The Far Lands

by JAMES NORMAN HALL

10

AFTER Vaitangi’s departure Tearo gathered his chiefs at the council house, He paced the room until the last of them had come; then halted before them.

“I bring you such news as none of us could have hoped for” he said. “The decision we now have to make is of the greatest importance. When I have spoken, let each one of you give his opinion as to what our course of action should be.” He then told them of the conversation that had taken place between himself, Metua, the high priest, and Vailangi on the day of the latter’s arrival at the Tongan village. “There is no deceit in Vaitangi’s nature,” he added. “His good will toward us is known to all of you. It was the desire to learn how far he might be willing to extend that good will that led Métua and me to speak as we did.

“In our talk Metua said: But we have no ships.’ Vaitangi replied: ‘But great skill in building them.’ Is it not clear that we may now make plans for the future with the consent of the high chief of the Koros? Needless to say, our preparations must be made in secret. Vaitangi wishes to know nothing about them; but what greater encouragement could he have given than the assurance that we shall not be hindered in them?”

One of the chiefs struck his broad knee with his fist. “The way is clear,”he said. “It can be done and it shall be done!”

Marama said: “Tearo, let me understand this. You tell us that we may now, secretly, begin the building of ships for ourselves?”

“We may,” Tearo replied. “Our preparations will take years to complete, which is the reason why no time should be lost in setting about them. We shall need seven ships — it may be, eight — to carry the numbers we shall have before the last of them is completed. You need not be reminded of the greatness of the task and of how slow our progress will be. We are not, of course, relieved of the work of repairing the war canoes of the Koros and building new ones as they may be required. But this is certain: we can keep from twenty to fifty men steadily at the work of building for ourselves, and the number can be increased from time to time as occasion offers.”

They discussed in the greatest detail how and where they should begin their task. There was one place and only one where ships could be built with the chances of escaping detection in their favor. The valley to the south of that occupied by the Tongan village was farthest from the Koro settlements; and, owing to the nature of the country inland, it was inaccessible save from the seaward side. The head wall descended in three great steps of sheer rock, down which the river entered a narrow gorge which widened to the valley itself at a point two miles distant from the lagoon. This lower valley was a forest of great trees perfectly suited to be used as hulls for their ships. The trees selected were to be felled at scattered places, the hulls to be hollowed and roughly shaped at the places where they fell, then floated down the river to the place where sheds were to be erected to house the hulls of the vessels while the wood was drying and seasoning. The river for a distance of half a mile inland from the lagoon was wide and deep enough to float the ships when completed; they would have only to widen and deepen the channel at its mouth where it was obstructed by sand. Inland from the beach they would leave a wide strip of jungle intact, which would give perfect concealment from the seaward side. A narrow path, carefully hidden, would be made through this jungle to the building sheds.

“Good!” said Marama. “More than good! When shall this work begin?”

“Not a day shall be lost,” Tearo replied. “With Puaka away with the war fleet we could not have a more favorable opportunity for a beginning. It may well be a month or longer before he returns. Until then we can give our full time to it, every man, every boy.”

11

Now Vaitangi sent his pleasure canoe to the Tongan village to fetch home Hina and her mother and their servants. The Tongan ariki escorted them to the beach and all of the people gathered there to sec them go, for Hina’s mother was held in great honor by the Tongans. They had not forgotten that she saved Maui’s life by suckling him with her own baby daughter at the time when they came to Kurapo. Both she and her child had won the respect and affection of all, and the mothers of the children shed tears at parting as though they had, indeed, been members of one clan. While they were standing on the beach Hina once more reminded Maui of the young ghost terns he was to bring her, and Maui said that he would be waiting for her at the tabu tree at the time agreed upon.

When his guests had gone, Tearo gathered his people at the assembly ground and there told them what had been decided at the meeting of the ariki After ten years of waiting, they were to begin building their ships, in which they would proceed once more on the quest for the Far Lands of Maui. He explained all that had taken place at the meeting of the council, and told them of the good will of Vaitangi which made these preparations possible, and of the secrecy with which the work must be done lest their plans should be discovered by Puaka.

The people listened in deep silence as Tearo spoke, and by the expressions upon their faces their thoughts could be read. There were some who remembered only that their lives had been untroubled during the years they had lived on Kurapo. They dreaded the risks that must now be taken and the prospect of setting out once more into the measureless Sea of Kiwa; for, among the Tongans, as in all other clans of our race, were those who lived only from day to day, unwilling to look forward to and prepare for the hazards of the future. But these were few in numbers and they kept their fears to themselves. The others felt their hearts stirred and quickened by Tearo’s words. A more fortunate moment, he told them, for beginning their preparations could not have been hoped for, with Puaka and his warriors absent from Kurapo. Two moons might pass before tHo return of the Koro war fleet and during this time the efforts of all could be given to the work, the then announced how the tasks would he divided, the leaders for each one and the men to be assigned to them.

Afterward, Metua spoke, calling one by one the great names of their ancestors, the heroic men who had led the Tongans from land to land, and it was as though the spirits of those leaders of generations past had assembled there as their names were called. Then Metua said: “I speak in the presence of our noble dead. Mine is the voice you hear, but the words are Tane’s own, and this he wishes me to tell you: before ten years have passed we Tongans shall be far from this land, sailing eastward once more, lifting up the sky, horizon beyond horizon, as we approach the promised Homeland. And that promise shall not fail.”

