being still fair but falling light, the mate ordered the sailor they
called Bill--him with the red beard--to go aloft and shake out the
topsail, which was furled; but he not moving quickly, but with murmurs
and unwillingly, the mate spoke angrily to him, saying, “Goddam!”
many times, and other evil words. Then the sailor turned back and
struck the mate, calling upon the others to come and help him; for he
was a sort of leader among them, through his quarrelsome nature and
unwillingness to render due obedience to his chiefs. But the others
stood as if uncertain, wishing to slay the mate, and yet afraid. And
as he continued calling upon them, two of the crew joined him, and
drove the mate against the cook-house, where he stood striking at them,
for he was very strong. Then Bill took the cook’s axe that stood near
and lifted it to strike, and I ran to help the mate, whom I loved.
But before I could reach him another passed me very swiftly and flung
himself upon Bill, as a falcon seizes a _sese_, and strove with him
a moment till both fell heavily upon the deck and rolled, so that
Bill was underneath straining for breath, as the other had him by the
throat. Then I wondered greatly, for I saw that he who had done this
was the captain, whose body was thin and light like the body of a cat,
and Bill was like a _bulumokau_ for bulk. And when the two others saw
what had befallen Bill they retreated towards the forecastle; but the
mate followed them, striking them with his fists so that they went
down the hatchway as a man who dives for turtle, their feet following
them. But when we turned back the captain was gone to his cabin, and
Bill was still lying on the deck gasping for breath. And that night
when it was my watch the mate came and sat with me near the wheel, for
the night was clear and calm, and I was steering. He did not speak
contemptuously of the captain, but wonderingly, as if he had suddenly
become another whom he did not know. And while we still talked a sound
came through the cabin skylight near us as of a woman’s voice, and of a
man weeping. And then the weeping of the man drowned the voice of the
woman, which was weak, and we both knew it for the captain’s voice,
and the mate got up and went forward saying no word. But my heart was
filled with a great contempt for the captain, since I hold it great
shame for a man to weep. And a little later the wind died away, and the
sails struck the mast with a noise like musketry, and then filled and
struck again with the breath of the dying wind, and then hung loose
from the yards as dead vines hang from the limbs of the _damanu_-tree;
for even the swell was calm, so that both the air and the restless sea
were dead, and the ship lay under the stars as still as a canoe left
on the sands by the ebbing tide. And when the bell had struck one, and
the dawn was near, I lay upon the hatchway wishing for sleep. And
suddenly there was a terrible cry, so that we all started up asking
ourselves whence it came and what it meant, for it was not the voice
of a man but of some fierce animal. Then it came again, and we knew
that it came from the cabin, and was the captain’s voice, but changed
as the voice of a man whose senses have left him. And when it came a
third time the mate said that the woman must be dead, for the captain’s
voice was changed by grief, and he was calling the name of the woman,
who would never answer him more. But after the third time the cry did
not come again, but only a low moaning, continuously, as I have heard a
man make after the battle when he has been clubbed, but his senses have
returned to him, and he knows that they who are taking him are heating
the oven for his body. And when the sun rose no wind came to fill the
sails and cool the air. And beside the ship lay her image, complete to
the last rope, as clear as in those glasses the traders sell to the
women. And as the sun rose higher the sky turned to iron, and the sea
threw back the brightness so that it burned the eyes; and the pitch
grew wet in the seams and scorched the bare feet, gluing them to the
deck. And we lay under the shadow of the masts and sails panting for
breath. Only the sailmaker worked, making a hammock for the body of the
woman. And all the while the moaning in the cabin never ceased, even
for a moment. And when the sun was overhead, all things being prepared,
the mate went to the cabin with the sailmaker. And we heard blows upon
the cabin-door, and the captain was loudly called; but however loudly
they knocked or called, when they ceased they still heard the moaning,
mingled with broken words. So the mate came to us again, saying that he
would wait until eight bells, and then force the door, for the weather
was hot and the matter could not be delayed. But when eight bells were
struck, the moaning still continuing, the mate called me, and I took
the hammock and followed him down the companion. And the mate called
loudly and struck upon the door. Then we listened and heard the voice
as of one who sleeps and dreams evil dreams. Then stepping back, the
mate ran upon the door, striking it heavily with his shoulder, and the
door burst in, and the mate fell forward with the door into the cabin.
