Ideas suggested by the Feast of Calabashes—Effigy of a dead warrior—A
singular superstition—The priest Kolory and the god Moa Artua—Amazing
religious observance—A dilapidated shrine—Kory-Kory and the idol—An
inference.
Although I had been baffled in my attempts to learn the origin of the
Feast of Calabashes, yet it seemed very plain to me that it was
principally, if not wholly, of a religious character.
Yet, notwithstanding all I observed on this occasion, I am free to
confess my almost entire inability to gratify any curiosity that may be
felt with regard to the theology of the valley. I doubt whether the
inhabitants themselves could do so. They are either too lazy or too
sensible to worry themselves about abstract points of religious belief.
While I was among them, they never held any synods or councils to
settle the principles of their faith by agitating them. An unbounded
liberty of conscience seemed to prevail. Those who pleased to do so
were allowed to repose implicit faith in an ill-favoured god, with a
large bottle-nose, and fat shapeless arms crossed upon his breast;
whilst others worshipped an image which, having no likeness either in
heaven or on earth, could hardly be called an idol. As the islanders
always maintained a discreet reserve with regard to my own peculiar
views on religion, I thought it would be excessively ill-bred in me to
pry into theirs.
But, although my knowledge of the religious faith of the Typees was
unavoidably limited, one of their superstitious observances with which
I became acquainted interested me greatly.
In one of the most secluded portions of the valley, within a stone’s
cast of Fayaway’s lake—for so I christened the scene of our island
yachting—and hard by a growth of palms, which stood ranged in order
along both banks of the stream, waving their green arms as if to do
honour to its passage, was the mausoleum of a deceased warrior-chief.
Like all the other edifices of any note, it was raised upon a small
pi-pi of stones, which, being of unusual height, was a conspicuous
object from a distance. A light thatching of bleached palmetto-leaves
hung over it like a self-supported canopy; for it was not until you
came very near that you saw it was supported by four slender columns of
bamboo, rising at each corner to a little more than the height of a
man. A clear area of a few yards surrounded the pi-pi, and was enclosed
by four trunks of cocoa-nut trees, resting at the angles on massive
blocks of stone. The place was sacred. The sign of the inscrutable
Taboo was seen, in the shape of a mystic roll of white tappa, suspended
by a twisted cord of the same material from the top of a slight pole
planted within the enclosure.[3] The sanctity of the spot appeared
never to have been violated. The stillness of the grave was there, and
the calm solitude around was beautiful and touching. The soft shadows
of those lofty palm trees—I can see them now—hanging over the little
temple, as if to keep out the intrusive sun.
On all sides, as you approached this silent spot, you caught sight of
the dead chief’s effigy, seated in the stern of a canoe, which was
raised on a light frame a few inches above the level of the pi-pi. The
canoe was about seven feet in length; of a rich, dark-coloured wood,
handsomely carved, and adorned in many places with variegated bindings
of stained sinnate, into which were ingeniously wrought a number of
sparkling sea-shells, and a belt of the same shells ran all round it.
The body of the figure—of whatever material it might have been made—was
effectually concealed in a heavy robe of brown tappa, revealing only
the hands and head; the latter skilfully carved in wood, and surmounted
by a superb arch of plumes. These plumes, in the subdued and gentle
gales which found access to this sequestered spot, were never for one
moment at rest, but kept nodding and waving over the chief’s brow. The
long leaves of the palmetto dropped over the eaves, and through them
you saw the warrior, holding his paddle with both hands in the act of
rowing, leaning forward and inclining his head, as if eager to hurry on
his voyage. Glaring at him for ever, and face to face, was a polished
human skull, which crowned the prow of the canoe. The spectral
figure-head, reversed in its position, glancing backwards, seemed to
mock the impatient attitude of the warrior.
When I first visited this singular place with Kory-Kory, he told me—or,
at least, I so understood him—that the chief was paddling his way to
the realms of bliss and bread-fruit—the Polynesian heaven—where every
moment the bread-fruit trees dropped their ripened spheres to the
ground, and where there was no end to the cocoa-nuts and bananas; there
they reposed through the live-long eternity upon mats much finer than
those of Typee; and every day bathed their glowing limbs in rivers of
cocoa-nut oil. In that happy land there were plenty of plumes and
feathers, and boars’-tusks and sperm-whale teeth, far preferable to all
the shining trinkets and gay tappa of the white men; and, best of all,
women, far lovelier than the daughters of earth, were there in
abundance. “A very pleasant place,” Kory-Kory said it was; “but, after
all, not much pleasanter, he thought, than Typee.” “Did he not, then,”
I asked him, “wish to accompany the warrior?” “Oh, no; he was very
happy where he was; but supposed that some time or other he would go in
his own canoe.”
