Chapter XXVI (1)

The mysterious “still small voice”--Samoan mythology--The
man who pushed the Heavens up--The child of the Sun--A
Figian version of the “Flood”--The Paradise of the
Figian--Lying Ghosts--Singular case of abduction--The
disobedient Naiogabui--All fair in love and war--The fate
of poor Rokoua--The Samoan hades--Miscellaneous gods of the
Samoans--A god for every village--The cup of truth--Mourning
the destruction of a god’s image--The most fashionable god
in Polynesia--Families marked for human sacrifice--“Tapu”
or “tabu”--Its antiquity and wide-spread influence--Muzzled
pigs and blindfolded chickens--Ceremony of releasing the
porkers--Tremendous feast of baked pig--The tapu in New
Zealand--A terrible tinder box--The sacred pole and the
missionaries--The chief’s backbone--The Pakeka and the iron
pot--One of the best uses of tapu--Its general advantages
and disadvantages--Tapu among the Samoans--Witchcraft in New
Zealand--Visit of a European to a “retired” witch--The religion
of the Dayak--“Tapa,” “Tenahi,” “Iang,” and “Jirong”--Warriors’
ghosts--Religious rites and superstitions of the Sea Dayaks--The
great god Singallong Burong--Belief in dreams among the Sea
Dayaks--Story of the stone bull--Of the painted dog.

Religion, as signifying reverence of God and a belief in future rewards and punishments, may be said to have no existence among people who are absolutely savage. Belief in life hereafter is incompatible with non-belief in the existence of the soul, and difficult indeed would it be to show a thorough barbarian who did not repudiate that grand and awful trust. He is too much afraid of the mysterious thing to confess to being its custodian. Undoubtedly he is quite conscious of a power within him immensely superior to that which gives motion to his arms and legs, and invites him to eat when he is hungry. He “has ears and hears,” and “the still small voice” that speaks all languages and fits its admonitions to the meanest understanding bears the savage no less than the citizen company all the day long, noting all his acts and whispering its approvals and its censures of them; and when the savage reclines at night on his mat of rushes, the still small voice is still vigilant, and reveals for his secret contemplation such vivid pictures of the day’s misdoing, that his hands ache with so fervently clasping his wooden greegree, and he is rocked to sleep and horrid dreams with trembling and quaking fear.

But the savage, while he acknowledges the mysterious influence, has not the least notion as to its origin. To his hazy mind the word “incomprehensible” is synonymous with “evil,” and the most incomprehensible thing to him, and consequently the most evil, is death. With us it is anxiety as to hereafter that makes death terrible; with the savage death is detestable only as a gravedigger, a malicious spirit who snatches him away from the world--where his children and his wives are, and where tobacco grows, and palm-trees yield good wine,--who snatches him away from all these good things and every other, and shuts him in the dark damp earth to decay like a rotten branch.

Death therefore is, in his eyes, the king of evil, and all minor evils agents of the king, and working with but one aim though with seeming indirectness. This it is that makes the savage a miserable wretch--despite nature’s great bounty in supplying him with food without reaping or sowing, and so “tempering the wind” that the shelter of the boughs makes him a house that is warm enough, and the leaves of the trees such raiment as he requires. Through his constant suspicion he is like a man with a hundred jars of honey, of the same pattern and filled the same, but one--he knows not which--is poisoned. Taste he must or perish of hunger, but taste he may and perish of poison; and so, quaking all the time, he picks a little and a little, suspecting this jar because it is so very sweet, and that because it has a twang of acid, and so goes on diminishing his ninety-nine chances of appeasing his hunger and living, to level odds, that he will escape both hunger and poison and die of fright. Death is the savage’s poisoned honey-pot. He may meet it in the wind, in the rain; it may even (why not? he has known such cases) come to him in a sunray. It may meet him in the forest where he hunts for his daily bread! That bird that just now flitted by so suddenly and with such a curious cry may be an emissary of the king of evil, and now hastening to tell the king that there is he--the victim--all alone and unprotected in the forest, easy prey for the king if he comes at once! No more hunting for that day though half-a-dozen empty bellies be the consequence; away with spear and blow-gun, and welcome charms and fetiches to be counted and kissed and caressed all the way home--aye, and for a long time afterwards, for that very bird may still be perched a-top of the hut, peeping in at a chink, and only waiting for the victim to close his eyes to summon the grim king once more. In his tribulation he confides the secret of his uneasiness to his wife, who with affectionate zeal runs for the gree-gree-man, who, on hearing the case, shakes his head so ominously, that though even the very leopard-skin that hangs before the doorway be the price demanded for it, the most powerful charm the gree-gree-man has to dispose of must be obtained.

