CHAPTER XVIII.

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.