Part 9

Far from the haunts of men there is a place where none dare to come alone. The land sloping up from Neiafu is broken here in a great precipice, against whose feet the mighty ocean-rollers, unchecked by any reef, break ceaselessly with a dull roar, making the overhanging rocks tremble a thousand feet above them. Landwards Haafulu Hao, with its myriad islets, is spread out like a map; seawards is nothing but the sleepless ocean meeting the blue sky. Thither the dead are brought to sleep in their white graves, untroubled by the living; thither go the poets of the _lakalaka_ for inspiration; thither go the girls of Halaufuli for flower-garlands, but not alone, for the spirits of the dead roam among the rocks of Liku, and must be scared away by numbers. Jutting out from the precipice is a single shaft of rock round which, even in calm weather, a furious wind eddies. With a good head one may climb out to this pinnacle, and, holding on firmly, see nothing between his feet and the foaming surf a thousand feet below.

There was a faint light in the western horizon where the moon had set. The stars were veiled by fleecy clouds--only where Venus hung low in the sky, casting a silver trail over the sea, was the night clear. The strong south-east trade-wind was turning cold, as it does before dawn, and Finau, breathless from her unconscious journey, instinctively wrapped her _vala_ round her shoulders. As she ran from the shelter of the roaring palms on to the cliff’s edge, the thunder of the surf made the rock on which she stood tremble, and the south wind, wet with spray, drenched her with tiny particles of water. The path ended here: it was only used for the last journey of the dead, who slept all around her in their shrouds of white sand glistening in the dim starlight. The sight of the precipice before her brought reflection to her maddened brain. She was on the Liku where the spirits are, and at night, when the spirits oftenest are abroad. But she felt no fear now, for a sudden thought had taken possession of her. She remembered how, not many months since, Laubasi, the beauty of Neiafu, had disappeared; how they had searched for her, following the girlish footprints in the muddy path; how Palu the fisherman had crept down the cliff-face at Anamatangi, and seen far below him a body lying on a rocky ledge; how at first it was thought that she had been swept down by the furious wind that roars across the cave’s mouth in all weathers, boisterous or calm, until the body was brought back, and then the women gave another reason--for Laubasi was a Wesleyan class-leader, much regarded for her character, and in a month or two that would have been gone had she lived. The Anamatangi was scarce half a mile from where Finau stood. With set purpose in her dark face she walked quickly along the narrow path, hedged in by overhanging trees that led along the edge of the cliff. In half a mile she emerged upon a grassy plain sloping down towards Neiafu, whence in the daytime the thousand isles of Haafulu Hao could be seen as in a map. Here she turned seawards, and passed down a stony narrow path among the trees. The path became narrower and steeper, then rose a little, and suddenly Finau found herself standing upon a razor edge of rock, the apex of a buttress jutting many feet beyond the main cliff, whose base had been worn away by the surf of ages.

It was too dark to see below, but as every long roller crashed into the caves at the cliff’s base the pinnacle trembled, and she knelt, grasping the rugged moss with her fingers. Only not to think--not to think of what she had come here to do,--not to think of what lay below her in the darkness,--not to think of what was beyond if she passed the gate! She remembered Paula’s sermon when Laubasi’s fate was known,--how he described her burning in the flames, as if he had been there to see; but he had said that of so many people, and Falani said it was all an invention of the missionaries to make the people give them money. How white, how still and restful, those graves had seemed, in one of which Laubasi lay; but how the sharp-pointed rocks must have torn her flesh when she fell! It must have been a worse agony than the police inflicted, and that was too much to bear! So she lay face downward on the rocky pinnacle, her courage waning, filled with despair, and with a terror that was worse than despair. The east turned grey, and the morning star was quenched by the growing light which flecked the sea with foaming wave-tops, unseen till now. And with the dawn the wind grew stronger, till it would have been unsafe for Finau to stand up, even if she would. The face of the cliff, too, behind her became visible, and she saw with terror the dangers of the path she had traversed by the dim light of the stars. One false step and her body would have fallen down there, where ledge upon ledge and pinnacle upon pinnacle of grey limestone-rock are half hidden by ferns and creepers, as the thorns of the _matolu_ are hidden by its velvet leaves, and beneath all a white hell of roaring waters.