It is only, however, to the perfect savage--the Fan and Ougbi of Central Africa, the Andamaner of Polynesia, and some others--that the above remarks apply. If we take belief in the soul and its immortality as the test, we shall find the number of absolute barbarians somewhat less than at first sight appears; indeed, the mythological traditions of many savage people, wrapped as they invariably are in absurdity, will frequently exhibit in the main such close resemblance to certain portions of our Scripture history as to fill us with surprise and wonder. Take, for instance, the following examples occurring in Samoa, furnished by the Rev. George Turner:

“The earliest traditions of the Samoans describe a time when the heavens alone were inhabited and the earth covered over with water. Tangaloa, the great Polynesian Jupiter, then sent down his daughter in the form of a bird called the Turi (a snipe), to search for a resting-place. After flying about for a long time she found a rock partially above the surface of the water. (This looks like the Mosaic account of the deluge; but the story goes on the origin of the human race.) Turi went up and told her father that she had found but one spot on which she could rest. Tangaloa sent her down again to visit the place. She went to and fro repeatedly, and, every time she went up, reported that the dry surface was extending on all sides. He then sent her down with some earth, and a creeping plant, as all was barren rock. She continued to visit the earth and return to the skies. Next visit, the plant was spreading. Next time it was withered and decomposing. Next visit it swarmed with worms. And the next time had become men and women! A strange account of man’s origin. But how affectingly it reminds one of his end: ‘They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them.’

“They have no consecutive tales of these early times; but we give the disjointed fragments as we find them. They say that of old the heavens fell down, and that people had to crawl about like the lower animals. After a time, the arrow-root and another similar plant pushed up the heavens. The place where these plants grew is still pointed out, and called the Te’engga-langi, or heaven-pushing place. But the heads of the people continued to knock on the skies. One day, a woman was passing along who had been drawing water. A man came up to her and said that he would push up the heavens, if she would give him some water to drink. ‘Push them up first,’ she replied. He pushed them up. ‘Will that do?’ said he. ‘No, a little further.’ He sent them up higher still, and then she handed him her cocoa-nut-shell water bottle. Another account says, that a person named Tütü pushed up the heavens; and the hollow places in a rock, nearly six feet long, are pointed out as his footprints. They tell about a man called Losi, who went up on a visit to the heavens. He found land and sea there, people, houses, and plantations. The people were kind to him and supplied him with plenty of food. This was the first time he had seen or tasted taro. He sought for some in the plantations and brought it down to the earth; and hence they say the origin of taro. They do not say how he got up and down. When the taro tree fell, they say its trunk and branches extended a distance of nearly sixty miles. In this and the following tale we are reminded of Jacob’s ladder.

“Two young men, named Punifanga and Tafalin, determined one afternoon to pay a visit to the moon. Punifanga said he knew a tree by which they could go up. Tafalin was afraid it might not reach high enough, and said he would try another plan. Punifanga went to his tree, but Tafalin kindled a fire, and heaped on cocoa-nut shells and other fuel so as to raise a great smoke. The smoke rose in a dense straight column, like a cocoa-nut tree towering away into the heavens. Tafalin then jumped on to the column of smoke, and went up and reached the moon long before Punifanga. One wishes to know what they did next, but here the tale abruptly ends, with the chagrin of Punifanga when he got up and saw Tafalin there before him, sitting laughing at him for having been so long on the way.

“In another story we are told, that the man came down one evening and picked up a woman, called Sina, and her child. It was during a time of famine. She was working in the evening twilight, beating out some bark with which to make native cloth. The moon was just rising, and it reminded her of great bread-fruit. Looking up to it she said, ‘Why cannot you come down and let my child have a bit of you?’ The moon was indignant at the idea of being eaten, came forthwith, and took up her child, board, mallet, and all. The popular superstition of ‘the man in the moon, who gathered sticks on the Sabbath-day,’ is not yet forgotten in England, and in Samoa, of the woman in the moon. ‘Yonder is Sina,’ they say, ‘and her child, and mallet and board.’

“We have a fragment or two, also, about the sun. A woman called Manquamanqui became pregnant by looking at the rising sun. Her son grew, and was named ‘Child of the Sun.’ At his marriage he asked his mother for a dowry. She sent him to his father the Sun, to beg from him, and told him how to go. Following her directions, he went one morning, with a long vine from the bush, which is the convenient substitute for a rope, climbed a tree, threw his rope, with a noose at the end of it, and caught the Sun. He made his message known and (Pandora like) got a present for his bride. The Sun first asked him what was his choice, blessings or calamities? He chose, of course, the former, and came down with his store of blessings done up in a basket. There is another tale about this Samoan Phaeton, similar to what is related of the Hawaiian Mani. They say that he and his mother were annoyed at the rapidity of the sun’s course in those days--that it rose, reached the meridian, and set ‘before they could get their mats dried.’ He determined to make it go slower. He climbed a tree one morning early, and with a rope and noose all ready, watched for the appearance of the sun. Just as it emerged from the horizon, he threw, and caught it; the sun struggled to get clear, but in vain. Then fearing lest it should be strangled, it called out in distress, ‘Oh! have mercy on me, and spare my life. What do you want?’ ‘We wish you to go slower, we can get no work done.’ ‘Very well,’ replied the Sun; ‘let me go, and for the future I will walk slowly, and never go quick again.’ He let go the rope, and ever since the sun has gone slowly, and given us longer days. Ludicrous and puerile as this is, one cannot help seeing in it the wreck of that sublime description in the book of Joshua, of the day when that man of God stood in the sight of Israel, and said: ‘Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon. And the Sun stood still, and the Moon stayed until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies.’