The following morning Tearo and his chiefs gathered at the temple to perform the sacred rites which their worship demanded at such a time. Then, led by their priest, they came clown into the valley, to the marae sacred to the shipbuilders. This was a small temple of terraced stone, fifteen paces long by ten broad. Upon it stood the house where were kept the tools that had long been in readiness for this day; none of them had been used in building ships for the Koro war fleet. Here were the great stone adzes and wedges for felling trees; the smaller ones for shaping and hollowing the hulls of the ships; the scrapers and polishers of shell and coral; the slender sharp-pointed drills for piercing holes; the bone needles for sewing plank to plank as the hulls were built up; tools for carving the high prows and sterns; calking mallets and wedges, and all of the other instruments used in the building of ships. These were carried to the beach, where they were dipped in sea water and the prayers said which made them sacred to their uses in Tane’s service, each in its kind.

These solemn rites occupied the whole of that day, and at dawn the following morning all of the men, the youths and boys of the clan, went to the valley to the south, to remain there while the work was carried on. High on the central mountain a lookout was stationed day and night, so that the Tongans might know in advance of the return of the Koro war fleet.

12

THE Koro war fleet returning home was sighted on the day of the new moon. On the morning of this day, Maui had gone to the mountains to fetch the young ghost terns promised to Hina. With a small basket slung over his shoulder he climbed one of the crags on the opposite side of the lake. Hundreds of baby terns had now hatched and high above the crag the parent birds wheeled back and forth with faint protesting cries as the boy climbed to their nests. Having carefully selected two fledglings he descended to the lake, bathed and refreshed himself, and set out on the trail leading westward.

Upon arriving at the tabu tree he found no one there to meet him, but it was then early afternoon and he sat down to wait for Hina. He amused himself for a time by walking past the tabu sign as though half expecting it to show some evidence of anger at his bold action; but the streamer, frayed and discolored by wind and weather, hung limp in the still air, as though it were a symbol of the powerlessness of Koro to injure him, son of the high chief of the Tongans.

Having played the game of defying the Koros until he wearied of it, he sat in the shade of the tree and opened the basket to examine the young terns. He set them on the ground between his feet, and fed them with small fish he had brought with him. He stroked the little balls of white down, keeping his glance fixed upon the path winding down to the main village of the Koros, but there was no sign of Hina and the servant who was to come with her. He became drowsy in the still warm air. Returning the birds to the basket he curled up in the fern beside it and was soon asleep.

When he awoke a fresh breeze was blowing, and the fern-covered ridges and the glades of forest land were golden in the light of early evening. He sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could see the slender crescent of the new moon shining faintly in the cloudless sky.

It was the day of the second new moon that had shone since Hina had promised to meet him there. She couldn’t have forgotten; Maui was certain of that. He again sat down to wait.

Chin in hands, he gazed out over the vast floor of the sea ruffled to the deepest blue by the northeast wind. Presently his attention was fixed upon something far to the north. It was the peak of a sail. Keeping his gaze steadily upon it he saw the ship emerge above the horizon. It was one of the war canoes of the Koros returning home. One by one, others appeared, until there were five in view, looking like toy ships against the great expanse of sea. Maui knew that six had sailed. Perhaps one had been lost; if not that, it might already have reached land while he was sleeping. With a strong breeze the others were coming on fast. He watched until they had disappeared behind a headland on the western side of the island.

What should he do now? He glanced at the basket resting at his feet. He had promised Hina to bring the birds and she had promised to meet him there, But she had failed to keep her promise. Well, then? How often his mother had told him, and his father as well, that he must never doubt the love of Tane for his children and his power to protect them from whatever dangers if their faith was strong and sure. His heart beat fast as he thought of the lest of both his faith and his courage that he might now make. Surely, Tane had brought him there to put him to the proof, to learn whether this son of the high chief of the Tongans was worthy to be so. And when he returned safely home, what honor would be his! He could feel the pressure of Taio’s strong fingers upon his shoulder and hear his voice saying: “Maui boy! What a leader you will be when the time comes for you to take your father’s place!”

He glanced once more at the basket. They were Hina’s terns. He had promised to bring them. “A Tongan never fails to keep his word”—Metua himself, the beloved priest of Tane, had taught him that.

The sun had just set and the sky was aflame with the splendor of the afterglow. With this to light him, the boy took up the basket and proceeded, half walking, half running, along the path descending toward the main valley of the Koros.

It was full night when he reached the head wall of the valley; the path here was only a little less steep than the one in the Tongan valley. He descended slowly but without hesitation and at length reached the gently sloping land of the valley floor. The darkness here was intense but he could follow the path by the occasional glimpses of starlit sky above it. Soon he saw the flickering light from smoldering supper fires on the earthen floors of cookhouses behind the first dwellings. All was silent there, which did not surprise him. The people Would have gone to the beach to see the arrival of the war fleet.

He felt a growing confidence as he went on. In the darkness he could go where he would, even to the beach itself. There were so many of the Koros that no one would notice him. He would need only to keep in the shadows, away from the flares of torches and the fires lighted on the beach where the war fleet would now be at anchor. He felt a thrill of excitement mingled with dread as he thought of Punka, the priest of Koro. No Tongan boy had ever seen this formidable chief and warrior who showed his contempt for the Tongans by never coming to their valley; but Maui had heard often of his huge size; he towered head and shoulders even above Vaitangi, the high chief.

The boy went more cautiously as he came to the settled part of the valley, but here too the houses were deserted save for a few old people he saw here and there in doorways, too feeble to go with the others to the beach. No one saw him as he moved, as silently as a shadow, along the path. He halted when he reached the assembly ground, which was twice as large as that of the Tongans, covered with turf and bordered by great trees. Skirting the inner end of it he saw before him what could have been no other than the dwelling of Vaitangi, with the smaller houses of his many servants clustered in the groves behind it. A fire was burning in an open space near-by. By its light Maui saw many servants running amongst the houses in a distracted manner. All were women, and they were crying and wailing as they hurried in and out of the chief’s house on various errands. Gathering his courage Maui moved closer, standing in the shadows where he had a clear view of the entrance. He searched in vain for a glimpse of Hina or her mother, but a moment later he saw one of their servants who had come with them to the Tongan valley. As she passed near, Maui ran out and seized her by the arm. The woman, who was wailing like the others, halted to stare at him; then seized him by the shoulders to peer into his face.