And I, looking in, saw a foolish sight, for the captain was sitting
on the floor of the cabin and had the body of the woman clasped in
his arms as a mother holds her suckling child. And the woman was an
ill sight, for she was axe-faced, like all the white women, and the
flesh had left her face in her sickness, and being dead the eyes stared
upward and the jaw had fallen. Yet for all this the captain, not seeing
us, kissed the dead face as is the white man’s fashion with the lips,
and moaned unceasingly. Then the mate touched him and spoke, but he
seemed not to know him, and his eyes became fierce, and he cried to
us to leave him. Seeing that we could do nothing without using force,
we left him for that night. But when the morning came and there was
still no wind, the mate again bade me follow him, and called to him
also the carpenter and the boatswain, and we four entered the cabin and
found him sitting as before, only quieter, but the woman’s face was
much changed. And the mate spoke brave words to the captain, bidding
him have courage and allow the woman’s body to be buried. And when he
understood why we had come, and saw the hammock, he became like a wild
sow who is wounded with a spear and turns to protect her young ones.
Even so he turned to defend the body of the woman. But the mate seized
him, and, with the help of the carpenter, held him fast, while we
dragged the body from him. But so changed was it that it would not go
into the hammock. So we carried it on deck out of his sight, while he
struggled with the others, and the sailmaker ripped the hammock and
sewed it up in haste, enclosing a shot at the feet. And when all was
ready we carried it amidships and laid it on a grating, with a flag
over it, and the mate nailed up the captain’s door lest he should do
some fearful thing. Then the mate said some sacred words,--not many,
for he could remember only a few,--and the men, being impatient lest
ill-luck should befall the ship, threw up the grating and the body
splashed into the sea, breaking the image of the ship into a thousand
pieces. But scarcely had it sunk when it sprang up again as if alive,
and most of the sailors fled in fear thinking it to be alive. But the
mate, knowing the cause, cried that the shot was not heavy enough
seeing that the body was much swollen. He shouted to us to pierce the
hammock quickly to make the body sink. So a boat was lowered, and as
no other would do it, I was sent with a sharp boat-hook to pierce the
hammock. Now the body had drifted a few fathoms from the ship, and
still danced up and down upright and immersed from the waist downwards.
And as the boat drew near, and I stood up in the bows, I thought I saw
the axe-face grinning at me through the canvas, and drawing away from
me, so that I almost feared to strike lest it still lived. Then one of
the sailors in the boat cried, “It is alive and will drown us!” and
I held my hand in terror lest I should strike a live woman. But the
mate cried from the ship, “Strike!” and I turned and saw that the ship
was turning so that we were nearly opposite the cabin window, and the
mate and all the sailors were beckoning to me to strike quickly. Then
courage came to me, and standing up in the boat I struck at the woman
with the boat-hook as a man strikes at his enemy with a spear, but as
I struck, the woman only danced up and down the more, rocking to and
fro, so that I could not strike hard to pierce the canvas. Then one of
the men in the boat laughed to see the woman dance up and down so, and
I laughed too, so that my arm became weak. But the mate cried to me
again, and I balanced myself as a harpooner does before he strikes the
whale, and as I balanced the boat-hook I turned and saw that the ship
had swung so that we were opposite the cabin windows. Then with all my
force I threw the boat-hook into the soft body and drew it out again....
But as I struck there came a great and terrible cry from the ship,
and I turned and saw the captain’s face at the window waving bleeding
hands to me; for with his hands he had beaten out the thick glass, and
he strove to force his body through but could not. Then he cried aloud
again, such a cry as once I heard a man utter at Serua whom we had
trapped in a cave whence there was no escape, and then his head fell
forward and he was still. And the woman’s body which I had pierced sank
slowly beneath the sea. But when they lifted the captain they found
that he was dead, though his body had sustained no hurt.
Now I think that this white man was the most foolish of all the white
men in the world, for though white men commit great foolishness for the
sake of women, because of their beauty, yet none are so foolish as to
desire their dead bodies, and this woman was not beautiful even when
she lived, for she was axe-faced.
THE FIERY FURNACE.
Of the ancient Fijian ceremonies few now survive. The early
missionaries are unjustly charged with bigotry and Philistinism, in
having waged war on all native ceremonial connected, however remotely,
with their heathen creeds. But the Wesleyan missionaries were before
all things practical, and knew that if Christianity was to take root at
all it must have bare soil, from which every weed had been carefully
torn up; for savage converts have an easy-going tendency towards
engrafting Christianity upon their old beliefs,--in discovering that
Jehovah is only another name for Krishna or Ndengei, and that the
ritual that pleased the one cannot be unacceptable to the other.