“There are but few tales in Samoa in which we can trace the deluge; nor are these circumstantial as those which obtain in some other parts of the Pacific. It is the universal belief, however, ‘that of old, the fish swam where the land now is;’ and tradition now adds, when the waters abated, many of the fish of the sea were left on the land, and afterwards were changed into stones. Hence, they say, there are stones in abundance in the bush and among the mountains which were once sharks and other inhabitants of the deep.”

The Figians, islanders of the same group, have an advantage over the Samoans in this last mythological matter of the deluge. They have at least half-a-dozen versions of the great flood, of which the two following, furnished by Ellis and Williams, will serve:

“They speak of a deluge which, according to some of their accounts, was partial, but in others is stated to have been universal. The cause of the great flood was the killing of Turukana--a favourite bird belonging to Udengei--by two mischievous lads, the grandsons of the god. These, instead of apologizing for their offence, added insolent language to the outrage, and fortifying, with the assistance of their friends, the town in which they lived, defied Udengei to do his worst. It is said, that although it took the angry god three months to collect his forces, he was unable to subdue the rebels, and, disbanding his army, resolved on more efficient revenge. At his command the dark clouds gathered and burst, pouring streams on the devoted earth. Towns, hills, and mountains were successively submerged; but the rebels, secure in the superior height of their own dwelling-place, looked on without concern. But when at last the terrible surges invaded their fortress, they cried for direction to a god, who, according to various accounts, sent them a shaddock punt, or two canoes, or taught them to build a canoe themselves. However, all agree the remnant of the human race was saved: the number was eighty.”

So says Mr. Williams. Now for a literal translation, furnished by Mr. Osmond to Mr. Ellis:

“Destroyed was Otaheite by the sea; no man, nor dog, nor fowl remained. The groves of trees and the stones were carried away by the wind. They were destroyed, and the deep was over the land. But these two persons, the husband and the wife (when it came in), he took up his young pig, she took up her young chickens; he took up the young dog, and she the young kitten. They were going forth, and looking at Orofena (the highest hill in the island), the husband said, ‘Up both of us to yonder mountain high.’ The wife replied, ‘No, let us not go thither.’ The husband said, ‘It is a high rock and will not be reached by the sea;’ but the wife replied, ‘Reached it will be by the sea yonder: let us ascend Opitohito, round as a breast; it will not be reached by the sea.’ They two arrived there. Orofena was overwhelmed by the waves: Opitohito alone remained and was their abode. There they watched ten nights; the sea ebbed, and they saw the two little heads of the mountains in their elevation. When the waters retired, the land remained without produce, without man, and the fish were putrid in the holes of the rocks. The earth remained, but the shrubs were destroyed. They descended and gazed with astonishment: there were no houses, nor cocoa-nuts, nor palm-trees, nor bread-fruit, nor grass; all was destroyed by the sea. They two dwelt together; and the woman brought forth two children, a son and a daughter. In those days covered was the land with food; and from two persons the earth was repeopled.”

The Figian believes in a future state of perpetual bliss, but not that the soul, as soon as it leaves the body, is absolved of all care. Indeed, according to popular belief, the journey of the soul from earth to heaven is a very formidable business.

“On the road to Nai Thombothombo, and about five miles from it, is a solitary hill of hard reddish clay spotted with black boulders, having on its right a pretty grove, and on the left cheerless hills. Its name is Takiveleyaiva. When near this spot the disembodied spirit throws the whale’s tooth, which is placed in the hand of the corpse at burial, at a spiritual pandanus; having succeeded in hitting this, he ascends the hill and there waits until joined by the spirits of his strangled wife or wives. Should he miss the mark he is still supposed to remain in this solitary resting-place, bemoaning the want of affection on the part of his wife and friends, who are depriving him of his expected companions. And this is the lone spirit’s lament: ‘How is this? For a long time I planted food for my wife, and was also of great use to her friends. Why, then, is she not allowed to follow me? Do my friends love me no better than this after so many years of toil? Will no one in love to me strangle my wife?’

“Blessed at last with the company of his wife or wives, who bear his train, or sad because of their absence, the husband advances towards Nai Thombothombo, and, club in hand, boards the canoe which carries spirits to meet their examiner. Notice of his approach is given by a paroquet which cries once, twice, and so on, according to the number of spirits in the canoe, announcing a great number by chattering. The highway to Mbulu lies through Nambanggatai, which, it seems, is at once a real and unreal town, the visible part being occupied by ordinary mortals, while in the unseen portion dwells the family who hold inquest on departed spirits. Thus the cry of the bird answers a twofold purpose, warning the people to set open the doors that the spirit may have a free course, and preventing the ghostly inquisitors from being taken by surprise. The houses in the town are built with reference to a peculiarity in the locomotion of spirits, who are supposed at this stage to pass straight forward: hence all the doorways are opposite to each other, so that the shade may pass through without interruption. The inhabitants speak in low tones, and if separated by a little distance communicate their thoughts by signs.