“Maui!” she exclaimed. “Maui! . . .”

“I’ve brought the baby terns for Hina,” he explained, quickly, thrusting his basket into the woman’s hands. “Why didn’t she come?”

The woman continued to stare at him as though not believing in his presence.

“Hina? How could the child come when her father has been brought home dead?”

“Dead!”

“Haven’t I said it? Killed in battle! . . . Do you know what you have done, you son of Tearo? Run! . . . Hide!”

“Will you give the terns to Hina? I promised them.”

The woman stared distractedly at him a moment longer; then she seized the basket and hurried away. But she turned to call back: “Go away from here, boy! Run, as I tell you! Keep clear of the path!”

Shocked by the news he had heard and not knowing what to do, Maui ran into the deep gloom of the trees bordering the assembly ground. The horror evident in the woman’s voice and manner, as she recognized him, gave him a momentary feeling of panic; but despite her warning, and as though against his will, he proceeded along the path toward the beach. He had gone only a little way when he saw lights approaching. Hiding in a thicket where he had a clear view of the path, he waited. Presently he saw men with torches approaching, followed by eight others carrying a bier upon which lay a body tightly wrapped in white tapa cloth. Behind it came a procession of women, wailing and shrieking and naked to the waist, their hair hanging in disheveled masses over their shoulders. In the light of flares they appeared scarcely human. Their eyes gleamed wildly, their faces were distorted and covered with blood as they moved slowly on, savagely lashing their faces, heads, and their bare breasts and shoulders with goads set with sharks’ teeth.

13

MAUI went on, following the path around a rocky spur where the land widened again, and now for the first time he heard a confused clamor of many voices coming from the beach. Fires set widely apart sent their ruddy light far into the gloom of the groves and over the lagoon where the ships of the war fleet were anchored in line close to the beach.

Forgetting his fear in his eagerness to see what was taking place, Maui approached the canoe sheds which stood along the upper slope of the beach. Between two of them was a tree whose great trunk threw a deep shadow on the inland side. Concealing himself behind it, he peered out.

Warriors were crossing the shallows between the ships and the shore, carrying men bound hand and foot and throwing them on the beach like logs of wood. One of them was loosed and dragged to his feet. The crowd drew back, yelling with blood frenzy, as half a dozen warriors armed with short clubs formed a line along the beach, with intervals of ten or fifteen paces between them. The prisoner, a stalwart fellow, stared around him, his eyeballs shining in the firelight. He was to run the length of this line of men, dodging the blows aimed at him. If he succeeded in doing so his life would be spared. He flexed his arms and legs, numbed by long confinement, while the crowd yelled with impatience, urging him to start. Someone gave him a shove which threw him off balance. Leaping to his feet and running and dodging with great skill, he safely passed four young chiefs and was then brought down by a blow that crushed his skull. Now the frantic crowd rushed in, gathering so closely around the murdered man that Maui could not see what was happening. Presently the people drew back and he saw the chief who had killed the prisoner wearing the body as though it were a mantle, his head thrust through a great hole made in his chest. Drums began to beat and the chief leaped and danced and whirled with the bloody corpse until he stood before the war canoe in the center of the anchored line. Of a sudden the drumming stopped as a warrior of gigantic frame appeared on the forward fighting-platform of the ship, where he stood waiting as the frenzied yelling died away to silence.

It was Puaka; Maui knew it could be no one else. He was in full battle dress, and his evil face and towering figure looked even more formidable in the flickering lighl of the fires, his height increased by a war helmet adorned with brilliantly colored feathers. Maui gazed in terror at this priest of Koro whose hands rested upon the haft of a war club that reached to his waist. The warrior who stood facing the priest now lifted the murdered man from his shoulders, withdrawing his head which was drenched with the man’s blood. The body, which was thrown to the ground before the prow of the canoe, was the first sacrificial victim killed to honor the return of the fleet.

In a harsh booming voice, Puaka addressed the people, telling them of the triumph of the Koro warriors in this last expedition against their enemies. Six ships had departed and six had returned. Maui heard without grasping the sense of what he heard. To the boy the priest seemed the human embodiment of Koro himself, and he was held to the spot where he stood as though Koro had willed it so. Presently the priest stepped down from the platform, the crowd surged toward him, and when the beach was again cleared Maui saw that rollers had been placed from the canoe sheds to the water’s edge. To the ones nearest the water living prisoners had been bound, face up. Now the anchors were drawn up and the ships moved far out on the lagoon until they could scarcely be seen in the darkness. Then, from somewhere on the beach, a drum began to beat, first as a signal of readiness to the distant paddlers, then in a fast steady sequence to time the strokes of their paddles. As the ships emerged from the gloom the prows of each pointed directly to the doorway of its shed. They came seething in, abreast. As they nearer! the beach the paddlers leaped into the shallows and the bows came crashing down on the bodies of the living victims. Other men joined the paddlers, thronging along the sides of the ships which were rolled up the beach and into the sheds.

So quickly was this done that before he had time to escape Maui found himself in the midst of the crowd, but no one heeded him. He was carried along in the direction of one of the fires.

Desperately he wormed his way out, and had just succeeded in getting clear when he found himself face to face with Uri. The latter halted to stare at him, an expression of amazement and unbelief on his face. He paused just long enough to give Maui a chance to run for his life toward the shelter of ihe groves. But turning his head, Maui saw that Uri was close behind.