Thus far, I think, I clearly comprehended Kory-Kory. But there was a
singular expression he made use of at the time, enforced by as singular
a gesture, the meaning of which I would have given much to penetrate. I
am inclined to believe it must have been a proverb he uttered; for I
afterwards heard him repeat the same words several times, and in what
appeared to me to be a somewhat similar sense. Indeed, Kory-Kory had a
great variety of short, smart-sounding sentences, with which he
frequently enlivened his discourse; and he introduced them with an air
which plainly intimated, that, in his opinion, they settled the matter
in question, whatever it might be.
Could it have been, then, that when I asked him whether he desired to
go to this heaven of bread-fruit, cocoa-nuts, and young ladies, which
he had been describing, he answered by saying something equivalent to
our old adage—“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!”—if he did,
Kory-Kory was a discreet and sensible fellow, and I cannot sufficiently
admire his shrewdness.
Whenever, in the course of my rambles through the valley, I happened to
be near the chief’s mausoleum, I always turned aside to visit it. The
place had a peculiar charm for me; I hardly know why, but so it was. As
I leaned over the railing and gazed upon the strange effigy, and
watched the play of the feathery head-dress, stirred by the same breeze
which in low tones breathed amidst the lofty palm trees, I loved to
yield myself up to the fanciful superstition of the islanders, and
could almost believe that the grim warrior was bound heavenward. In
this mood, when I turned to depart, I bade him, “God speed, and a
pleasant voyage.” Ay, paddle away, brave chieftain, to the land of
spirits! To the material eye thou makest but little progress, but, with
the eye of faith, I see thy canoe cleaving the bright waves, which die
away on those dimly looming shores of Paradise.
This strange superstition affords another evidence of the fact, that
however ignorant man may be, he still feels within him his immortal
spirit yearning after the unknown future.
Although the religious theories of the islands were a complete mystery
to me, their practical every-day operation could not be concealed. I
frequently passed the little temples reposing in the shadows of the
Taboo Groves, and beheld the offerings—mouldy fruit spread out upon a
rude altar, or hanging in half-decayed baskets around some uncouth,
jolly-looking images. I was present during the continuance of the
festival. I daily beheld the grinning idols marshalled rank and file in
the Hoolah Hoolah ground, and was often in the habit of meeting those
whom I supposed to be the priests. But the temples seemed to be
abandoned to solitude; the festival had been nothing more than a jovial
mingling of the tribe; the idols were quite as harmless as any other
logs of wood; and the priests were the merriest dogs in the valley.
In fact, religious affairs in Typee were at a very low ebb. All such
matters sat very lightly upon the thoughtless inhabitants; and, in the
celebration of many of their strange rites, they appeared merely to
seek a sort of childish amusement.
A curious evidence of this was given in a remarkable ceremony, in which
I frequently saw Mehevi and several other chiefs and warriors of note
take part; but never a single female.
Among those whom I looked upon as forming the priesthood of the valley,
there was one in particular who often attracted my notice, and whom I
could not help regarding as the head of the order. He was a
noble-looking man, in the prime of his life, and of a most benignant
aspect. The authority this man, whose name was Kolory, seemed to
exercise over the rest, the episcopal part he took in the Feast of
Calabashes, his sleek and complacent appearance, the mystic characters
which were tattooed upon his chest, and, above all, the mitre he
frequently wore, in the shape of a towering head-dress, consisting of
part of a cocoa-nut branch, the stalk planted uprightly on his brow,
and the leaflets gathered together and passed round the temples and
behind the ears, all these pointed him out as Lord Primate of Typee.
Kolory was a sort of Knight Templar—a soldier-priest; for he often wore
the dress of a Marquesan warrior, and always carried a long spear,
which, instead of terminating in a paddle at the lower end, after the
general fashion of these weapons, was curved into a heathenish-looking
little image. This instrument, however, might perhaps have been
emblematic of his double functions. With one end, in carnal combat he
tranfixed the enemies of his tribe; and with the other, as a pastoral
crook, he kept in order his spiritual flock. But this is not all I have
to about Kolory. His martial grace very often carried about with him
what seemed to me the half of a broken war-club. It was swathed round
with ragged bits of white tappa, and the upper part, which was intended
to represent a human head, was embellished with a strip of scarlet
cloth of European manufacture. It required little observation to
discover that this strange object was revered as a god. By the side of
the big and lusty images standing sentinel over the altars of the
Hoolah Hoolah ground, it seemed a mere pigmy in tatters. But
appearances all the world over are deceptive. Little men are sometimes
very potent, and rags sometimes cover very extensive pretensions. In
fact, this funny little image was the “crack” god of the island;
lording it over all the wooden lubbers who looked so grim and dreadful;
its name was Moa Artua.[4] And it was in honour of Moa Artua, and for
the entertainment of those who believe in him, that the curious
ceremony I am about to describe was observed.