But in one corner of Fiji, the island of Mbengga, a curious observance
of mythological origin has escaped the general destruction, probably
because the worthy iconoclasts had never heard of it. Once every year
the _masáwe_, a dracæna that grows in profusion on the grassy hillsides
of the island, becomes fit to yield the sugar of which its fibrous root
is full. To render it fit to eat, the roots must be baked among hot
stones for four days. A great pit is dug, and filled with large stones
and blazing logs, and when these have burned down, and the stones are
at white heat, the oven is ready for the _masáwe_. It is at this stage
that the clan Na Ivilankata, favoured of the gods, is called on to
“leap into the oven” (_rikata na lovo_), and walk unharmed upon the hot
stones that would scorch and wither the feet of any but the descendants
of the dauntless Tui Nkualita. Twice only had Europeans been fortunate
enough to see the _masáwe_ cooked, and so marvellous had been the tales
they told, and so cynical the scepticism with which they had been
received, that nothing short of another performance before witnesses
and the photographic camera would have satisfied the average “old hand.”
As we steamed up to the chief’s village of Waisoma, a cloud of blue
smoke rolling up among the palms told us that the fire was newly
lighted. We found a shallow pit, nineteen feet wide, dug in the sandy
soil, a stone’s throw from high-water mark, in a small clearing among
the cocoa-nuts between the beach and the dense forest. The pit was
piled high with great blazing logs and round stones the size of a
man’s head. Mingled with the crackling roar of the fire were loud
reports as splinters flew off from the stones, warning us to guard
our eyes. A number of men were dragging up more logs and rolling them
into the blaze, while, above all, on the very brink of the fiery pit,
stood Jonathan Dambea, directing the proceedings with an air of noble
calm. As the stones would not be hot enough for four hours, there was
ample time to hear the tradition that warrants the observance of the
strange ceremony we were to see; and so seated on the spotless mats
in Jonathan’s house, I listened while a grey-headed elder told me the
story, pausing only to ask his fellows to corroborate, or to supply
some incident that had slipped his memory.
“On an evening,” he said, “very long ago, the men of Navakaisese had
collected in their sleeping-house for the night. Now the name of that
house was Nakauyema. And they were telling stories, each trying to
surpass the other in the story that he told. And one of them, whose
name I have forgotten, called upon each to name the reward (_nambu_)
he would give him for the story he was about to tell; for it is our
custom thus to encourage a good story-teller, each one bringing to
him on the morrow the _nambu_ he has promised. And some promised one
thing and some another. But Tui Nkualita, a chief and warrior of the Na
Ivilankata clan, cried ‘My _nambu_ shall be an eel!’ Then the story was
told, and the night passed. And on the morrow Tui Nkualita remembered
the spring called Namoliwai, that he had seen a large eel in it. And
when he came to it, and, kneeling on the brink, plunged his hand into
it, he could not feel the bottom though the water reached his shoulder,
for the pool was deeper than formerly; and he reached yet farther down,
following the rocky hole with his hand, and he touched something. He
drew it out, and saw that it was a child’s cradle-mat. Then, wondering
greatly, he plunged his arm into the pool, and reached yet farther
down, and touched something. And as he felt it, he knew it for the
fingers of a man. ‘Whoever this may be,’ he said within himself, ‘he
shall be my _nambu_.’ And he plunged half his body into the water,
feeling with his hand until he touched a man’s head. Then grasping the
hair he dragged it upwards, and planting his feet firmly, he drew forth
the body of a man, and held it fast on the brink of the spring.
“‘Whoever you are,’ he cried, ‘you shall be my _nambu_.’
“‘You must save me,’ answered the man, ‘for I am a chief, and have a
village of my own, and many others who pay tribute to me.’
“‘What is your name?’
“‘Tui na Moliwai (chief of Moliwai).’
“‘I know all the chiefs of Mbengga, and many also on the mainland, but
I never heard of Tui na Moliwai. I only know that you must come with me
and be my _nambu_.’
“‘Have pity on me, and let me live.’
“‘Let you live? Why, of what use will you be to me alive?’
“‘I will be your guardian spirit in war.’
“‘No. Mbengga is small, and I am mightier than all others in war.’
“‘Then I will be your god of safe voyages.’
“‘I am no sailor. My home is the land, and I hate the sea.’
“‘Then let me help you on the _tinka_-ground.’
“‘When the game is played my lance flies truer and stronger than them
all.’