Maui ran on, dodging in and out amongst the deserted dwellings until he came to a well-beaten path which led toward a pit of deepest shade. The wavering lights from the beach barely reached this path; Maui turned into it instinctively and sped toward the deepening gloom ahead. Halting there to glance back for an instant, he saw a shadowy form still following about fifty paces behind. He ran on, stumbling over roots and stones, until he came to a grove of trees whose branches blotted out the faint light of the stars. Feeling his way into it, his hand came in contact with a limb on the level of his head. Clasping it with both hands he swung himself into the tree and climbed on until he was twenty or thirty feet from the ground. There he rested, breathing hard, a hand over his mouth to subdue the sound of his breathing.

He could still hear, faintly, the shouts and cries from the beach, which seemed to deepen the silence around him. The sharp crack of a dead branch below warned him that Uri was somewhere there searching for him. The horror of what he had seen so numbed Maui’s heart that he was unable to think, but gradually he became calmer. He realized that he was no longer in the main valley but in what appeared to be a narrow ravine leading off from it. He could stay there no longer. Whatever the risk, he must make his way homeward through the Koro village before the people returned to their houses.

He was about to descend from ihe tree when he saw lights approaching along the path by which he had reached this place. They became brighter, throwing shafts of light into the tree where he hid. Swiftly and quietly he climbed higher, and as he did so the silence was broken by the deep booming of a drum. He could not tell from what direction it came. It echoed and re-echoed from the mountain walls until all the valley was filled with the sound. Maui climbed higher, and not until he had reached the topmost branches capable of bearing his weight did he realize where he was. The tree was one of the sacred grove surrounding the temple of Koro. Peering through the branches, he found himself looking down upon the flat-topped summit of the temple and not more than a dozen feet above it. Candlenut flares and stone lamps filled with coconut oil wore burning there, and by their light he saw, at one end of the high platform, a huge stone image. It was Koro, god of war. In a recess near it stood the great Drum of Koro, so tall that its head was reached by a ladder to a small platform, where now a priest of the lemple stood beating the Drum, whose deep throbbing seemed to fill all space.

A moment later the drumming ceased and as the reverberations died away Puaka appeared at the top of the stairway on the far side of the temple. He was no longer dressed as a warrior, but wore the ceremonial robes of the high priest of Koro. Behind him came the lemple assistants, and following them, Vaitangi and the Koro ariki. Puaka halted, facing the image of the war god, and Vaitangi stood with him there; the lesser chiefs and priests were ranged on either side. No word was spoken. Then came a second procession: men, two by two, bearing on their shoulders the mangled bodies of the prisoners that had been crushed beneath the war canoes. Each body was bound to a carrying pole, and they were laid side by side before the altar of Koro.

Maui dtired not move; he was barely concealed by the leaves and twigs and smaller branches growing from the limb that supported him which extended over the temple platform scarcely a dozen paces from where Puaka stood, his back toward him. The image of the war god, which faced him, towering above the company gathered there, filed the boy’s heart with terror. Koro seemed to be gazing directly at him, and the flickering lights and shadows playing over his evil face gave it a hideous aspect of life. Moved by sheer animal terror—the need to escape that awful scrutiny — and yet not losing the realization of his danger, Maui moved slowly back and turned to descend the tree. As he looked down he saw the upturned face of Uri not three feet below, gazing at him with a smile of ferocious joy. Scarcely knowing what he did, Maui leaped to the temple platform. He fell forward on his hands and knees. As he scrambled to his feet he gave one swift glance toward the figure of Puaka. The priests were in the midst of a chant, but hearing the noise behind them they turned their heads. Maui caught a glimpse of Puaka’s face as he ran to the stairway and disappeared.

At dawn the following morning Métua was sitting on a bench outside his dwelling which stood near the Tongan temple. Glancing up, he saw the figure of a boy half-running, half-walking, along the path leading to his house. It was Maui. His face, his bare chest and arms and legs, were scratched and covered with bruises and his waistcloth was soiled and torn. The boy ran to him, falling on his knees before him and burying his face in the priest’s lap. Metua laid a hand gently on the boy’s head, waiting for him to speak.

14

IN THE village of the Koros on the morning of Maui’s return, Vaitangi gathered his ariki from both villages. They knew of the events of the night just ended and they awaited the coming of their priest. All he had done for those worshipers of Tane had been strongly opposed by Puaka. In his heart Vaitangi felt a stern anger toward the Tongans. He had protected them for ten years; and now the son of Tearo, whether through ignorance or the bravado of youth, had violated his friendship. Nothing could have favored Puaka more, or added more to his power at the expense of Vaitangi’s, than what had happened.

Now came Puaka from the temple of Koro and took his seat in the council chamber. Vaitangi rose and stood facing his ariki.

“I have little to say to you,”he began. “I have befriended these Tongans, with the consent and approval of most of you here gathered, You know, further, that Tearo’s blood comes from the same source as mv ow n. Through the long history of our race, blood ties have been sacred. We have been taught by our ancestors to remember and respect them. So I have done here, although the Tongans are worshipers of Tane. What matters it to allpowerful Koro that, among the lesser gods, there is one, the least of them, who teaches his followers not to spill blood ?

“But what has happened is an offence against Koro himself. This boy, Maui, has defiled his temple. That it was done in ignorance matters nothing. Our priest will speak in Koro’s name. What he says must be done shall be done.”

Then Puaka spoke, and both his words and manner were otherwise than had been expected by the ariki, most of all by Vailangi himself. He made no attempt to lash them to fury and the lust for revenge, but spoke, rather, in a mocking manner, like one so confident of his power that he could bide his time before displaying it.

“You will remember,” he said, “that when these Tongans came to our land I would have shown them no kindness, not even the courtesy granted at times when strangers come from the sea. The reason for this you know: the defiance of Tearo, their high chief, who refused to acknowledge that the power of Koro is greater than that of Tane. Yaitangi upheld them in that defiance, and some of you, the members of his council, upheld Vailangi. And the Tongans, as though in reward for their defiance, were given lands upon which to live and freedom from any obligation to Koro whose power they defied.