“Bygone generations had to meet Samu or Ravuyalo; but as he died in 1847 by a curious misfortune, his duties now devolve upon his sons, who, having been long in partnership with their illustrious father, are quite competent to carry on his office. As it is probable that the elder son will shortly receive the paternal title, or an equivalent, we will speak of him as Samuyalo the Killer of Souls. On hearing the paroquet, Samu and his brothers hide themselves in some spiritual mangrove bushes just beyond the town and alongside of the path in which they stick a reed as a prohibition to the spirit to pass that way. Should the comer be courageous, he raises his club in defiance of the _tabu_ and those who place it there, whereupon Samu appears to give him battle, first asking, ‘Who are you, and whence do you come?’ As many carry their inveterate habit of lying into another world, they make themselves out to be of vast importance, and to such Samu gives the lie and fells them to the ground. Should the ghost conquer in the combat, he passes on to the judgment seat of Ndengei; he is disqualified for appearing there and is doomed to wander among the mountains. If he be killed in the encounter, he is cooked and eaten by Samu and his brethren.

“Some traditions put the examination questions into the mouth of Samu, and judge the spirit at this stage; but the greater number refer the inquisition to Ndengei.

“Those who escape the club of the soul-destroyer walk on to Naindelinde, one of the highest peaks of the Kauvandra mountains. Here the path of the Mbulu ends abruptly at the brink of a precipice, the base of which is said to be washed by a deep lake. Beyond this precipice projects a large steer-oar, which one tradition puts in the charge of Ndengei himself, but another more consistently in the keeping of an old man and his son, who act under the direction of the god. These accost the coming spirit thus: ‘Under what circumstances do you come to us? How did you conduct yourself in the other world?’ If the ghost should be one of rank, he answers: ‘I am a great chief; I lived as a chief, and my conduct was that of a chief. I had great wealth, many wives, and ruled over a powerful people. I have destroyed many towns, and slain many in war.’ To this the reply is, ‘Good, good. Take a seat on the broad part of this oar, and refresh yourself in the cool breeze.’ No sooner is he seated than they lift the handle of the oar, which lies inland, and he is thus thrown down headlong into the deep waters below, through which he passes to Murimuria. Such as have gained the special favour of Ndengei are warned not to go out on the oar, but to sit near those who hold it, and after a short repose are sent back to the place whence they came to be deified.”

The gods of the Figians would, however, seem to cling with considerable tenacity to the weaknesses that distinguish the most ordinary mortals. They quarrel, they fight, and worse still, descend to act the part of lady-stealers, and this even when the booty is the daughter of a neighbouring god. The last “pretty scandal” of this character is related by Mr. Seeman in his recently published work on Figi:

“Once upon a time there dwelt at Rewa a powerful god, whose name was Ravovonicakaugawa, and along with him his friend the god of the winds, from Wairna. Ravovonicakaugawa was leading a solitary life, and had long been thinking of taking a wife to himself. At last his mind seemed to be made up. ‘Put mast and sail into the canoe,’ he said, ‘and let us take some women from Rokoua, the god of Naicobocobo.’ ‘When do you think of starting?’ inquired his friends. ‘I shall go in broad daylight,’ was the reply; ‘or do you think I am a coward to choose the night for my work?’ All things being ready, the two friends set sail and anchored towards sunset off Naicobocobo. There they waited, contrary to Figian customs, one, two, three days without any friendly communication from the shore reaching them, for Rokoua, probably guessing their intention, had strictly forbidden his people to take any food to the canoe. Rokoua’s repugnance, however, was not shared by his household. His daughter, the lovely Naiogabui, who diffused so sweet and powerful a perfume, that if the wind blew from the east the perfume could be perceived in the west, and if it blew from the west it could be perceived in the east, in consequence of which, and on account of her great personal beauty, all the young men fell in love with her--Naiogabui ordered one of her female slaves to cook a yam and take it to the foreign canoe, and at the same time inform its owner that she would be with him at the first opportunity. To give a further proof of her affection she ordered all the women in Naicobocobo to have a day’s fishing. This order having been promptly executed, and the fish cooked, Naiogabui herself swam off with it during the night and presented it to the Rewa god.

“Ravovonicakaugawa was charmed with the princess and ready to start with her at once. She, however, begged him to wait another night to enable Naimilamila, one of Rokoua’s young wives, to accompany them. Naimilamila was a native of Naicobocobo, and, against her will, united to Rokoua, who had no affection whatever for her, and kept her exclusively to scratch his head or play with his locks--hence her name. Dissatisfied with her sad lot, she had concocted with her stepdaughter a plan for escape, and was making active preparations to carry it into execution. On the night agreed upon, Naimilamila was true to her engagement. ‘Who are you?’ asked the god as she stepped on the deck. ‘I am Rokoua’s wife,’ she rejoined. ‘Get your canoe under weigh; my lord may follow closely on my heels; and Naiogabui will be with us immediately.’ Almost directly afterwards a splash in the water was heard. ‘There she comes,’ cried Naimilamila, ‘make sail;’ and instantly the canoe, with Ravovonicakaugawa, his friend, and the two women, departed for Rewa.

