CHAPTER XVII.

A CANOE VOYAGE.

Our life in the town of Ramáka was for a time very much as it had been in the valley of Tivóli, except that the inhabitants were of a more active and warlike character, and their amusements were often of a more robust nature, canoe-sailing on the open sea, which was often attended with danger, being especially a favorite pastime. There were also torchlight fishing excursions to the reef at low tide. These sporting parties were full of life and animation, and the women, who played a prominent part in them, found abundant opportunity on these occasions to indulge their taste for gossip and scandal.

After a time, we heard of what was going on in Turtle Town, in the valley of Tivóli, the news coming filtered through intervening tribes. It was known that Lolóma and I had taken up our abode in Ramáka, and it seemed that Bent-Axe, who had great influence with Big-Wind, was determined that war should be made upon our city of refuge. We learned that since our departure from the valley, my rival had not only rigidly abstained from the dance, but had kept the exact half of his great head of hair cropped to remind him of his revenge, and had taken an oath never to drink the milk of the cocoanut out of the shell until he had compassed the death of the papalangi who had robbed him of his bride.

There was a general belief in Ramáka that war was imminent, and the townspeople were desirous of being first in the field. The priest having been consulted, found that war was near at hand, for during the last thunderstorm the lightning split many trees; and fruit trees, long known as barren, had lately been seen with ripe fruit on them, a phenomenon never heard of before without its having been speedily followed by the beating of the war drums and the clash of arms.

It was well known that there were other white men living at the little island of Bau, under the protection of Naulivou.[15] These white men were the first to introduce fire-arms into the country, and already, by virtue of this circumstance, the foundations of the future greatness of the kingdom of Bau had been laid. King Hot-Water was very anxious to obtain the aid of these white gods, or their weapons. Being very desirous of visiting Bau, which was two days sail by canoe from Ramáka, I undertook to accompany Hot-Water to that island, and assist him in the negotiation he had in view. We accordingly set sail one morning in Hot-Water’s best double canoe, with seventy natives as a retinue.

Footnote 15:

Grandfather of the late ex-King Thakombau.

A Fijian double canoe is a very wonderful piece of naval architecture. The single canoes are composed of two pieces hollowed out of the trunk of a tree, and joined together in the centre with marvellous exactness and security, considering the roughness of the Fijians’ tools, and that they have nothing stronger than sinnet to bind the wood with. The small single canoes, some of which are only 10 feet or 12 feet long, are propelled by sculling, but the large ones carry an immense mat sail. A double canoe is built by placing two large single canoes side by side, and bridging over the middle third of the hulk with a deck twice its own width, and raised on a deep plank built edgeways on each gunwale. The single canoe is balanced by a wooden frame or outrigger on one side, nearly as broad as the deck. All between the edge of the deck and the outrigger is open. The projecting ends of the canoe are boxed up, but the water washes in in the centre, and it is necessary when at sea to be constantly bailing.

In large canoes there is a house built on deck, with a sloping roof, under which the chief and the women of the party seek shelter in bad weather. The mat sail, which is very large in proportion to the canoe, is shaped something like a leg of mutton. It is hoisted on a mast by means of ropes, and when it is taken in, the mast comes down with it, and is laid horizontally on the deck. The mast is stepped in a chock at one end of the deck, and in order to ’bout ship it is necessary to unstep it and carry it to the other end, for the canoes cannot turn round. This is a very awkward arrangement, and men are often knocked overboard in unstepping the mast and attempting to carry it on their shoulders. If the man who has charge of the sheet does not slack away at once, when a sudden gust of wind takes the sail, the thama, or outrigger, is raised in the air, and the canoe capsizes; and unless the steersmen are careful to keep the sail on the weather side, the canoe will be swamped by the wind driving the sail against the mast, and forcing the outrigger under the water. The canoe is steered by a long oar, and when the sail is not up the vessel is propelled by vertical sculling, two men standing at one end of the deck and two at the other, throwing the full weight of their bodies on the sculls in a swinging motion from side to side.

The extreme length of one of these canoes is about 100 feet. A canoe that length would have a deck 46 feet long and 20 feet wide. The mast would be 62 feet high, the height from the keel to the house top 14 feet, and the draught of water 2 feet. Such a canoe would carry 100 persons and several tons of goods. The best of these canoes under a stiff breeze will travel over 10 miles an hour.