“‘Then I will make you beloved of women.’
“‘I have a wife who loves me, and I want no other. What else?’
“‘Then I will do more than all these. You shall pass unharmed through
fire.’
“‘If you can do that I may spare you; but if you fail you shall be my
_nambu_.’
“Then the god gathered brushwood together, and piled it with stones in
a little hollow, and made fire, and lighted it, and they sat down to
wait until the stones grew hot. And when the wood had burned to ashes,
and the stones were red with heat, the god rose and took Tui Nkualita
by the hand, saying, ‘Come, let us go into the oven.’
“‘What! And be roasted while living?’
“‘Nay,’ returned the god, ‘I would not return evil for good. It shall
not burn you.’
“Then Tui Nkualita took his hand, and lay on the hot stones, finding
them cool and pleasant to his body.
“And Tui na Moliwai said, ‘You shall stay four days in the oven, and be
unhurt.’
“‘Four days! And who shall find food for my wife and children while I
am there? No! Let me only pass through the fire as I have done, and
come out unharmed. I ask no more than this.’
“‘It is well. This gift shall be yours and your descendants’ for ever.
Whether you stay here or go to other countries, this power shall remain
with you.’
“So Tui Nkualita let Tui na Moliwai go alive, and returned to his home
at Navakaisese, telling no one what had befallen him. But on the day
when masáwe was cooked at Wakanisalato, and the oven was heated, Tui
Nkualita rose and sprang into the great pit, trampling the burning
stones unharmed, and treading down the green leaves as they were thrown
to line the oven, so that he was hidden in the steam. And the people
raised a great shout, wondering much when they saw him come out alive
and unharmed. Thus it came about that whenever _masáwe_ is cooked in
Mbengga, the people of Rukua and Sawau must first leap into the oven
to make the baking good; and if yams or other food were put into the
oven with the _masáwe_, they would be taken out at the end of four days
still raw.
“Last year we went to a great feast at Rewa, and one of the Rewa chiefs
jested with us as we stood by the ovens, saying, ‘Come, leap into our
ovens, as you do into your own.’ And we told them that it is _tabu_ to
say this of any oven but the _masáwe_ oven, and that the food in the
smoking-pits would not be cooked. And our words came true, for when the
ovens were dug they found the pig and the yams raw as they were put in.”
[Illustration: “_When the wood was all out there remained a conical
pile of glowing stones._”]
When we were at last summoned, the fire had been burning for more than
four hours. The pit was filled with a white-hot mass shooting out
little tongues of white flame, and throwing out a heat beside which the
scorching sun was a pleasant relief. A number of men were engaged with
long poles, to which a loop of thick vine had been attached, in noosing
the pieces of unburnt wood by twisting the pole, like a horse’s twitch,
until the loop was tight, and dragging the log out by main force. When
the wood was all out there remained a conical pile of glowing stones in
the middle of the pit. Ten men now drove the butts of green saplings
into the base of the pile, and held the upper end while a stout vine
was passed behind the row of saplings. A dozen men grasped each end
of the vine, and with loud shouts hauled with all their might. The
saplings, like the teeth of an enormous rake, tore through the pile of
stones, flattening them out towards the opposite edge of the pit. The
saplings were then driven in on the other side, and the stones raked
in the opposite direction, then sideways, until the bottom of the pit
was covered with an even layer of hot stones. This process had taken
fully half an hour, but any doubt as to the heat of the stones at the
end was set at rest by the tongues of flame that played continually
among them. The cameras were hard at work, and a large crowd of people
pressed inwards towards the pit as the moment drew near. A Zanzibar
negro and his wife, drifted from heaven knows where, half-castes with
Samoan mothers, with Fijian mothers and unknown fathers, mingled with
the crowd of natives from the neighbouring mainland. They were all
excited except Jonathan, who preserved, even in the supreme moment,
the air of holy calm that never leaves his face. All eyes are fixed
expectant on the dense bush behind the clearing, whence the Shadrachs,
Meshachs, and Abednegos of the Pacific are to emerge. There is a cry
of “_Vutu! Vutu!_” and forth from the bush, two and two, march fifteen
men, dressed in garlands and fringes. They tramp straight to the brink
of the pit. The leading pair show something like fear in their faces,
but do not pause, perhaps because the rest would force them to move
forward. They step down upon the stones and continue their march round
the pit, planting their feet squarely and firmly on each stone. The
cameras snap, the crowd surges forward, the bystanders fling in great
bundles of green leaves. But the bundles strike the last man of the
procession and cut him off from his fellows; so he stays where he is,
trampling down the leaves as they are thrown to line the pit, in a
dense cloud of steam from the boiling sap. The rest leap back to his
assistance, shouting and trampling, and the pit turns into the mouth of
an Inferno, filled with dusky frenzied fiends, half seen through the
dense volume that rolls up to heaven and darkens the sunlight. After
the leaves, palm-leaf baskets of the dracæna root are flung to them,
more leaves, and then bystanders and every one joins in shovelling
earth over all till the pit is gone, and a smoking mound of fresh
earth takes its place. This will keep hot for four days, and then the
_masáwe_ will be cooked.