Mehevi and the chieftains of the Ti have just risen from their noontide
slumbers. There are no affairs of state to dispose of; and having eaten
two or three breakfasts in the course of the morning, the magnates of
the valley feel no appetite as yet for dinner. How are their leisure
moments to be occupied? They smoke, they chat, and at last one of their
number makes a proposition to the rest, who joyfully acquiescing, he
darts out of the house, leaps from the pi-pi, and disappears in the
grove. Soon you see him returning with Kolory, who bears the god Moa
Artua in his arms, and carries in one hand a small trough, hollowed out
in the likeness of a canoe. The priest comes along dangling his charge
as if it were a lachrymose infant he was endeavouring to put into a
good humour. Presently, entering the Ti, he seats himself on the mats
as composedly as a juggler about to perform his sleight-of-hand tricks;
and, with the chiefs disposed in a circle around him, commences his
ceremony.
In the first place he gives Moa Artua an affectionate hug, then
caressingly lays him to his breast, and, finally, whispers something in
his ear, the rest of the company listening eagerly for a reply. But the
baby-god is deaf or dumb,—perhaps both, for never a word does he utter.
At last Kolory speaks a little louder, and soon growing angry, comes
boldly out with what he has to say, and bawls to him. He put me in mind
of a choleric fellow, who, after trying in vain to communicate a secret
to a deaf man, all at once flies into a passion and screams it out so
that every one may hear. Still Moa Artua remains as quiet as ever, and
Kolory, seemingly losing his temper, fetches him a box over the head,
strips him of his tappa and red cloth, and, laying him in a state of
nudity in a little trough, covers him from sight. At this proceeding
all present loudly applaud, and signify their approval by uttering the
adjective “motarkee” with violent emphasis. Kolory, however, is so
desirous his conduct should meet with unqualified approbation, that he
inquires of each individual separately whether, under existing
circumstances, he has not done perfectly right in shutting up Moa
Artua. The invariable response is “Aa, Aa” (yes, yes), repeated over
again and again in a manner which ought to quiet the scruples of the
most conscientious. After a few moments Kolory brings forth his doll
again, and, while arraying it very carefully in the tappa and red
cloth, alternately fondles and chides it. The toilet being completed,
he once more speaks to it aloud. The whole company hereupon show the
greatest interest; while the priest, holding Moa Artua to his ear,
interprets to them what he pretends the god is confidentially
communicating to him. Some items of intelligence appear to tickle all
present amazingly; for one claps his hands in a rapture; another shouts
with merriment; and a third leaps to his feet and capers about like a
madman.
What under the sun Moa Artua on these occasions had to say to Kolory I
never could find out; but I could not help thinking that the former
showed a sad want of spirit in being disciplined into making those
disclosures, which at first he seemed bent on withholding. Whether the
priest honestly interpreted what he believed the divinity said to him,
or whether he was not all the while guilty of a vile humbug, I shall
not presume to decide. At any rate, whatever, as coming from the god,
was imparted to those present, seemed to be generally of a
complimentary nature—a fact which illustrates the sagacity of Kolory,
or else the time-serving disposition of this hardly-used deity.
Moa Artua having nothing more to say, his bearer goes to nursing him
again, in which occupation, however, he is soon interrupted by a
question put by one of the warriors to the god. Kolory hereupon
snatches it up to his ear again, and after listening attentively, once
more officiates as the organ of communication. A multitude of questions
and answers having passed between the parties, much to the satisfaction
of those who propose them, the god is put tenderly to bed in the
trough, and the whole company unite in a long chant, led off by Kolory.
This ended, the ceremony is over; the chiefs rise to their feet in high
good humour, and my Lord Archbishop, after chatting awhile, and
regaling himself with a whiff or two from a pipe of tobacco, tucks the
canoe under his arm and marches off with it.
The whole of these proceedings were like those of a parcel of children
playing with dolls and baby-houses.