The construction of a canoe 60ft. or 70ft. long, occupies several years, and the completion of one is the occasion of great public rejoicings. It was the custom to launch new canoes upon the bodies of men used as rollers, and at every place which they visited upon their first voyage, fresh sacrifices took place, the victims being always eaten. The canoe builders are an hereditary caste, called “king’s carpenters.” These canoes, from their light draught of water, are well adapted to insular navigation, but they are not safe, for if a strong wind or heavy sea should suddenly arise, they become unmanageable, and are swamped. The natives never put to sea in them in bad weather, but they are often overtaken by it, and when out of swimming distance of the land, are drowned.

The little canoes used for inside reef passages and on the rivers, are extremely dangerous. The smallest jerk is sufficient to upset them. They do not sink, however, when this occurs, and the natives will sometimes, while supporting themselves in the water, bail a canoe out and right it. The duties in connection with the sailing of a canoe are not performed in a perfunctory manner. The sail is raised with a great shout; every manœuvre is executed with an accompaniment of laughter and singing, varied by playful addresses to the wind, while the scullers are also referred to in frequent expressions of thanks for their labours. Everyone exerts himself to make the whole affair a pleasure jaunt, and the labour is very much lightened by the jocoseness and good humour with which all the work is done.

We left the shore of Viti Lévu with a light breeze on a mildly ruffled sea. As the canoe, named the Marama, or Lady, gently made her liquid way, fresh headlands or islets came into view, and as we glided through the soft sunlight, we seemed to form a part of some magnificent mirage of a painter’s dream.

The Fijian sailors, like those of other countries, have their superstitions. When there is a calm they whistle to the wind, or say sweet things to it, using every art of verbal cajolery to lure it to their craft. The shark is one of their gods. By every sailor tribe he is regarded as a deadly enemy, and extraordinary efforts are made to propitiate him when at sea. When sailing in their canoes the people often throw him roots of kava, and make all sorts of covenants with him, promising that if they only get on shore again alive and well, they will treat him to a feast of fat things, and always be willing to give him the best they have without stint. With these and other fair promises, they comfort one another in times of danger, hoping all the while that their canoe may outride the storm; but if it should not, that the shark-god may have no power to touch them when swimming to land. The savage prowler of the deep is, however, but seldom satisfied with prayers, promises, or gifts from his fearing, and therefore worshipping, children, many of whom on their way to Hades, pass yearly through his horrible jaws. At certain seasons he is said to be more than usually wrathful and voracious. This is perhaps when tribes of smaller fish on which he loves to prey, frequent the bays, harbours, and rivers of the islands. At these times many natives are afraid to bathe in the sea till the shark’s priests have declared his anger to have cooled down. There are many wild traditions about this god, one of which is that should the king of the sharks, who is the greatest god among them, unfortunately happen to be near when a canoe is capsized, he will swallow the whole lot—men, ropes, paddles, oars, mast, spars, and canoe! “So,” says a priest, who may happen to be a passenger in a canoe that as yet is only in danger of capsizing, “Be very careful my brave tars, be very careful!” As he watches the labouring craft, he continues—“Bale away, boys! Stand by the sheet! Luff, luff! Steady! Be men! It is for your lives! Ah, that’s the way! Bravo! Bravo! Your wives and children are at home, looking for your return! The shark, the god of sharks is at hand!”

Various portions of the ocean are consecrated like the most sacred places on shore, and the greatest possible marks of respect are shown to the spirits of such waters by all sea-going people when sailing near or over them. When passing over these marine spirit abodes, the sailor must remove his turban, neck ornaments, and armlets, take his comb and “head-scratcher” out of his big head of hair, wash the paint from his face, give the groan or grunt of respect as to a high chief, and in every other way, however high his own rank may happen to be, make himself in all things of no account.