As the light grew, she saw in the face of the precipice behind her a black hole large enough to admit the body of a man. To reach it one must creep along a ledge, slanting from the place where she lay. This was the cave of the winds, into which only Tubou the fleet-footed had penetrated, and Lolohea, who, tradition said, had fled when Feletoa was taken, and who, after peace was made, still dwelt in the wild Liku, communing with the spirits, and accumulating wisdom. It was on this very spot he stood when King Finau’s men brought him to bay till their chief should speak with him; and it was here that he was offered lands, slaves, and the choice of the fairest maidens of Vavau, only to refuse them for the solitude of this awful place. The wind was increasing in force, and it boomed across the mouth of the cave like a great organ-pipe. In the lulls a hollow roar seemed to come from the very bowels of the island. Somewhere far below the great ocean-rollers poured in, driving the imprisoned air through the mouth with terrific force. Surely no living man could dare the feats of those old heroes of tradition?

No! Death in such a place, and in such a way, were too horrible, and Finau, trembling and weak, looked round for a way of escape. The ridge she had crossed was now vibrating like a tense wire. She tried to rise, clinging to the rotten fern with her hands, and nearly lost her balance in a sharp gust of wind. It was hopeless. So she must die after all! And she lay there, dazed and bewildered, with all other desire gone but that of living.

* * * * * * *

“Here is the woman Finau. Her mind is foolish, but I have brought her back alive. Take better care of her, lest we of the Liku be again obliged to save her and carry her these four miles. Next time she goes to the cave of the winds she will fall perhaps where Laubasi did, and then we shall have to bury your dead.”

Finau’s uncle is awakened by a pinch on the leg, and goes out sulkily into the darkness with the man to where his cart stands. The jolting over the stony roads from Halaufuli has wakened Finau from her stupor, and she talks wildly and incoherently as her helpless body is lifted from the cart and laid on the mats near the lamp.

“The police will come to ask questions, for they stopped me as I was coming. I don’t want to get into trouble, so I shall go.” The cart rumbles away into the night.

It is weary work tending Finau week after week, for there are limits even to the claims of kinship. A relation may be ill and helpless for a week, or even two, and who would complain? But when it passes into months, and the relation has fits of blind anger, and talks foolishly, and is ungrateful, who can be blamed for wishing to get rid of her? Thus reasoned Ana, Finau’s aunt by marriage, after the manner of her kind, and not being ashamed of her opinions, she gave them to all Neiafu, including John Mason, the drunken carpenter, a grass-widower three times deep. And when Ana understood that there was a vacancy in the Mason household, and that the householder himself had had great difficulty in supplying the vacancy, she enlarged upon the charms and attractions of Finau,--her washing and ironing, her cooking, and her undoubted experience in providing for the comfort of a husband overcome with nocturnal convivialities. To Finau, in Mason’s absence, she made returning life a burden. It is better to die than to lie weak and helpless, eating food grudgingly given, and sheltered by an unfriendly roof. And after each of Mason’s friendly visits Ana would say, “Why does he come here? Why? because he desires you, of course! I heard him say that your face was beautiful, and that he wanted you to live with him. Drunken? Not more than Falani or the other white men, and when he is drunk he would not ill-treat you. Used to beat Mele, did he? Ah, that was another of Mele’s lies! She was always seeking an excuse to leave him, because she liked Lavuso better. No. Jone Mesoni was not the man to beat his wife unless she deserved it, and even then not hard with a stick, but with his hand!”