“Vaitangi said that these Tongans would be useful to us. So they have been. I hated them. I still hate them. Would you expect me, high priest of Koro, to feel otherwise toward a clan that refuses to acknowledge his power? Vaitangi has befriended them, and that, too, is to be understood, for, as he has told you, the ties of blood are not to be ignored. The blood in my own veins is less noble than that of Yaitangi. I acknowledge it.

“I am grateful that Vaitangi acknowledges my authority in the matter which now concerns us: the defilement of our sacred temple by the son of the chief who defied Koro himself. Before revealing Koro’s will, I ask one question. Let each of you speak in turn, according to his rank. Bearing in mind the nature of the offense committed, what, think you, should the punishment be?”

Puaka turned first to Vaitangi, who said only: “What Koro has willed.”

The older members of the council, though secretly blaming Vaitangi for his friendliness toward the Tongans, respected him and were fearful of the power Puaka was gathering to himself. They replied as Vaitangi had done. But the younger ariki who followed Puaka spoke hotly and eagerly. Some favored an immediate attack upon the Tongans which should not end until all had been killed. Others would have had Tearo, his son, and all members of his family sacrificed to Koro.

When all had spoken, Puaka said: “I now give you Koro’s will, in one word, which was three times repeated as I knelt before his altar: If wait ... If wait . . . Wait.

“The meaning of his command is plain,” Puaka continued. “In his own good time Koro will make known to me the manner in which these Tongans are to meet their death at our hands, and not one of them shall live after the command is given.”

“ But what is to be done now?” one of the younger chiefs asked. “Are they to be spared lesser punishment while awaiting the full vengeance of Koro?”

A ferocious smile passed over the face of the priest.

“No,” he replied. “Before speaking of that I have this further to say of the punishment to come. Koro said, If ait! What he left unsaid is this: Wait until the boy, Maui, is old enough to know what suffering means. Wait until he is chief in his father’s place. Wait until his people have further increased in numbers, so that the blood to be spilled may, in some measure, cleanse my temple of the foul sacrilege he has committed there.

“As for the vengeance to be taken now”— Puaka turned to glance at Vaitangi — “our honored high chief will agree, I think, that the Tongans are no longer to be spared from blood sacrifice?”

Vaitangi nodded his head, grimly.

“The first blood spilled shall be that of a Tongan of my own choosing,” said Puaka. “Tomorrow with Vaitangi’s permission : I will myself go to fetch this man.”His eyes gleamed in anticipation as he added: “For ten years these lovers of peace have thanked Tané for protecting them. It is time that Koro, and the priest of Koro, should show them that Tune can shed helpless tears of blood in their behalf.”

15

IT was the morning of the second day since Maui’s return from the Koro valley. The shadows of the trees on the assembly ground moved imperceptibly westward, then slowly withdrew until they were pools of deep shade under the midday sun. And still the Tongans waited: in their dooryards, in scattered groups by the river and on the assembly ground. It was midafternoon when a messenger came from the lookout to the north. The Koros were coming by sea around that side of the island. Only one ship was approaching: Vaitangi’s pleasure canoe.

Word was quickly passed to the people to clear the assembly ground, but they were to wait near it; then Tearo and his chiefs went to the beach to meet the Koro ariki. As the ship approached, three figures only were seen beneath the roof that sheltered the platform reserved for the chiefs. They were Vaitangi, Puaka, and Puaka’s nephew, Uri. In addition to the paddlers were thirty fighting men, the priest’s bodyguard. They carried their weapons and were in full battle dress, but Puaka wore his robes of office as priest of Koro.

As they came ashore, Tearo and Metua stepped forward to greet them. Puaka made no reply to the ceremonial words of welcome, but Vaitangi said: “Conduct us to your council house.” No word was spoken on the way there. They entered the council chamber, and when all were seated servants brought, refreshments; but Puaka waved them aside, He glanced at Tearo. “Bring your son to me,” he said. Tearo gave the order to one of his men and a moment lalor Maui appeared. He looked at his father, who indicated that he was to stand before Puaka. The priest stared long at him, then turned to Téaro.

“It is strange that you, a worshiper of Tané should have a son who so loves the sight of blood,” he said. “He belongs to me. I should take him.”

He turned again to Maui. “You wish to come with me now? Or at a later time?”

The boy made no reply.

“You wish, perhaps, to give me some friend of yours; some older friend whom you love dearly, to honor us at this time? Will you name one to take your place at the altar of Koro?”

Puaka waited, but Maui remained silent.

“You have so many friends. You are thinking: ‘Which one most deserves this favor?’ I will help you to choose. You have a friend who is a craftsman among the shipwrights, a teacher of the sons of chiefs. He is also, I have been told, a dancer. My nephew, Uri, was honored by this man, who danced before him with great joy. His name is Rangi. Bring him to me.”

Maui turned toward his father, a look of despair in his eyes. Tearo would have sent one of his serv - ants to fetch Rangi, but Puaka said, “No!” With outstretched arm he pointed toward the door. “Go, you!" he said to Maui.

The assembly ground lay empty in the golden light of late afternoon. Maui crossed it to his father’s house where many were gathered. His mother and grandmother were there, and the servants of the household; and Taio and his family; and Rangi, his wife, and their sons and daughters. Maui went to Rangi and halted before him, but he could not speak. Rangi’s son, Ma’o, the most beloved of Maui’s friends, said: “What is it, Maui? They wish to see my father?” Still he made no reply until Rangi gently lifted the boy’s chin and looked into his face. “It is I?” he said, and Maui nodded. The others watched numbly as they crossed the assembly ground, Rangi’s arm around the boy’s shoulders. As they approached the council house Puaka and the others there came out and stood before it. Puaka’s bodyguard formed in line on either side, their spears and war clubs in their hands. The priest had his nephew, Uri, at his side. Maui and Rangi halted before them.