As the procession had filed up to the pit, by a preconcerted
arrangement with the noble Jonathan, a large stone had been hooked
out of the pit to the feet of one of the party, who poised a
pocket-handkerchief over it, and dropped it lightly upon the stone when
the first man leaped into the oven, and snatched what remained of it
up as the last left the stones. During the fifteen or twenty seconds
it lay there every fold that touched the stone was charred, and the
rest of it scorched yellow. So the stones were not cool. We caught four
or five of the performers as they came out, and closely examined their
feet. They were cool, and showed no trace of scorching, nor were their
anklets of dried tree-fern leaf burnt. This, Jonathan explained, is
part of the miracle; for dried tree-fern is as combustible as tinder,
and there were flames shooting out among the stones. Sceptics had
affirmed that the skin of a Fijian’s foot being a quarter of an inch
thick, he would not feel a burn. Whether this be true or not of the
ball and heel, the instep is covered with skin no thicker than our own,
and we saw the men plant their insteps fairly on the stone. Clearly
eternity can have no terrors for these simple natives.
I think that most of the sceptics were impressed. Even the skipper
of the steamer, who was once a conjurer, and ate fire at a variety
entertainment, said it was “very fair for niggers,” but darkly hinted
that he could improve upon it.
Seated by a bowl of _kava_ and a candle stuck in a bottle-neck,
Jonathan underwent my cross-examination with calm good-humour. Why were
the young men afraid? Because only five of the fifteen had ever passed
through the fire before. The regular performers were elderly men, and
they had reflected upon our distinguished rank, and the rumour that
picture-machines would be brought, and selected good-looking youths
rather than ugly old men. The handkerchief was burned? Well, if it had
been thrown into the middle of the pit, instead of upon an isolated
stone, it would not have been even singed, for the linen being of
human manufacture would share the god’s gift to men. Would a strange
man share the gift? Certainly, if he went with one of the tribe. If I
had told him my wishes sooner he would have taken me in barefooted,
and I should have found the stones cool and pleasant. Yes, it was true
that one of the men had nearly fallen, but the others ran to hold him
up. Would he have been burnt if he had fallen? He thought not. Then
why were the people so anxious to save him from falling? Well--they
remembered a man who fell many years ago, and yes--he certainly was
burnt on the shoulders and side, but a wise man patted the burns,
and they dried up and ceased paining him. Any trick? Here Jonathan’s
ample face shrunk smaller, and a shadow passed over his candid eye.
“If there had been any trick it would have come to light long ago. The
whole world would know. Perhaps I do not believe the story of Tui na
Moliwai, but I do believe that my tribe has been given to pass unharmed
through the fire.” Oh, wily Jonathan!
Perhaps the Na Ivilankata clan have no secret, and there is nothing
wonderful in their performance, but, miracle or not, I am very glad I
saw it.
FRIENDSHIP.
I.
“Allen, come out! Hang it, man, it’s not before your time! Why, it’s
five o’clock.”
“But the boss----”
“Blow the boss! He didn’t buy your body and soul for eight-six-eight
a-month?”
“But suppose I lose my billet----”
“That’s what I want you for. Look here! Life’s not worth living at this
rate. If it wasn’t for my wife I’d have chucked it long ago, for I’m
sick to death of stocks and shares: there’s no excitement when you make
a hit, because you don’t win enough, and it’s no fun losing, because
you always lose too much.”
“Yes. It’s all very well for you, Benion,--you can afford it; but if I
had half your money, I’d steer clear of specs. altogether.”
“No, you wouldn’t, my boy! The only fun of having money left one is to
try to make it grow. I expect you chuck some of your wretched screw
away betting on these beggarly races where every horse is run crooked.”
“Why, how much do you suppose I have over after paying for my living?”
asked the younger man, indignantly.