And so at last, when one evening Mason came with a bigger _kava_-root than usual, and took his bowl from Finau’s hands, and stayed after the others had gone, she, feeling bitter anger in her heart towards the man, but a greater bitterness towards the relations who drove her from their door, would resist no more. Mason wasted no time over courtship. He crawled over to where she sat, and roughly threw his arm round her in the presence of them all. She pushed him away with a gesture of disgust.

“Finau,” he said, in a voice broken with vinous emotion, “it is well that we should live together. You will come to my _abi_ to-morrow?”

Finau sat with her face hidden in her hands, but Ana, the matchmaker, answered for her.

“Yes. I will bring her before mid-day, so that she may prepare dinner.”

* * * * * * *

The steamer is in again from New Zealand. After the miscellaneous crowd of natives from the southern islands have disembarked, and sniffed and wept over their friends of Vavau, there is a flutter of excitement among the onlookers.

“_Dies kann doch nicht Franz Kraft sein, Pots Tausend! was für ein eleganter Herr!_” cries Karl Müller; for lo! Franz Kraft, the dishevelled, the disreputable, shaved, transfigured, and glorified in a black coat and billycock hat, silver-mounted walking-stick in hand, is there. And more than this, Franz Kraft is leading a lady over the gangway, for all the world as if he were handing her out of a tram-car at the Thiergarten-gate His old boon companions whisper together in derisive curiosity as Franz, affecting not to see them, paces the wharf with dignity, his companion on his arm. She, poor thing, makes a curious figure against the palm-trees and white sand--for black satin, white cotton stockings, and German hats do not go well with palm-trees.

She was looking timidly and wonderingly at the mean iron-roofed houses that line the beach, for the cunning Franz had crammed her flaxen head with pictures of South Sea splendour, in which Neiafu appeared as a city, and Franz himself as a benevolent planter of great possessions. Of her future home Franz had been reticent, but she had formed a mental picture of a mansion she had seen in a printseller’s window in the _Unter den Linden_, all colonnades, and cool palms, and haunted by numbers of dusky servants. The city must be farther inland, she thought, as they passed up the beach. They were opposite a tumble-down wooden house, larger than the rest. It might be, she thought, a small _wirthhaus_, where they drank beer in the back garden. She timidly asked Franz. “It’s the king’s house,” he answered roughly. Surely he must be joking, for he had told her so much about the king’s palace, and the soldiers, and the rest of it. Yes; certainly Franz must be joking, for her great strong Franz could make jokes sometimes.

A few steps more, and Franz stopped--stopped at the meanest hovel of them all,--a rickety wooden cottage, with iron roof, perched above the sea, without even a tree to give shade or a fence to hide its ugly squalor from the road. Telling her to wait, he went to the next cottage and returned with a key. She was speechless with astonishment and a vague fear. The door swung back, and he beckoned her to follow. Within was a damp, ill-smelling, little shop, with dirty stained counter, and shelves tenanted only by a few rusty tins of meat. Beyond this a small unceiled room, furnished with a bare deal-table, and dirty like the shop; and beyond this again a room containing a canvas stretcher, overhung by a rotting mosquito-screen. That was all, and the all was pervaded by the sickening rancid smell of _copra_, and unspeakably dirty. The windows showed a large iron shed in which _copra_, the currency of the country, was stored. This was the home he had brought her to! And away there in Berlin her father, the stationer, was still boasting of the brilliant marriage she had made.

It took two days for Franz to appear in his usual oily shirt-sleeves at the counter, and he did not respond to the inquiries about his wife. Thenceforth she became a person of mystery, for she was not seen at all for two months; and when she did leave the house, there were lines about the meaningless mouth, and the blue eyes were dull and red. Franz now ventured on his first social entertainment. The guests were bidden, and Franz, in a clean shirt, received them in the sitting-room,--nine in all, including the two ladies of the place. There was an awkward pause, for Frau Kraft had not appeared. Then Franz went into the bedroom to bring their hostess. There was a whispered altercation, then silence, then a burst of sobbing--and before he returned his guests had all fled. Not even the faithful Müller stayed to break the square black bottle that was to have been the gist of the entertainment. Scandal was now satisfied, for it was evident that Franz did not get on with his wife, and was not above striking her.