Puaka turned to his nephew. “This is the man who danced before you?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Uri, glancing at Maui with a smile of triumph.

“I wish to see this dance,” said Puaka. “You honored my nephew when he came here with Vaitangi to the feasts and games. Now you shall honor me. . . . Begin!”

Rangi looked steadily at the priest, showing no trace of fear.

“You refuse.” said Puaka.

Rangi made no reply.

The priest turned to Tearo. “Assemble your people here: all of them, men, women, and children.”

This was done. The people gathered silently, forming a wide circle facing the priest. When the last of them had come, he said: “I regret deeply my neglect of you Tongans during these past ten years. I have been guilty of disrespect to Tané, your allpowerful god, not having come before. But Metua, your priest, will intercede for me. I hope to be forgiven.

“This boy, son of your chief, became impatient. He said to himself: ‘Why does Puaka, high priest of Koro, never visit my father’s people? Surely, he has forgotten us. I myself will go to remind him that we long to see his face.’ And so he came. Not finding me at my dwelling, he came to the temple of Koro. He is a Tongan — why should the altar of Koro be sacred to him? And there he found me.

“Then his boldness deserted him; he ran away without speaking to me. But I understood what he wished to tell me. It was this: ‘Puaka, why do you neglect my father’s people? Ten years we have lived in this land and you have left us in peace. No drop of our blood has ever been spilled in sacrifice. Surely, Koro is not pleased with you. Come, therefore. I, Maui, son of Tearo, remind you of your duties.’ . . . And so I have come. If shall be as he wishes.”

As Puaka gazed about him the mocking smile was replaced by an expression of pitiless ferocity.

“From this day forth, when the thunder of the great Drum of Koro is heard in our valleys, the summons shall be for one of you! It is Maui who requests it.

“When, at night, you gather in your houses, listening, waiting, not knowing which of your men shall next be chosen by Koro, give thanks to this son of Tearo for the terror in your hearts.

“ You mothers, wives, sisters: when the food has been prepared for one who is to come, and you wait, and the hours pass, and he fails to come, then go to the dwelling of your chief and ask for Maui. And tell him this: ‘Maui, our father (or brother, or husband) has not come home. His food has long been waiting. Go seek him for us. Surely, he is at the temple of Koro and has forgotten to return.’”

Puaka glanced at Rangi; then he said: “Now you shall know why they will forget to return. . . . Where is the family of this man, this renowned dancer? Let them all step forth from amongst you.”

A low murmur of voices was heard as ihe wife of Rangi and his children, two sons and three small daughters, came forward. They were ordered to stand at a little distance from their father.

Puaka glanced at the leader of his bodyguard. Immediately, three powerful warriors stepped from the line and seized Rangi from behind. With a cry of despair Maui rushed at them, but he was seized, dragged back, and held by others of the guard. Rangi was a man of great Strength and broke free from those struggling to hold him. Grasping one by the middle, he threw him over his shoulder and the man fell heavily, stunned for a moment. But others leaped upon Rangi before he could turn to meet them. One stood by, dodging this way and that, waiting his chance during this struggle. In his hand was a pointed, double-edged knife of bamboo. Now, as the others had Rangi helpless for a moment, he sprang in, thrusting the knife into his throat, severing the great artery. Rangi sank to the ground, the blood spurting from the wound.

Cries of grief and rage came from the people and they surged forward, but Metua ran toward them, holding out his arms. He knew, as did the people themselves, that an attack upon the priest of Koro would mean death for all. The others, brought to their senses, halted and fell back. The air was loud with the wails of the women and terrified sobs of the children; but some stood as though struck dumb with horror, watching Puaka’s warriors as they bound Rangi’s body to a carrying pole. At a command from the priest two of them lifted the body to their shoulders, and with the others surrounding Puaka, his nephew, and the murdered man they moved rapidly toward the beach.

Tearo and his chiefs remained where they were lest the people should yet follow and attack the guard. Vaitangi stood near them. When the others had vanished among the trees he glanced at Tearo, who went to him, and they walked to the far end of the assembly ground. Vaitangi halted and gazed sternly at Tearo.

“For what has happened you have only yourself to blame,” he said. “From now on you shall see me here no more, nor any of my family.”

He turned to go, but halted to add: “Build your ships! Build swiftly! You have no time to lose!” He then followed the others to the beach.

16

Now came the time long dreaded by the Tongans, when the hatred of the priest of Koro became active against them. They had lived so long under Vaitnngi’s protection that many had come to accept it as assured for the future; but after the death of Rangi they were fully awakened to a sense of the common danger and their best qualities came to the fofore, Tearo had told them of Vaitangi’s parting message on the day of Rangi’s murder; and so, ever conscious of their danger but willingly accepting the risks involved, they proceeded with the building of their ships.

From this time on lookouts were kept on the headlands to the north and south of their valley, and a third inland, at a high and secret place overlooking the western side of the island, so that warnings could be sent of any movement of the Koros in their direction. Thus secure from surprise, Tearo kept half the men of the clan steadily at work felling trees and shaping the hulls for the eight ships that would be needed for carrying his people on their voyage eastward.

Maui was not permitted to resume his place among the shipwrights’ apprentices, Tearo hardened his heart against his son and heavy was the punishment he was made to bear. lie was kept at the lookout high in the mountains, having as companion one man only who was changed from week to week. From that place, He booming of the great Drum of Koro could be clearly heard announcing the times when important ceremonies which demanded a human sacrifice were to be held at the temple of Koro. It was then Maui’s duty to make the long journey down to the Tongan valley, bringing word to his father. No one was permitted to speak with him: neither his mother, nor grandmother, nor his sister Tauhéré, nor any member of the clan. They were ordered by Tearo to turn their backs upon Maui when they saw him coming, and those within the chief’s house were compelled to do the same as he entered the dwelling. He could speak only to his father, and these were the words of the message he would bring:—

“The great Drum of Koro has sounded again.