For a youngster scarcely ten inches high, and with so few early
advantages as he doubtless had had, Moa Artua was certainly a
precocious little fellow, if he really said all that was imputed to
him; but for what reason this poor devil of a deity, thus cuffed about,
cajoled, and shut up in a box, was held in greater estimation than the
full-grown and dignified personages of the Taboo Groves, I cannot
divine. And yet Mehevi, and other chiefs of unquestionable veracity—to
say nothing of the Primate himself—assured me over and over again that
Moa Artua was the tutelary deity of Typee, and was more to be held in
honour than a whole battalion of the clumsy idols in the Hoolah Hoolah
grounds. Kory-Kory—who seemed to have devoted considerable attention to
the study of theology, as he knew the names of all the graven images in
the valley, and often repeated them over to me—likewise entertained
some rather enlarged ideas with regard to the character and pretensions
of Moa Artua. He once gave me to understand, with a gesture there was
no misconceiving, that if he (Moa Artua) were so minded, he could cause
a cocoa-nut tree to sprout out of his (Kory-Kory’s) head; and that it
would be the easiest thing in life for him (Moa Artua) to take the
whole island of Nukuheva in his mouth, and dive down to the bottom of
the sea with it.
But, in sober seriousness, I hardly knew what to make of the religion
of the valley. There was nothing that so much perplexed the illustrious
Cook, in his intercourse with the South Sea islanders, as their sacred
rites. Although this prince of navigators was in many instances
assisted by interpreters in the prosecution of his researches, he still
frankly acknowledges that he was at a loss to obtain anything like a
clear insight into the puzzling arcana of their faith. A similar
admission has been made by other eminent voyagers,—by Carteret, Byron,
Kotzebue, and Vancouver.
For my own part, although hardly a day passed while I remained upon the
island that I did not witness some religious ceremony or other, it was
very much like seeing a parcel of “Freemasons” making secret signs to
each other: I saw everything, but could comprehend nothing.
On the whole, I am inclined to believe that the islanders in the
Pacific have no fixed and definite ideas whatever on the subject of
religion. I am persuaded that Kolory himself would be effectually posed
were he called upon to draw up the articles of his faith, and pronounce
the creed by which he hoped to be saved. In truth, the Typees, so far
as their actions evince, submitted to no laws, human or divine—always
excepting the thrice mysterious Taboo. The “independent electors” of
the valley were not to be browbeaten by chiefs, priests, idols, or
devils. As for the luckless idols, they received more hard knocks than
supplications. I do not wonder that some of them looked so grim, and
stood so bolt upright, as if fearful of looking to the right or the
left, lest they should give any one offence. The fact is, they had to
carry themselves “_pretty straight_,” or suffer the consequences. Their
worshippers were such a precious set of fickle-minded and irreverent
heathens, that there was no telling when they might topple one of them
over, break it to pieces, and making a fire with it on the very altar
itself, fall to roasting the offerings of bread-fruit, and eat them in
spite of its teeth.
In how little reverence these unfortunate deities were held by the
natives, was on one occasion most convincingly proved to me. Walking
with Kory-Kory through the deepest recesses of the groves, I perceived
a curious-looking image about six feet in height, which originally had
been placed upright against a low pi-pi, surmounted by a ruinous bamboo
temple, but having become fatigued and weak in the knees, was now
carelessly leaning against it. The idol was partly concealed by the
foliage of a tree which stood near, and whose leafy boughs drooped over
the pile of stones, as if to protect the rude fane from the decay to
which it was rapidly hastening. The image itself was nothing more than
a grotesquely-shaped log, carved in the likeness of a portly naked man,
with the arms clasped over the head, the jaws thrown wide apart, and
its thick shapeless legs bowed into an arch. It was much decayed. The
lower part was overgrown with a bright silky moss. Thin spears of grass
sprouted from the distended mouth, and fringed the outline of the head
and arms. His godship had literally attained a green old age. All its
prominent points were bruised and battered or entirely rotted away. The
nose had taken its departure, and from the general appearance of the
head, it might have been supposed that the wooden divinity, in despair
at the neglect of its worshippers, had been trying to beat its own
brains out against the surrounding trees.
I drew near, to inspect more closely this strange object of idolatry,
but halted reverently at the distance of two or three paces, out of
regard of the religious prejudices of my valet. As soon, however, as
Kory-Kory perceived that I was in one of my inquiring, scientific
moods, to my astonishment he sprang to the side of the idol, and
pushing it away from the stones against which it rested, endeavoured to
make it stand upon its legs. But the divinity had lost the use of them
altogether; and while Kory-Kory was trying to prop it up, by placing a
stick between it and pi-pi, the monster fell clumsily to the ground,
and would infallibly have broken its neck had not Kory-Kory
providentially broken its fall, by receiving its whole weight on his
own half-crushed back. I never saw the honest fellow in such a rage
before. He leaped furiously to his feet, and, seizing the stick, began
beating the poor image, every moment or two pausing and talking to it
in the most violent manner, as if upbraiding it for the accident. When
his indignation had subsided a little, he whirled the idol about most
profanely, so as to give me an opportunity of examining it on all
sides. I am quite sure I never should have presumed to have taken such
liberties with the god myself, and I was not a little shocked at
Kory-Kory’s impiety.