“Next morning, when Rokoua discovered the elopement, he determined to pursue the fugitives, and for that purpose embarked in the ‘Vatateilali,’ a canoe deriving its name from his large drum, the sound of which was so powerful that it could he heard all over Figi. His club and spear were put on board, both of which were of such gigantic dimensions and weight that it took ten men to lift either of them. Rokoua soon reached Nukuilailai, where he took the spear out, and making a kind of bridge of it walked over it on shore. Taking spear and club in his hand, he musingly walked along. ‘It will never do to be at once discovered,’ he said to himself. ‘I must disguise myself. But what shape shall I assume? that of a hog or a dog? As a hog I should not be allowed to come near the door; and as a dog I should have to pick the bones thrown outside. Neither will answer my purpose; I shall therefore assume the shape of a woman.’ Continuing his walk along the beach he met an old woman carrying a basket of taro and puddings ready cooked, and without letting her be at all aware of it, he exchanged figures with her. He then enquired whither she was going, and being informed to the house of the god of Rewa, he took the basket from her, and leaving club and spear on the beach, proceeded to his destination. His disguise was so complete that even his own daughter did not recognize him. ‘Who is that?’ she asked as he was about to enter. ‘It is I,’ replied Rokoua in a feigned voice; ‘I have come from Monisa with food.’ ‘Come in, old lady,’ said Naiogabui, ‘and sit down.’ Rokoua accordingly entered and took care to sit like a Figian woman would do, so that his disguise might not be discovered. ‘Are you going back to-night?’ he was asked. ‘No,’ the disguised god replied, ‘there is no occasion for that.’ Finding it very close in the house, Rokoua proposed a walk and a bath, to which both Naiogabui and Naimilamila agreed. When getting the women to that spot of the beach where club and spear had been left, he threw off his disguise and exclaimed, ‘You little knew who I was; I am Rokoua, your lord and master;’ and at the same time taking hold of their hands, he dragged the runaways to the canoe and departed homewards.

“When the Rewa god found his women gone he again started for Naicobocobo, where, as he wore no disguise, he was instantly recognised, his canoe taken and dragged on shore by Rokoua’s men, while he himself and his faithful friend, who again accompanied him, were seized and made pig drivers. They were kept in this degrading position a long time until a great festival took place in Vanua Levu which Rokoua and his party attended. Arrived at the destination the Rewa god and his friends were left in charge of the two canoes that had carried the party thither, whilst all the others went on shore to enjoy themselves; but as both friends were liked by all the women they were kept amply supplied with food and other good things during the festival. Nevertheless Ravovonicakaugawa was very much cast down, and taking a kava root he offered it as a sacrifice, and despairingly exclaimed, ‘Have none of the mighty gods of Rewa pity on my misfortune?’ His friend’s body became instantly possessed by a god, and began to tremble violently. ‘What do you want?’ asked the god within. ‘A gale to frighten my oppressors out of their wits.’ ‘It shall be granted,’ replied the god, and departed.

“The festival being over, Rokoua’s party embarked for Naicobocobo; but it had hardly set sail when a strong northerly gale sprung up, which nearly destroyed the canoes and terribly frightened those on board. Still they reached Naicobocobo, where the Rewa god prayed for an easterly wind to carry him home. All Rokoua’s men having landed and left the women behind to carry the goods and luggage on shore, the desired wind sprang up, and the two canoes, with sails set, started for Rewa, where they safely arrived, and the goats and other property were landed and distributed as presents among the people. But Rokoua was not to be beaten thus. Although his two canoes had been taken there was still the one taken from Ravovonicakaugawa on his second visit to Naicobocobo: that was launched without delay and the fugitives pursued. Arriving at Nukuilailai, Rokoua laid his spear on the deck of the canoe and walked on shore, as he had done on a previous occasion. Landed, he dropped his heavy club, thereby causing so loud a noise that it woke all the people in Viti Levu. This noise did not escape the quick ear of Naimilamila. ‘Be on your guard,’ she said to her new lord; ‘Rokoua is coming; I heard his club fall; he can assume any shape he pleases, be a dog, or a pig, or a woman; he can command even solid rocks to split open and admit him; so be on your guard.’ Rokoua, meanwhile, met a young girl from Nadoo on the road, carrying shrimps, landcrabs, and taro to the house of the god of Rewa, and without hesitation he assumed her shape, and she took his without being herself aware of it. Arriving with his basket at his destination, Naiogabui asked, ‘Who is there?’ To which Rokoua replied, ‘It is me; I am from Nadoo, bringing food for your husband.’ The supposed messenger was asked into the house, and sitting down he imprudently assumed a position not proper to Figian women; this and the shape of his limbs was noticed by Naiogabui, who whispered the discovery made into her husband’s ear. Ravovonicakaugawa stole out of the house, assembled his people, recalled to their minds the indignities heaped upon him by Rokoua, and having worked them up to a high pitch of excitement, he informed them that the offender was now in their power. All rushed to arms, and entering the house they demanded the young girl from Nadoo. ‘There she sits,’ replied Naiogabui, pointing to her father; and no sooner had the words been spoken than a heavy blow with a club felled Rokoua to the ground. A general onset followed in which the head of the victim was beaten to atoms. This was the end of Rokoua.”