I bring you warning so that our people may wait in their houses until they learn who next is to be taken, through my fault, as a sacrifice to the god of war.”

Then his father would reply: “They shall wait. The blood of this man, whoever he may be, is upon your head. Get you back, now, to your post.”

The weeks and the months passed, and before a year had gone by Maui had come eight times to bring this warning to his father, and among those taken for sacrifice were fathers, or uncles, or older brothers of friends whom he dearly loved. So heavy was this punishment that even those who had felt most bitterly toward Maui now had nothing but compassion for him. He had suflered enough; let his father forgive him as they had forgiven him. Maui’s mother and grandmother pleaded in vain with Tearo. Not until a full year had passed was the punishment lifted.

His father then received him as though nothing had happened, saying no word of his punishment. His heart smote him at having put the boy to so cruel a trial and he watched closely for signs of its effect upon him. But, save that Maui now seemed older than his thirteen years, and rarely smiled, and said little, there was nothing to show that he had not borne himself with the patience and courage expected of the son of the high chief. He was then sent to live with Metua at the temple of Tane, for the time had come when he was to he under the instruction of the priest that he might fit himself for the high duties of later years. Tearo waited anxiously for what Metua would report, but two weeks passed before the priest came to see him. The two men met in the council house and talked until a late hour.

“Have no fears for him,” the priest said, “lie has borne his punishment with a strength beyond what might have been expected in a boy of his years.”

“He feels no bitterness toward me?” Tearo asked.

“None,” said Metua. “He believes that his punishment was fully deserved, but the sense of guilt has been planted deeply in his heart.”

“That is something that time will cure,” said Tearo. “What weakness do you see in him?”

“Fear,” said Metua. “Fear of Koro and dread of his power.”

“He has told you of this?”

The priest shook his head. “He reveals it in his dreams. I have heard him cry out, in the night, not once — several times. In the dreams he is again in the temple of Koro, powerless to move or to turn his eyes from the face of the huge figure of the god who stands there. Koro is the mighty one, with a power of evil exceeding that of Tane for good.”

Tearo was deeply concerned. He paced the council chamber for some time before again speaking to the priest.

“How is this to be conquered?” he asked. “What he fears in his dreams he will fear when awake.”

“You trust me in this matter?” the priest asked.

“I do,” said Tearo. “Who better than yourself is fitted to deal with it?”

“Then set your mind at rest,” Metua replied. “Maui will conquer his fear, though the time may be long. Let him take his place once more with the other apprentices at work on his ships, for there his heart is.

“That he shall do,”said Tearo.

17

EVEN year Tongan men were taken by Puaka to be sacrificed on the altar to Koro. Although the Tongans were kept in complete ignorance of all happenings in the Koro valleys, they knew that Puaka was now in control of those people. Never again did Vaitangi return to their valley, nor any of his servants or members of his household. Puaka himself came but rarely. The common people were not even noticed by him, and he treated the ariki either with mocking contempt or with a kind of cold fury, letting them know unmistakably that he was now their master, whose commands were to be instantly obeyed. More often his orders were brought by one of the younger Koro chiefs. Neither Puaka nor any of his messengers ever went beyond the Tongan village, and they returned as they had come, either by sea, around the northern side of the island, or by the path leading inland across the plateaus and the mountains. In this wise four years passed.

The Tongans were thus convinced that Puaka could have no suspicion of the building of the ships, but welt they knew that his plans for taking full vengeance upon them were delayed only, not abandoned, and the dark threat of that vengeance hung over them constantly! Never did Tearo forget the words of Vaitangi’s parting message: “Build your ships! Build swiftIV! You have no time to lose!” Under his direction the Tongans worked as never before, and, when Maui was just eighteen, seven ships were nearing completion. The prow and stern pieces and the planking for the eighth ship had already been shaped. The hewing down of the last tree needed was under way, and the Tongans knew that if their good fortune held, they would be ready for escape before another three months had passed. At this time Puaka had recently left Kurapo with the war fleet on another expedition against his enemies on the islands to the north. This gave the Tongans an opportunity they could not have dreamed of, and Tearo assured them that, if the war fleet should be absent for three months, as often happened, the Tongans, before Puaka returned, would be far out at sea and safe from all pursuit.

Excepting the very old, all of the clan, both men and women, worked on the ships. Some of the women were collecting and preparing the thick, viscous sap of the breadfruit tree used for calking the ships; others, under the direction of the master craftsmen, were plaiting the doubleand triple-ply sails of pandanus leaf, carefully rolling those to be used as spare sails and wrapping them in fold after fold of tapa cloth made waterproof, for stowage.

Within the long open-sided sheds stood the twin hulls for each ship, shored up at the exact distance to the fraction of an inch, one from the other, and men were at work fitting to the hulls, fore and aft, the great crossbeams that were to hold them securely together. Of all their tasks there was none of greater importance or requiring greater skill than this, for these crossbeams with their lashings must be so strong, so firmly bound to the hulls, as to be able to meet all tinstresses of wind and sea when the ships, loaded with their human freight, were under way, the twin hulls straining and pulling one against the other. Here the strongest men were at work, under the direction of master shipwrights who watched each turn, cross-lacing, and knot made in the ropes of sennit lashing beams to hulls. Sweat streamed from the faces and down the bare breasts and backs of the men engaged in this task.

