for that. She had
implicit trust in him.
As they emerged, a strange procession met their eyes unawares, coming
down the zig-zag path that led from the hills to the shore of the lagoon,
where their huts were situated. At its head marched two men--tall,
straight, and supple--wearing huge feather masks over their faces, and
beating tom-toms, decorated with long strings of shiny cowries. After
them, in order, came a sort of hollow square of chiefs or warriors,
surrounding with fan-palms a central object all shrouded from the view
with the utmost precaution. This central object was covered with a huge
regal umbrella, from whose edge hung rows of small nautilus and other
shells, so as to form a kind of screen, like the Japanese portières now
so common in English doorways. Two supporters held it up, one on either
side, in long cloaks of feathers. Under the umbrella, a man seemed to
move; and as he approached, the natives, to right and left, fled
precipitately to their huts, snatching up their naked little ones from
the ground as they went, and crying aloud, "Taboo, Taboo! He comes! he
comes. Tu-Kila-Kila! Tu-Kila-Kila!"
The procession wound slowly on, unheeding these common creatures, till it
reached the huts. Then the chiefs who formed the hollow square fell back
one by one, and the man under the umbrella, with his two supporters, came
forward boldly. Felix noticed that they crossed without scruple the thick
white line of sand which all the other natives so carefully respected.
The man within the umbrella drew aside the curtain of hanging nautilus
shells. His face was covered with a thin mask of paper mulberry bark; but
Felix knew he was the self-same person whom they had seen the day before
in the central temple.
Tu-Kila-Kila's air was more insolent and arrogant than even before. He
was clearly in high spirits. "You have done well, O King of the Rain," he
said, turning gayly to Felix; "and you too, O Queen of the Clouds; you
have done right bravely. We have all acquitted ourselves as our people
would wish. We have made our showers to descend abundantly from heaven;
we have caused the crops to grow; we have wetted the plantain bushes.
See; Tu-Kila-Kila, who is so great a god, has come from his own home on
the hills to greet you."
"It has certainly rained in the night," Felix answered, dryly.
But Tu-Kila-Kila was not to be put off thus. Adjusting his thin mask or
veil of bark, so as to hide his face more thoroughly from the inferior
god, he turned round once more to the chiefs, who even so hardly dared to
look openly upon him. Then he struck an attitude. The man was clearly
bursting with spiritual pride. He knew himself to be a god, and was
filled with the insolence of his supernatural power. "See, my people," he
cried, holding up his hands, palm outward, in his accustomed god-like
way; "I am indeed a great deity--Lord of Heaven, Lord of Earth, Life of
the World, Master of Time, Measurer of the Sun's Course, Spirit of
Growth, Creator of the Harvest, Master of Mortals, Bestower of Breath
upon Men, Chief Pillar of Heaven!"
The warriors bowed down before their bloated master with unquestioning
assent. "Giver of Life to all the host of the gods," they cried, "you are
indeed a mighty one. Weigher of the equipoise of Heaven and Earth, we
acknowledge your might; we give you thanks eternally."
Tu-Kila-Kila swelled with visible importance. "Did I not tell you, my
meat," he exclaimed, "I would bring you new gods, great spirits from the
sun, fetchers of fire from my bright home in the heavens? And have they
not come? Are they not here to-day? Have they not brought the precious
gift of fresh fire with them?"
"Tu-Kila-Kila speaks true," the chiefs echoed, submissively, with bent
heads.
"Did I not make one of them King of the Rain?" Tu-Kila-Kila asked once
more, stretching one hand toward the sky with theatrical magnificence.
"Did I not declare the other Queen of the Clouds in Heaven? And have I
not caused them to bring down showers this night upon our crops? Has not
the dry earth drunk? Am I not the great god, the Saviour of Boupari?"
"Tu-Kila-Kila says well," the chiefs responded, once more, in unanimous
chorus.
Tu-Kila-Kila struck another attitude with childish self-satisfaction.
"I go into the hut to speak with my ministers," he said, grandiloquently.
"Fire and Water, wait you here outside while I enter and speak with my
friends from the sun, whom I have brought for the salvation of the crops
to Boupari."
The King of Fire and the King of Water, supporting the umbrella, bowed
assent to his words. Tu-Kila-Kila motioned Felix and Muriel into the
nearest hut. It was the one where the two Shadows lay crouching in terror
among the native mats. As the god tried to enter, the two cowering
wretches set up a loud shout, "Taboo! Taboo! Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!"
Tu-Kila-Kila retreated with a contemptuous smile. "I want to see you
alone," he said, in Polynesian, to Felix. "Is the other hut empty? If
not, go in and cut their throats who sit there, and make the place a
solitude for Tu-Kila-Kila."
"There is no one in the hut," Felix answered, with a nod, concealing his
disgust at the command as far as he was able.
"That is well," Tu-Kila-Kila answered, and walked into it carelessly.
Felix followed him close and deemed it best to make Muriel enter also.
As soon-as they were alone, Tu-Kila-Kila's manner altered greatly. "Come,
now," he said, quite genially, yet with a curious under-current of hate
in his steely gray eye; "we three are all gods. We who are in heaven need
have no secrets from one another. Tell me the truth; did you really come
to us direct from the sun, or are you sailing gods, dropped from a great
canoe belonging to the warriors who seek laborers for the white men in
the distant country?"