According to the evidence of Turner and other reliable Polynesian travellers, the entrance to the Hades of the Samoans was supposed to be a circular basin among the rocks at the west end of Savaii. Savaii is the most westerly island of the group. When a person was near death, it was thought that the house was surrounded by a host of spirits, all waiting to take the soul away to their subterranean home at the place referred to; if at night the people of the family were afraid to go out of doors, lest they should be snatched away by some of these invisible powers. As soon as the spirit left the body, it was supposed to go in company with this band of spirits direct to the west end of Savaii. If it was a person residing on one of the more easterly islands of the group--on Upolu, for example--they travelled on by land to the west end of the island, not to a Charon, but to a great stone called “the stone to leap from.” It was thought that the spirits here leaped into the sea, swam to the island of Monono, crossed the land to the west point of that island, again leaped from another stone there, swam to Savaii, crossed fifty miles of country there again, and, at length, reached the Hafa, or entrance to their imaginary world of spirits. There was a cocoa-nut tree near this spot, and it was supposed that if the spirit happened to come in contact with the tree it returned, and the person who seemed to be dead revived and recovered. If, however, the spirit did not strike against the tree, it went down the Hafa at once. At this place, on Savaii, there are two circular basins, not many feet deep, still pointed out as the place where the spirits went down. One, which is the larger of the two, was supposed to be for chiefs, the other for common people. These lower regions were reported to have a heaven, an earth, and a sea, and people with real bodies, planting, fishing, cooking, and otherwise employed, just as in the present life. At night their bodies were supposed to change their form, and become like a confused collection of sparks of fire. In this state, and during the hours of darkness, they were said to ascend and revisit their former places of abode, retiring at early dawn, either to the bush or back to the lower regions. It was supposed these spirits had power to return and cause disease and death in other members of the family. Hence all were anxious as a person drew near the close of life to part on good terms with him, feeling assured that, if he died with angry feelings towards any one, he would certainly return and bring some calamity upon that very person, or some one closely allied to him. This was considered a frequent source of disease and death, viz., the spirit of a departed member of the family returning, and taking up his abode in the head, or chest, or stomach of the party, and so causing sickness and death. The spirits of the departed were also supposed to come and talk through a certain member of the family, prophesying various events, or giving directions as to certain family affairs. If a man died suddenly, it was thought that he was eaten by the spirits that took him. His soul was said to go to the common residence of the departed; only it was thought that such persons had not the power of speech, and could only, in reply to a question, beat their breasts. The chiefs were supposed to have a separate place allotted them, and to have plenty of the best food and other indulgences. Saveasuileo was the great king, or Pluto, of these subterranean regions, and to him all yielded the profoundest homage. He was supposed to have the head of a man, and the upper part of his body reclining in a great house in company with the spirits of departed chiefs. The extremity of his body was said to stretch away into the sea, in the shape of an eel or serpent. He ruled the destinies of war, and other affairs. His great house or temple was supported, not by pillars of wood or stone, but by columns of living men.

At his birth every Samoan was supposed to be taken under the care of some tutelary or protecting god, or aitu, as it was called. The help of perhaps half a dozen different gods was invoked in succession on the occasion; but the one who happened to be addressed just as the child was born, was marked, and declared to be the child’s god for life. The gods were supposed to appear in some visible incarnation, and the particular thing in which his god was in the habit of appearing was to the Samoan an object of veneration. It was in fact his idol, and he was careful never to injure it or treat it with contempt. One, for instance, saw his god in the eel, another in the shark, another in the turtle, another in the dog, another in the owl, another in the lizard, and so on throughout all the fish of the sea, and birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things. In some of the shell fish even gods were supposed to be present. A man would eat freely of what was regarded as the incarnation of the god of another man, but the incarnation of his own particular god he would consider it death to injure or to eat. The god was supposed to avenge the insult by taking up his abode in that person’s body, and causing to generate there the very thing which he had eaten, until it produced death. This class of genii, or tutelary deities, they call aitu-fule, or god of the house. The father of the family was the high priest, and usually offered a short prayer at the evening meal, that they might all be kept from sickness, war, and death. Occasionally, too, he would direct that they have a family feast in honour of their household gods; and on these occasions a cup of their intoxicating ava-draught was poured out as a drink-offering. They did this in their family house, where they all assembled, supposing that their gods had a spiritual presence there, as well as in the material objects to which we have referred. Often it was supposed that the god came among them, and spoke through the father or some other member of the family, telling them what to do in order to remove a present evil, or avert a threatened one. Sometimes it would be that the family should get a canoe built, and keep it sacred to the god. They might travel in it and use it themselves, but it was death to sell or part with a canoe which had been built specially for the god. Another class of Samoan deities may be called gods of the town or village. Every village had its god, and every one born in that village was regarded as the property of that god. “I have got a child for so and so,” a woman would say on the birth of her child, and name the village god. There was a small house or temple also consecrated to the deity of the place. Where there was no formal temple, the great house of the village where the chiefs were in the habit of assembling was the temple for the time being, as occasion required.