But the _copra_ season had begun, and Kraft, if he would live, must buy _copra_ like the rest. Early one morning he started with his wife for Halaufuli, where Fisher, a friendly rival, had a station. Fisher’s house adjoined John Mason’s modest establishment. The Krafts were given the only bedroom in the house--a long low room, in which a platform filling up the end and covered with a pile of mats and a mosquito-screen formed the bed.

When Mason, the man who could not beat his wife, steered an oblique course towards his door, stumbled in, and, being a little less drunk than usual, succeeded in finding his walking-stick, he was at that stage of inebriation when the punishment of somebody for something seems to a man a solemn and sacred duty. Unluckily poor Finau had heard him coming, and ran to his rescue. He fell upon her savagely. Her shrieks broke through the wooden walls, and interwove themselves with Kraft’s dreams. Suddenly he hears his own name, and starts from his sleep to listen to a voice he knows crying in an agony of need. It is Finau calling to him, and without thinking where he is, he springs up to go to her rescue. A blow or two directed by the dim light of the kerosene lamp disposes effectually of Mason, and Franz, furious with anger, yet not knowing what to do, creeps back to his room. His wife is still asleep, as he can hear by her regular breathing; but Finau has followed him, and whimpering she creeps into the room, and leans sobbing against the wall. What could he do--this man who has so injured her? She had loved him and suffered for him. Was he to cast her out when she came to him in her need? And what harm was there in protecting her? He whispers to her not to be afraid and to stop crying, but she only sinks to the ground and sobs the louder. When he speaks again she creeps towards him, as if in bodily fear of the man who has been left outside the door. Franz looks at the screen: his wife still sleeps. And so he speaks to her in a low voice, and strokes her bowed head, and she, in the abandonment of her wretchedness, puts her arm round him. And as he murmurs comforting words to her in her own tongue, he chances to look towards the bed where the dim light is burning, and as he looks there is a movement, a hand from within lifts up the screen, and eyes with a life’s tragedy written in them look out at him.

IN THE OLD WHALING DAYS.

I.

In those days, sir, there were no white men, living on Kandavu, but many whaling-ships used to come and lie at anchor for months at a time. Run away? Why, the crews always ran away. We used to persuade them to run away by means of our women, and then we caught them, and tied their hands, and hid them in the forest until a reward was paid by the captain--a musket sometimes, and many knives and axes. They were not white men like you, sir, but they had dark skins like the Indian interpreter, and came from a land called “Portugee.” These men were very wicked; but there were others with them with blacker skins who were less wicked: their place was only to serve the rest and prepare food. Yes, some of us used to sail away with them--some from curiosity because they wished to see other lands, and others because the chiefs sent them, being persuaded with great rewards.

It was with Captain Aneli that I first sailed. We went hence to Vatulele, my mother’s island, and lay there several weeks, helping the Vunisalevu against Korolamalama, by lending him muskets and powder, and by sailing round to the rocky point, where we shot many as they fled from their enemies on the land. Ah, the captain was a good man, and the Vunisalevu loved him well! No; he asked for no reward, but did this out of his great love for the Vunisalevu, whose brother the people of Korolamalama had killed. You may see the site of the town away here among the caves at the western point; but do not go there, sir, at night or alone, for the spirits that dwell there hate white men as they hate us. The people are all gone, except the women, of whom my mother was one, for they were more numerous than we; and when Captain Aneli would go, the Vunisalevu strove to detain him, lest, when he was gone, they should take their revenge. But the white man was wise, and imparted to us his Wisdom, saying, “Invite them to a feast and slay them;” and the Vunisalevu, knowing that conquerors do not make feasts for the conquered, sent a messenger bidding them plant bananas for him. But they were afraid, and answered that they would send all their bananas and yams rather than come themselves, and with their answer was brought a whale’s-tooth to turn the chief’s heart. But he refused the tooth, and sent again, saying that it was not meet to suspect plots in time of peace, and that he would pledge their safety, for they might come armed while he and his people would be without weapons, but would peacefully bring up the feast as hosts should do to guests.