At another shed men were building up from the hulls the thick, beveled-edge planking, each plank so perfectly shaped and smoothed that the seams between them could scarcely be detected, but as each one was set in place the beveled edges were calked with the sup from the breadfruit tree. The men lashing them to the hulls worked opposite one another, one row within, the other outside the ships, chanting as they worked: —

Of all this busy throng, none were happier, or worked with greater zest, than the younger apprentices — boys of ten, twelve, and fourteen years. Some acted as tool sharpeners; others swarmed over the ships already completed or nearing completion, scraping, smoothing, oiling, polishing: the masts, the beautifully carved prows and sterns, thwarts, paddles, steering oars, bailing scoops, and the great hulls themselves, eager to bring to the last degree of perfection in workmanship the beautiful ships which their fathers and uncles and older brothers had built. They chattered amongst themselves as they worked, and when they saw Tearo or Maui or one of the other ariki watching them approvingly, their hearts swelled with pride.

But woe was in store for the Tongans. Tearo had spent the morning and the early afternoon supervising the work at the sheds. About midafternoon he went into the valley where men were felling the last tree needed for the eighth ship. He had not believed that the tree could be felled that day; but the men had worked without rest, hoping to bring him the happy news that it was down, the trunk trimmed and ready to be floated down the river to the sheds. Because of the thick undergrowth, Tearo could not see the tree as he approached, nor did the men suspect that he was near.

Of a sudden the hewers gave a shout of joy. The great trunk trembled, leaned, and came crashing to earth, with a shattering and splintering of limbs and branches. It was not until some time afterward that the men found the body of their chief crushed to death beneath it.

Seven days were spent in mourning the death of Tearo. The people were dazed, numbed in spirit. They sat in their dooryards, or in groups on the assembly ground, scarcely believing that they could have lost their high chief at the time when they were so near to the end of their preparations for escape, when his leadership was so urgently needed. Maui was little seen during the period of mourning. He remained in his father’s dwelling, apart from the other members of his family.

On the evening of the seventh day, Maui mounted the path to the temple, where he found Metua awaiting him; the priest was seated in the grassy court before the eastern side of the temple.

“I expected you, Maui,” said Metua. I know what you have come to tell me.”

Maui glanced at the priest. “You know?” he said. “Metua, how is that possible? What I have to confess has been hidden in my heart since boyhood. I have scarcely dared to acknowledge it even to myself.”

“Nevertheless, I know,” said Metua, but I would hear it from your own lips. Speak now, freely, openly, keeping nothing back.”

Maui then unburdened his heart. Long was the telling. He began with the afternoon in boyhood when he had taken the two baby terns as far as the tabu tree where Hina was to have met him, and went on through the events of that evening when he had witnessed the killing of the prisoners brought home by the war fleet and had, later, unknowingly, entered the temple of Koro and had found himself facing the awful figure of the god himself. “ Metua,

I felt then, looking into that evil face, that we Tongans were doomed: my father, myself, and all of our people. It was as though Koro himself stood there, not an image made in his likeness. The fear of him and the sense of our powerlessness against him have been buried in my heart from that night to this. I have struggled in vain to conquer this fear. How, then, can I be worthy to take my father’s place?”

Metua did not reply for some time; then he said: “Maui, now that you have spoken freely and for the first time, do you not feel that a great burden has been lifted from your spirit ?”

“Yes, I feel that,” Maui replied.

“You have borne it alone too long, my son.”

“How could it have been otherwise?” the young man replied. “Could I confess, even to you, that I, the son of Tearo, believed in Koro and his power for evil rather than the love of Tané as the greater force? I felt that I was lost, unworthy of my blood, unworthy of even the lowest place as a Tongan,”

“And you believed that Tane himself had turned his face against you?”

“That above all, for when I prayed to him I received no reply. The fear in my heart was as great as before.”

“You kept your secret hidden, as you thought, from me. Who should intercede for you if not the priest of Tané?”

“It was shame, Metua. How could I speak? Tell me this: was it Koro himself that I saw in that great image?”

“It seemed so to you?”

“Yes.”

“You were then a child, my son; a boy of twelve years. Why do we Tongans have no image of Tane in our temple? Because nothing fashioned by human hands could truly represent the spirit of love. But the spirit of evil can be shown, for it comes from the evil in the hearts of men themselves.”

“Then Koro has no reality save in the hearts of men?” Maui asked.

“No, Maui. The image made to represent him has no power save for those who worship it. But Koro, the spirit of evil, is as real as I ane himself, and he has great power to harm us. But with Tane’s help men can conquer their fear that the power of evil is greater than the power of love. The time is at hand when you yourself will conquer it, once and for all.”

“May Tane grant it!”

“Wait here,” said Metua, rising to his feet. “Whether or no you are to be chosen to lead our people in your father’s place is hidden even from the priest of Tane, but his will concerning you shall soon be known.”

Metua vanished among the trees within the courtyard of the temple. An hour passed and still Maui waited. The waning moon was just rising as the priest returned. He took Maui’s hand and they walked to the rocky promontory where lagoon and sea lay outspread below them. Metua stood in silence for a moment, looking far out over the lonely sea. Then, as though speaking in the very presence of Tane, he said: “Our loving Father, Thou seest us, Thy priest, and Maui, son of Téaro, whose ancestors for generations have led us eastward toward our distant Homeland. If this young man is worthy of leadership; if it be Thy will that he should take his father’s place, I pray Thou wilt make it known to him.”

They stood waiting, with bowed heads. Presently, in the profound stillness of the night, they heard, as though coming from an infinite distance, the clear call of Maui-the-Peaceful. Maui sank to his knees, his face hidden in his hands, his heart filled with joy and gratitude. A moment later the call was heard once more, the very ghost of sound, coming from horizons beyond horizons eastward, over the measureless Sea of Kiwa.

(To be continued)