In their temples they had generally something for the eye to rest upon with superstitious veneration. In one might be seen a conch shell suspended from the roof in a basket made of sinnet network, and this the god was supposed to blow when he wished the people to rise to war. In another, two stones were kept. In another, something resembling the head of a man, with white streamers flying, was raised on a pole at the door of the temple, on the usual day of worship. In another, a cocoa-nut shell drinking cup was suspended from the roof, and before it prayers were addressed and offerings presented. This cup was also used in oaths. If they wished to find out a thief, the suspected parties were assembled before the chiefs, the cup sent for, and each would approach, lay his hand on it and say, “With my hand on this cup, may the god look upon me and send swift destruction if I took the thing which has been stolen.” They firmly believed that it would be death to touch the cup and tell a lie. The priests in some cases were the chiefs of the place; but in general some one in a particular family claimed the privilege, and professed to declare the will of the god. His office was hereditary. He fixed the days for the annual feasts in honour of the deity, received the offerings, and thanked the people for them. He decided also whether or not the people might go to war. The offerings were principally cooked food. The first cup was in honour of the god. It was either poured out on the ground or waved towards the heavens. The chiefs all drank a portion out of the same cup, according to rank; and after that, the food brought as an offering was divided and eaten, “there before the Lord.” This feast was annual, and frequently about the month of May. In some places it passed off quietly, in others it was associated with games, sham fights, night dances, etc., and lasted for days. In time of war special feasts were ordered by the priests. Of the offerings on war occasions, women and children were forbidden to partake, as it was not their province to go to battle. They supposed it would bring sickness and death on the party eating who did not go to the war, and hence were careful to bury or throw into the sea whatever food was over after the festival. In some places the feasts, in honour of the god, were regulated by the appearance in the settlement of the bird which was thought to be the incarnation of the god. Whenever the bird was seen, the priest would say that the god had come, and fixed upon a day for this entertainment. The village gods, like those of the household, had all some particular incarnation; one was supposed to appear as a bat, another as a heron, another as an owl. If a man found a dead owl by the roadside, and if that happened to be the incarnation of his village god, he would sit down and weep over it, and beat his forehead with stones till the blood flowed. This was thought pleasing to the deity. Then the bird would be wrapped up, and buried with care and ceremony, as if it were a human body. This, however, was not the death of the god. He was supposed to be yet alive and incarnate in all the owls in existence. The flight of these birds was observed in the time of war. If the bird flew before them it was a signal to go on; but if it crossed the path, it was a bad omen, and a sign to retreat. Others saw their village god in the rainbow, others saw him in the shooting star; and in time of war the position of a rainbow and the direction of a shooting star were always ominous.

Throughout Polynesia the ordinary medium of communicating or extending supernatural powers was the red feather of a small bird found in many of the islands and the beautiful long tail-feathers of the tropic or man-of-war-bird. For these feathers the gods were supposed to have a strong predilection: they were the most valuable offerings that could be presented to them; the power or influence of the god was imparted, and through them transferred to the objects to which they might be attached. Among the numerous ceremonies observed, the _palatua_ was one of the most conspicuous. On these occasions the gods were all brought out of the temple, the sacred coverings removed, scented oils were applied to the images, and they were exposed to the sun. At these seasons the parties who wished their emblems of deity to be impregnated with the essence of the gods, repaired to the ceremony with a number of red feathers which they delivered to the officiating priest.

The wooden idols being generally hollow, the feathers were deposited in the inside of the image, which was filled with them. Many idols, however, were solid pieces of wood bound or covered with finely braided cinnet of the fibres of the cocoa-nut husk; to these the feathers were attached on the outside by small fibrous bands. In return for the feathers thus united to the god, the parties received two or three of the same kind, which had been deposited on a former festival in the inside of a wooden or inner fold of a cinnet idol. These feathers were thought to possess all the properties of the images to which they had been attached, and a supernatural influence was supposed to be infused into them. They were carefully wound round with very fine cinnet, the extremities alone remaining visible. When this was done, the new made gods were placed before the larger images, from which they had been taken, and, lest their detachment should induce the god to withhold his power, the priest addresses a prayer to the principal deities, requesting them to abide in the red feathers before them. At the close of his _ubu_, or invocation, he declared that they were dwelt in or inhabited (by the god), and delivered them to the parties who had brought the red feathers. The feathers taken home were deposited in small bamboo canes, excepting when addressed in prayer. If prosperity attended their owner, it was attributed to their influence, and they were usually honoured with an image, into which they were enwrought, and subsequently perhaps an altar and a rude temple were erected for them. In the event, however, of their being attached to an image, this must be taken to the large temple, that the supreme idols might sanction the transfer of their influence.