Felix told him briefly, in as few words as possible, the story of their
arrival.
Tu-Kila-Kila listened with lively interest, then he said, very
decisively, with great bravado, "It was _I_ who made the big wave wash
your sister overboard. I sent it to your ship. I wanted a Korong just now
in Boupari. It was _I_ who brought you."
"You are mistaken," Felix said, simply, not thinking it worth while to
contradict him further. "It was a purely natural accident."
"Well, tell me," the savage god went on once more, eying him close and
sharp, "they say you have brought fresh fire from the sun with you, and
that you know how to make it burst out like lightning at will. My people
have seen it. They tell me the wonder. I wish to see it too. We are all
gods here; we need have no secrets. Only, I didn't want to let those
common people outside see I asked you to show me. Make fire leap forth. I
desire to behold it."
Felix took out the match-box from his pocket, and struck a vesta
carefully. Tu-Kila-Kila looked on with profound interest. "It is
wonderful," he said, taking the vesta in his own hand as it burned, and
examining it closely. "I have heard of this before, but I have never seen
it. You are indeed gods, you white men, you sailors of the sea." He
glanced at Muriel. "And the woman, too," he said, with a horrible leer,
"the woman is pretty."
Felix took the measure of his man at once. He opened his knife, and held
it up threateningly. "See here, fellow," he said, in a low, slow tone,
but with great decision, "if you dare to speak or look like that at that
lady--god or no god, I'll drive this knife straight up to the handle in
your heart, though your people kill me for it afterward ten thousand
times over. I am not afraid of you. These savages may be afraid, and may
think you are a god; but if you are, then I am a god ten thousand times
stronger than you. One more word--one more look like that, I say--and
I plunge this knife remorselessly into you."
Tu-Kila-Kila drew back, and smiled benignly. Stalwart ruffian as he was,
and absolute master of his own people's lives, he was yet afraid in a way
of the strange new-comer. Vague stories of the men with white faces--the
"sailing gods"--had reached him from time to time; and though only twice
within his memory had European boats landed on his island, he yet knew
enough of the race to know that they were at least very powerful
deities--more powerful with their weapons than even he was. Besides, a
man who could draw down fire from heaven with a piece of wax and a little
metal box might surely wither him to ashes, if he would, as he stood
before him. The very fact that Felix bearded him thus openly to his face
astonished and somewhat terrified the superstitious savage. Everybody
else on the island was afraid of him; then certainly a man who was not
afraid must be the possessor of some most efficacious and magical
medicine. His one fear now was lest his followers should hear and
discover his discomfiture. He peered about him cautiously, with that
careful gleam shining bright in his eye; then he said with a leer, in a
very low voice, "We two need not quarrel. We are both of us gods. Neither
of us is the stronger. We are equal, that's all. Let us live like
brothers, not like enemies, on the island."
"I don't want to be your brother," Felix answered, unable to conceal his
loathing any more. "I hate and detest you."
"What does he say?" Muriel asked, in an agony of fear at the savage's
black looks. "Is he going to kill us?"
"No," Felix answered, boldly. "I think he's afraid of us. He's going to
do nothing. You needn't fear him."
"Can she not speak?" the savage asked, pointing with his finger somewhat
rudely toward Muriel. "Has she no voice but this, the chatter of birds?
Does she not know the human language?"
"She can speak," Felix replied, placing himself like a shield between
Muriel and the astonished savage. "She can speak the language of the
people of our distant country--a beautiful language which is as far
superior to the speech of the brown men of Polynesia as the sun in the
heavens is superior to the light of a candlenut. But she can't speak the
wretched tongue of you Boupari cannibals. I thank Heaven she can't, for
it saves her from understanding the hateful things your people would say
of her. Now go! I have seen already enough of you. I am not afraid.
Remember, I am as powerful a god as you. I need not fear. You cannot hurt
me."
A baleful light gleamed in the cannibal's eye. But he thought it best to
temporize. Powerful as he was on his island, there was one thing yet more
powerful by far than he; and that was Taboo--the custom and superstition
handed down from his ancestors, These strangers were Korong; he dare not
touch them, except in the way and manner and time appointed by custom. If
he did, god as he was, his people themselves would turn and rend him. He
was a god, but he was bound on every side by the strictest taboos. He
dare not himself offer violence to Felix.
So he turned with a smile and bided his time. He knew it would come. He
could afford to laugh. Then, going to the door, he said, with his grand
affable manner to his chiefs around, "I have spoken with the gods, my
ministers, within. They have kissed my hands. My rain has fallen. All is
well in the land. Arise, let us go away hence to my temple."
The savages put themselves in marching order at once. "It is the voice of
a god," they said, reverently. "Let us take back Tu-Kila-Kila to his
temple home. Let us escort the lord of the divine umbrella. Wherever he
is, there trees and plants put forth green leaves and flourish. At his
bidding flowers bloom and springs of water rise up in fountains. His
presence diffuses heavenly blessings."
"I think," Felix said, turning to poor, terrified Muriel, "I've sent the
wretch away with a bee in his bonnet."