THE TEMPLE IS SET IN ORDER.
In the course of a few months, the interval having been employed in the
valley of Tivóli in making preparations for war, ambassadors were
received from King Big-Wind, at the instigation of Bent-Axe, demanding
the restoration of Lolóma and myself. The reply was an emphatic refusal,
Hot-Water being desirous of keeping all the white men who came within
his influence about him; and it was understood on both sides that war
was inevitable.
The time was now one of stirring interest to all the tribes under the
dominion of Hot-Water. Every village and hamlet was on the move. The
great chieftains and their warriors of all ranks, with blackened faces
and ornamented clubs and spears, were in readiness to march for the
enemy’s land. Their last offerings to the gods must, however, be first
presented, and words of encouragement and blessing be received in return
from the soothsaying and shaking priests.
The old temple of Ramáka was rebuilt to propitiate the deities. The
frames of this spirit-house were composed of rough hardwood posts,
chopped from the vesi, one of the most sacred trees in cannibal
mythology. The rafters were made of lighter wood or bamboos, and the
walls were reed-work. The roof was thatched with long grass; the
interior was lined with a beautiful net of sinnet-work.
There were some singular ceremonies in connection with the erection of
the temple, which only occupied a few days. When everything was ready
for planting the first post, or, as we should say, “laying the
foundation stone,” the priest took a bunch of cocoanuts, and shook them
lustily over each hole that had been dug for the principal posts or
pillars of the building. This shaking loosened some of the riper nuts
from the stalk. The first hole into which a nut dropped was chosen for
the first, or foundation post, which was thenceforward called the
“god-pillar,” and the part of the temple where it stood was “holy
ground”—a charmed spot, where the oracle delighted to dwell, and the
priest to sleep and dream. It was in truth his _sanctum sanctorum_.
There was a tradition in the tribe that on the erection of the first
temple in Ramáka, living human bodies were put into the holes with the
posts, and buried with them. It was a common practice to kill men for
the occasion, and place them standing on their feet in the holes with
the temple pillars.
When the edifice was ready for “opening,” or “consecration,” a fast of
four days was proclaimed and strictly observed. While it lasted, work of
every description, and conversation, as well as eating and drinking,
were tabooed, and the large town remained as still and silent as death.
At the end of the fourth day the silence was broken by the blast of
trumpets and the roll of drums; the people burst forth from their houses
as from so many graves, and gave themselves up to the wildest revelry.
The night was kept awake with noise. The disturbed parrots in the trees
hard by, joined in the chaos of sounds, which lasted till dawn, when,
suddenly, the scene changed to one of hearty industry in preparing
puddings, killing pigs, and making and heating ovens for a great feast.
Four days of fasting had whetted the people’s appetites; their feelings
may, therefore, be imagined, when they sat down to a dinner consisting
of 200 pigs, and untold quantities of yams, taro, vegetable puddings,
bananas, cocoanuts, &c.
The temple furniture was as sacred as the temple itself. The edifice
contained a stone dressed up in white native cloth, on which libations
were poured. A small “wooden-face,” or idol, a trumpet shell or two,
some cups and bowls for the priest’s own use in kava-drinking,—a few
wooden forks for eating human flesh with,—a rack for spears and clubs,
which had taken part in some horrible tragedy, and, being defiled with
blood, were regarded as god-favored arms, against which no enemy would
be able to stand,—some turmeric and cocoanut oil, a few turbans, smoked
and oiled,—a string or two of white cowrie shells,—a couple of wooden
pillows, some ornamental mats on the floor, two or three bundles of new
mats on the beams overhead for future use, and a few bleached skulls,
together with a long strip of white native cloth, reaching from the roof
to the floor, forming the path down which the god passes to enter the
priest, concluded the inventory of the sacred utensils and trappings of
the new temple.
Simple as were the temple, its furniture, and all its surroundings, the
pretensions of the place and its inhabitant (the priest, Katonivére,
which means basket for plots, or box-of-tricks) were by no means of a
character in keeping. You could not become acquainted with the priest,
whose scheming heart was a bottomless deep, or with the laws and
superstitions of his abode, without feeling that you had got within the
circle of darkness and mystery, hypocrisy, and spiritual jugglery.
Many were the prohibitions that guarded the place. No native dared to
enter with his turban on. Women and children were not admitted. It was
not a place for worshipping assemblies, and those who came on religious
business with the priest sat down on the grass plot outside. No eating
was permitted within the walls, except to the priest and a favored few.