Animals, fruits, etc., were not the only articles presented to the idols: the most affecting part of their sacrificing was the frequent immolation of human victims. These sacrifices, in the technical language of the priests, were called _fish_. They were offered in seasons of war, at great national festivals, during the illness of their rulers, and on the erection of their temples. Travellers have been informed by the inhabitants of the town of Maeva, that the foundation of some of the buildings for the abode of their gods was actually laid in human sacrifices, that every pillar supporting the roof of one of the sacred houses at Maeva was planted upon the body of a man who had been offered as a victim to the sanguinary deity about to be deposited there. The unhappy wretches selected, were either captives taken in war or individuals who had rendered themselves obnoxious to the chiefs or the priests. When they were wanted, a stone was, at the request of the priest, sent by the king to the chief of the district from which the victims were required. If the stone was received, it was an indication of an intention to comply with the requisition. It is a singular fact that the cruelty of the practice extended, not only to individuals, but to families and districts. When an individual has been taken as a sacrifice, the family to which he belonged was regarded as _tabu_, or devoted; and when another was required, it was more frequently taken from that family than any other; and a district from which sacrifices had been taken was in the same way considered as devoted, and hence, when it was known that any ceremonies were near on which human sacrifices were usually offered, the members of _tabu_ families or others who had reason to fear they were selected, fled to the mountains and hid themselves in the dens and caverns till the ceremony was over.

In general the victim was unconscious of his doom until suddenly struck down by a blow from a club or a stone, sometimes from the hand of the very chief on whom he was depending as a guest for the rights of hospitality. He was usually murdered on the spot, his body placed in a long basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and carried to the temple. Here it was offered, not by consuming it with fire, but by placing it before the idol. The priest in dedicating it, took out one of the eyes, placed it on a plantain leaf, and handed it to the king, who raised it to his mouth as if desirous to eat it, but passed it to one of the priests or attendants stationed near him for the purpose of receiving it. At intervals, during the prayers, some of the hair was plucked off and placed before the god, and when the ceremony was over, the body was wrapped in the basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and frequently deposited on the branches of an adjacent tree. After remaining a considerable time it was taken down, and the bones buried beneath the rude pavement of the marae or temple. These horrid rites were not unfrequent, and the number offered at their great festivals was truly appalling.

The most remarkable institution prevailing among the inhabitants of the islands of the southern seas is that known as tabu or tapu. Although it could only be imposed by a priest, and a religious motive was invariably assigned for its imposition, there can be little doubt that its chief use was civil; and though, as in all state engines, the component parts of which are multitudinous and of as diverse a character as selfish interest can make them, abuse and depravity will appear, still there can be no question that in its working the tabu is an institution not to be hastily thrown aside or abolished. To quote the words of Ellis, “the tabu forms an important and essential part of a cruel system of idolatry, and is one of the strongest means of its support.” This may be so far true, but at the same time, inasmuch as it affects the proper government, the tranquillity, the very daily bread of an idolatrous country, it is a thing to meet with tender consideration, unless, indeed, because a nation is idolatrous, it is to be straight stirred to rebellion, and driven to famine and death. It is fair to regard tabu, not as a purely religious institution, but as a political institution, propped and upheld by the most influential men in the country, the priests, who, in their turn, are backed by the _kiaimoku_ (island keepers), a kind of police officers, who are appointed by the king, and empowered to carry out the commands of the priest, though the lives of offenders be blotted out at the same time. Thus blended, does “Church and State” form a quickset hedge, pleasant to the sight,--for the profusion of the “rewards” to come, promised by the holy men to the faithful, cover it as it were with green leaves, hidden among which are the thorns--the spears of the king’s servants, not insolently thrust out, but modestly retiring and challenging a brush with no man; altogether, however, it is a hedge that no savage may break, and which, for heaven knows how many hundreds of years, myriads of savages have been content to regard harmlessly, passing their lives in the shadow of it.

In most of the Polynesian dialects the usual meaning of the word tabu is _sacred_. “It does not, however,” says Ellis, “imply any moral quality, but expresses a connection with the gods or a separation from ordinary purposes and exclusive appropriation to persons or things considered sacred.” Those chiefs who trace their genealogy to the gods are called _arii tabu_ chiefs, sacred from their supposed connection with the gods. It is a distinct word from _rahui_, to prohibit, and is opposed to the word, _noa_, which means general or common. Hence the system which prohibited the females from eating with the men, and from eating, except on special occasions, any part of animals ever offered in sacrifice to the gods, while it allowed the men to partake of them, was called the _ai tabu_, eating sacred.

This appears to be the legitimate meaning of the word tabu, though the natives when talking with foreigners use it more extensively, and apply it to everything prohibited or improper. This, however, is only to accommodate the latter, as they use kaukau (a word of Chinese origin) instead of the native word for eat, and _picaninny_ for small, supposing they are better understood.