Nearing the capital of Naulivou’s kingdom, an exquisite panorama unfolded itself to our view. We were in the magic circle of a fairy ring of islands. The curious illusion of the mirage fell upon the scene. Headlands basked and glittered in the distance; lofty mountain cones hung in the air with their inverted images reflected below; sunny peaks were now draped with opalescent clouds, now flushed with purpling red, as we entered the realms of the enchanted land. It was a brilliantly radiating spectacle, seen through an undulating curtain of rosy muslin.

Our voyage to Bau was a highly successful one. Naulivou received us graciously, and promised a contingent of warriors with muskets for Turner, Cobb, and myself. Among the Europeans the old king had living with him, were Charles Savage, a Swedish sailor, who, having been wrecked in an American brig, was the first white man who landed in Fiji. Three of the others were convicts who had escaped in an open boat from New South Wales, and there were two English sailors who had run away from trading ships. They told me that an occasional sandalwood trafficker visited Bau, and that I should certainly before long get the opportunity of a passage to India or China if I wished it; for themselves, they were content to remain in the country. After a week’s feasting, Hot-Water set sail again for his home on the coast of Viti Lévu, it being understood that a party lent by our allies would follow in a few days.

The return voyage was begun under the most auspicious circumstances. Our huge mat sail was hoisted in the early morning. The lightly clouded East was marked with great crimson bars. Though there was wind enough to move our craft, the water was so smooth that every object was reflected in sharp outline, while the horizon glittered like a band of steel. Then the equable trade wind reached us, corrugating the sea with furrows as regular as those of a ploughed field. Not a breath seemed to be lost on the sensitive surface. This continued until we were in sight of Ramáka again.

Quite suddenly the whole aspect changed. Heavy dark clouds, charged with electricity, massed in mountainous folds to windward, a violent tropical squall bore down upon us, and the humid air became oppressively stifling. The sail was lowered with great difficulty before the full force of the wind reached us, but the deck-house had been loosened, and the canoe, which had been severely strained, labored helplessly in a cauldron-like sea, and was drifting at the mercy of the waves.

We were gradually nearing the land, however, and the water must get smooth as we progressed. In a short time the squall had passed, the dark pall was lifted from the Heavens, and the native sailors, who had been greatly alarmed, had begun to assume their wonted alacrity, when a sharp cry of terror from the bows of the canoe attracted the attention of all to that quarter. Two waterspouts, which seemed to be rapidly approaching us, were in full view. Many of the natives threw themselves down, covered their faces with their hands, and appeared to give up all hope.

The movement of these terrible columns was so rapid that there seemed to be no chance of escape. Waterspouts are formed by the sucking up of the foam of the waves by an aerial eddy, the water ascending with a whirling motion. Of the two magnificent objects before us, one seemed like a pillar supporting the clouds, and the other like an inverted cone connected with the clouds. The water at the base was terribly agitated. The aqueous cylinders appeared to be enveloped in a mist, caused by the action of the wind on the small particles of water, but the spiral twisting of the interior could be vaguely seen, and the action of these bodies was accompanied by a tempestuous sound which was awe-inspiring.

King Hot-Water disdained to show any fear of the monstrous apparition, but calmly divested himself of his personal adornments, metaphorically sat in sackcloth and ashes, and devoutly made the tama to his God. The crew were prostrate with terror. As the waterspouts approached, the snow-white flashes of foam became blinding. I abandoned all hope, and prepared myself for the end with such calmness as I could command. Casting a last shuddering glance towards the impending horror, I saw that by a slight change in their course, directed by the shifting wind, they would not overwhelm us. But already I felt the throbbing pulsation they imparted to the sea, and two great waves, which they raised in their passage by our bows, sundered the timbers of the ill-fated Marama. In a moment the whole company, men, women, and children, numbering 70 in all, were struggling in the cruel sea.

The turbulence of the waters soon subsided, and in a short time the shipwrecked party had the advantage of a comparatively smooth sea. The disaster had not been observed at Ramáka, and the wrecked canoe-load had no hope of reaching their homes except by swimming. The distance being only six miles, this was easy of accomplishment by the natives, but that which made the position so alarming was the well-known fact that this particular locality was infested by numbers of sharks of the most ravenous kind, against whose attacks the unhappy people knew they could not hope successfully to cope.