No animal that was believed to be the shrine[16] of a god worshipped by
any person serving the temple, was accepted as an offering. On entering,
the visitor had to pass the threshold on his hands and knees, to show
his respect for the place, its priest, and its god. If repairs were
ordered, an offering of food was required by the gods before the workmen
could begin their work. If anyone passing the temple pointed at it, if
children played in front of it, if, in a word, anything at all was done
which the priest had said was not to be done, the offender or offenders
were sure to be punished sooner or later by cruel anathemas. The ban of
the angry priest would rest upon the objects of his displeasure, not
unfrequently till it had wrought its work of death.
Footnote 16:
Some Fijian gods dwell in objects both animate and inanimate, which,
when so occupied, are called the shrine of the god.
One afternoon the bulk of the warrior bands were seated on and around
the lawn in front of their god’s house. The usual gifts of food and
whale’s teeth were presented and accepted according to the formal
custom, and short speeches were made both by petitioners and petitioned.
The war being a popular one, the priest’s address and invocation,
offered in the same breath, were favourable and inspiriting to the
soldiers.
Then the yangona or kava-drinking party was formed. The liquor being
ready, the chief men gathered round to pay their respects to the
spiritual powers, and to hear from the old man representing those
powers, the various oracular sayings he had to deliver, the influence of
all of which on the warrior was to make him sleep soundly on that, his
last night at home, and dream of fighting and victory, of a safe and
glorious return to his wives and children; of the pleasure of eating the
unholy meal of human flesh, and, having washed the paint, and sweat, and
dust of battle from his face, of the peaceful and still more victorious
work of planting yams and sugar-cane.
The first bowl of kava was handed to the priest—Box-of-Tricks—that
venerable and wily man, who had been oiled up for the occasion. The
drink was quaffed by him to the last drop, and the vessel was returned
to the cup-bearer amidst a great clapping of hands. Now came the moment
of chief interest in listening to the deliverance of the people’s
“guide, philosopher, and friend.”
With a whining, sing-song, and rapid utterance, old Box-of-Tricks spoke
as follows:—“In the presence of our great chiefs, the chiefs of the
land, the ‘Eyes-of-the-Country,’ the chiefs of tribes, the chiefs of
towns great and small, in the presence of the ‘Strength-of-the-Country,’
the ‘Fruit-of-the-Screw-Pine,’ let me be bold to speak. Our land is in
evil plight, my chiefs! We are at war with our enemies! You are going to
fight! Go! Club the impudent foe and burn his towns! May the
‘Teeth-of-the-Yangona’ fight bravely, and all come back alive. May none
of them be clubbed! May every arrow of the enemy fly wide of the mark!
May the young men live and be strong to kill in the battle! May they
beat back all our foes, spoil all their plots, and fill our ovens with
flesh that the gods may have plenty to eat, and once more bring us peace
and rest.”
Here, though somewhat exhausted by this mental effort, yet proceeding
more rapidly than ever, and speaking as if he were the god he
represented, the old priest, after referring to the offerings made and
accepted, concluded with the cheering words:—“Hereby is my wrath
appeased. I will no longer be angry with the Teeth-of-the-Yangona.” At
which most gracious announcement the people shouted with remarkable
emphasis “Mana endeena!” wonderful and true!
After a few more formalities, and a little more drinking, the ceremony
concluded, and stern faces relaxed.
The “Eyes-of-the-Country” named by the priest are the ambassadors,
who, as their name suggests, are supposed to be wide awake enough to
see everything going on in and out of the land. They are universal
spies, the bearers of royal messages to other tribes, clever mischief
makers, and generally notorious for negotiating political affairs in
any way but according to their instructions. In all fairness, however,
it must be added that they were without doubt as a class, the first
and only genuine orators in Cannibal-land. Three other poetical
expressions used by Box-of-Tricks deserve a passing notice. They are
the “Teeth-of-the-Yangona,” the “Fruit-of-the-Screw-Pine,” and the
“Strength-of-the-Country.” These figures of speech mean the strong
young men, and experienced warriors going forth in the conscious pride
and might of their youth and manhood’s prime, to meet the foe. Young
men are employed to masticate the kava-root, so that when put into
water it may the more readily give out its intoxicating juices. These
young men are therefore called the “Teeth-of-the-Yangona,” or the
“kava-root chewers.” The best portion of the army is spoken of as the
“Fruit-of-the-Screw-Pine” or Pandanus,—the most sacred and popular
tree in the mythologies of Fiji. The fruit when ripe resembles the
pine-apple, but is of a deeper and richer colour. Used by our cannibal
orator, it represented the ripeness of manly strength, and was another
name for the men whom he also called the “Strength-of-the-Land,” or as
we should say, the “Flower of the Army.” The “plenty of flesh to eat”
referred to, meant human flesh, the word used having no other
signification.