And when the appointed day came, the captain pitied him, and landed thirty men, who hid among the bushes where you see those _ivi_-trees, and the Korolamalama men came, two hundred strong, each with his bundle of young banana-shoots, his spear in his left hand, and his throwing-club in his girdle. None were left behind, for they feared lest, if they were divided, we might attack them. As for us, we were hidden in the undergrowth along the path, our arms hidden near us where we could find them; and for the feast we had brought a rotten _taro_ each in derision of our enemies, who were to die that day. We would have set on them at once, but the white men said, “Not so, let them first plant your bananas, so that they be wearied, and you will have made use of them as long as they can be useful.” This wise counsel pleased us; so we waited, and even came unarmed to look at the men as they sweated beneath the sun, digging the holes and stamping the earth round the shoots, each man with his spear stuck in the ground behind him: and as we watched we saw that, when a man moved on to dig a fresh hole, he first moved his weapon to the new place. And as the sun dipped towards the west, slanting the black shadows of the _ivi_-trees across the clearing, we went for our _taro_ and heaped it ceremoniously beneath the shade of the trees, and sat down to present it to them. And they, seeing us unarmed, were ashamed to bring their spears with them, for it is forbidden by our customs to receive the feast with arms. So they left their spears, each man where he had been digging, and came and sat before us. And while they sat with their backs to the clearing, the boys crept among the newly planted bananas as if playing, and took their spears, heaping dead grass upon them so that they could not be seen. Then Mavua the herald took a decayed root of _yangona_, and going forward, presented it and the feast in the customary words, and their herald came forward to touch the feast. But when he took the root and saw that it was rotten, and touched the _taro_ and knew that it was decayed, he was speechless a moment in fear and anger, for the insult was very gross. Then he leapt to his feet, crying, “A plot! a plot! we are undone to-day.” And they sprang up to go for their spears. But we had snatched up ours already, and were upon them, stabbing and spearing them as they dodged among the bananas looking for their spears.

But when they saw that they were gone, the herald uttered a great and bitter cry, cursing us and bidding them follow him, and he ran for the forest towards the west where Korolamalama lies; but there he met the white men, and from the tree came the thunder of the muskets and the bark of the little guns, and cries, and evil words, and a thick smoke, while we lay on our faces in the clearing hearing the bullets scream over our heads. And when some of them ran back to escape the guns, we stabbed at them, smiting some, and driving some back again to the white men, so that when all was done, only one was left alive of them all, and he, being found hiding in a water-hole, was dragged out and led to the beach among the boys, and Uluisau held his arms while the boys beat him to death with their toy clubs.

Then the bodies were dragged to the town. To be eaten? How should I know, when I was sent with the others to Korolamalama to fetch the women and children? And when we neared the place they thought that we were their own men returning from the banana-planting, and they came out to meet us. But the two who saw us first ran shrieking to the others, and Butho, he who held the basin at the missionary collection last Sunday, followed close after them, making signs to us to keep unseen. And he deceived the women, saying that their chief had sent him to bid them bring crabs and yams to him in the plantation (for they had just come from fishing on the reef). But they, still doubting him, half followed and half held back, until they reached the thicket where we lay. Then Amori, whose husband we had slain, raised a great uproar, crying to the others to flee, for there was treachery; and they scattered into the bush, screaming like a flock of paroquets. But Butho, who feared nothing, flung his _ula_ at the woman Amori and struck her on the back so that she fell on her face, and he slew her with his club where she lay, and we others pursued the women, striking down the elderly, who made the greatest uproar, and saving the young girls alive. These we led with the children to the Vunisalevu.