The King’s companions had no great love for him, but they feared him and his Government, and they knew that it would be as well to be eaten by a shark as to return home without him. The 69 unfortunates, including the women and children, accordingly formed themselves into a circle, having a diameter of about 60ft., round the King and myself, whom they regarded with superstitious reverence. As they swam, they shouted and splashed with their feet, until they produced the miniature resemblance of an annular reef endowed with locomotive powers. The King occupied the central space, and swam serenely on, in that diagonal, half-sitting posture in which Polynesians can get so comfortably through the water. I was a good swimmer, but had no hope of being able to support myself till we reached the shore. Hot-Water, however, was quite at his ease, and he told me to rest on his shoulder whenever I felt tired.

The shark is a timid creature in some respects, and His Majesty knew that no such monster would break through the charmed ring unless it should be one with tattoo marks on its belly, when it would be a god come to console him in his trouble, and show him an easier mode of deliverance. Feeling that he was of divine origin himself, it was only natural to his mind that some such incident should occur, and he thought that, whatever might happen to his attendants, the divinity which hedged him would preserve him at all hazards.

The villainous footpads of the sea, which give an especial terror to Polynesian waters, were not long in making their appearance. When the first straight back-fin appeared above the water, gliding steadily on, a howl of terror went up from the devoted band which surrounded the royal personage.

The sharks came prowling round, one or two at a time, occasionally thrusting out of the water their great brown shagreened heads, without daring to touch the ring. When they received a large accession of numbers and became bolder, they darted about, sometimes coming close up and then retreating, as though making a deliberate selection of some particular victim. Then they lingered near to the living fence, rubbing their cold, horny noses against the bare bodies of the Fijians, who yelled woefully, beseeching Dakuwaqa, their Neptune, to protect them. One of the children was the first sacrifice offered for the lives of the king and his white friend.

The taste of the blood which floated on the water at once aroused the dormant appetites of the sharks, and they made a terrific onslaught, never daring, however, to penetrate the circle. Their horrid rows of saw teeth now gleamed frequently in the sun, as they turned on their sides to bite. Some of the men were armed with bamboo knives, and fought boldly. When a shark turned on his side to make a good mouthful, these often gave him a fatal stab; but they were no match for an enemy so numerous and so insidious in their mode of attack.

The women and children were the first links missed from the chain. Then men began to drop out, but those who remained, constantly closed up, and preserved an unbroken circle round us, the onward motion never being stayed.

The sharks now surrounded the whole party, and feasted pretty much at will. When a man fell out, there was a lull in the attack until his body was devoured. But the appetites of these rapacious fishes seemed to grow by what they fed on. Many of the men who still swam on had lost a leg or an arm. The foam raised in beating the water to scare the sharks from penetrating the protecting band, was crimson with blood.

To those who now began to notice the strange appearance from the shore, however, the water had only that rose colour which it has in the tropics when thrown up between the sunlight and the spectator, and little attention was paid to a disturbance which might have been caused by a shoal of fish. Meanwhile the unhappy swimmers were in sight of their homes. They could see the stilted roots of the mangroves skirting their shores, the stony beach, the houses in the town, and the temples on the rising ground. To not a few of them it was a farewell glance. The remorseless monsters who had them at their command, ceased not their attentions, and with a despairing cry many poor fellows continued falling out of their places, notwithstanding their assiduity in shouting the tama to their god.

The chain was at length reduced to very narrow dimensions. It consisted of only 30 men, and Hot-Water was less easy in his mind than he had been, for there was another mile of swimming to be done before that blood-red circle could tinge the waters which rippled on the shores of Ramáka.

Assuming an upright position in the water, the King took off his turban. The long thin folds of fine white tapa were floated by the wind in the direction of the island. The waving cloth was seen, and at the same time the heads of the men in the water were discerned. A small canoe was speedily manned, and the 30 shipwrecked mariners with their chief and myself were taken on board and landed in safety.

The custom of the loloku was duly observed to propitiate the manes of the departed sailors. That night was one of wailing in Ramáka, for the households already desolated had each to give up a life in honour of the dead.

Had I been among the drowned, Lolóma would have been strangled in order that her spirit might accompany mine in the next world, where, according to the Fijian belief, it would have a variety of experiences in the various “circles” of Hades.