tangalora the samoan scribe—where the gods and goddesses first met in council—the materials of which the first mortal children were fashioned—the first wondering men—the first women—how the first babies came to their mothers.
it was nearly three months before i found myself in samoa again. o’hara had shipped from hawaii for the solomon isles, and i had signed on as “deckhand” on a fore-and-aft schooner that was bound for apia. i missed the society of my irish comrade; but we met long after, as will be seen in the last chapters of this book. however, i soon made another friend, for i came across a high chief, tangalora, who was an aged samoan. i came to value his friendship greatly. he dwelt in a cave on the shores of savaii isle, a cave wherein he lived in primitive comfort and seemed happy enough. he was one of the last of the wandering samoan scribes—men who, with tappa robe flung across the left shoulder, wandered from village to village in pursuit of their romantic calling. these scribes would enter the small pagan villages at sunset, take their stand on the village forum-stump (sometimes a tree trunk or a heap of coral stone that denoted where some mighty warrior or poet was buried), then, lifting one arm towards the sky, commence to pour forth in dramatic fashion their own versions of the old mythological tales and legends. such a scribe was tangalora, with whom i became on the most intimate terms. as i have said, 145tangalora was a very old man. i believe he was nearly eighty years of age. consequently, he was unable to travel from village to village singing his romantic chants and legends to samoan maids and youths. i found him a most agreeable old poet, perfect in every way, except that i noticed a tinge of jealousy arose whenever i spoke of his contemporaries. but even that very human failing was forgivable, for competition was keen among the poets of those days, and i myself heard many followers of the muse, as they stood on those parnassian heathen slopes, cursing the lying tongue of some wandering scribe who had forestalled them by arriving at the forum-stump before they did. however, it’s not my wish to go into detail over tangalora’s failings; all i will attempt is to tell from my own impressions some of the incidents of the extempore verse which he rattled off in his cavern homestead. i must first say that he used this cavern as a lecture hall as well as a homestead, charging a small fee to the native men and crowds of children who collected outside his rocky door at sunset. it was a sight worth seeing as those little native children, their eyes bright with mystery, waited to enter the cavern and hear the wonderful old wizard man, tangalora, tell of the mysteries of shadowland. it was such a sight that met my eyes when i arrived at that cavern’s entrance, as eager as any of the forest children, i am sure.
the sun was setting on the sea skyline and the shadows falling over the mountains as tangalora sat on his coral throne at the far end of his weird-lit cavern hall. he was fully decorated with all the insignia of his office, wearing his tappa robe, and with his ornamental war-club by his side, as he sat there before me.
“talofa!” he said, and all the children responded:
“talofa, o tangalora!”
146then he said that which translated into our language would run in this wise:
“now then, fantoes (children), come round close to me, my sight is dim; sit by my knees, for i am old.”
in a moment the tawny children of the south were hustling and bustling to secure their favourite position at the feet of the aged poet. placing his hand to his wrinkled mouth, he coughed twice, as he always did ere he commenced to tell his stories.
“are you all here?” his voice trembled into echoes.
“we are all here!” cried the children, as they crossed their arms and legs and prepared to listen attentively. then he began as follows:
“thousands of years ago, when the sun, the moon, and the stars shone in the sky and saw no one alive on the isles of these seas, the heathen gods were walking across the wide floors of mbau. suddenly raitumaibulii, who was the god of fruit and taro, said: ‘i say, look at that great ocean shining under the sun down there above unpeopled, palm-clad isles.’ then the god continued: ‘is it not a shame that all those beautiful palms and those breadfruit trees of mine should be laden with such nice fruit and yet none there to eat of it?’ ‘it really does seem a pity,’ replied the god of fire; and he continued: ‘i also think it sad that none can light fires in those deep forests. look how comfortable they would feel were they to see my flames brightly shining beneath the palms by night.’ as the god raitumaibulii and the god of fire ceased speaking and sighed over their thoughts, the beautiful heathen goddess of mburoto (the paradise of love and bliss) came up to them and said: ‘ah! i have just heard your lament. i too feel sad to think that there are no handsome youths and maidens in those beautiful leafy forests.’ as the two gods listened and gazed on her beauty, she lifted her 147hands and lovely eyes towards the mountains of mburoto, and continued in this wise: ‘oh! think how pleased the moons would be to light up the eyes of handsome lovers and reveal the bronze-hued faces of pretty maidens if they roamed those now silent lands.’ it was then that the great thangi-thangi, the god of hate and sin, stepped forth. he, too, looked thoughtfully down on those far-distant beautiful isles and murmured: ‘what a waste, what a waste it is, when i think how i could make the folk of a world to hate each other and deeply sin.’
“the goddess of love, who was listening to thangi-thangi, said: ‘look here, you are not wanted down there. i know well enough that if you had anything to do with the making of the folk of another world, they would never be really happy folk.’ as the beautiful goddess said this, her daughter came forward. she had eyes like unto fire, and a serpent was nestling at her breast. gazing up into the face of the goddess of love, she said: ‘i am jealousy, your sinful child; but may i help you to make the new folk for that lovely country, those silent isles so far away, down there?’
“for a long time the goddess of love gazed across the terraced mountains of mbau. as she reflected, her hands were arched over her eyes that shone like two lovely moons that had a bright star in their centre. slowly turning, she gazed sadly into her daughter’s dark, fiery eyes, and said:
“‘i suppose you must come and help me when i am making handsome men and beautiful women. of course, i shall have to make a few ugly mortals, so that the favoured ones may see that they are handsome.’ then the goddess sighed and said: ‘so you must be there to kiss their lips, that they may have the spirit to look after the one they love.’
148“after the gods and goddesses of mbau had assembled in solemn council, they decided that it would be best to make living people who could be happy on the isles situated away down beneath the sun. ‘so shall it be,’ they all muttered, as they stalked across the magic mountains of mburoto, where they at once began to gather wonderful flowers and weeds, stones, bits of fire, and cloudy skeins of moonlight and starlight. for it was from the essential materials of paradise that they must make the children of the world that was beneath the sun.
“it was then that the aged goddess of sorrow, who had stood silently behind, said: ‘i also must come to help you.’
“‘must you come?’ said the goddess of love. and the goddess of sorrow replied: ‘it must be i alone who shall gather the compassionate cry of the winds in the forest, the bundles of old sunsets, the long-ago wail of blue sea-waves, and the songs of melancholy, small-throated birds.’
“‘but must we have such things? cannot we make children without your help, o goddess of sorrow?’
“and sorrow answered: ‘however beautiful you made the children, even though their eyes were like unto the beauty of thine own, still they would not be happy without being fashioned of those things that i must gather from the graves of a million dead moons.’
“‘so shall it be,’ said the goddess of love, as she sighed and kissed sorrow’s tender, trembling hand.
“‘now then!’ said atuaa, the chief vassal of ndengi. ‘come along! come along!’ then, lo! on the beams of threaded moonlight that were falling down the heavens of shadowland into the dark regions of the other world, the gods and goddesses slid softly away, monstrous, shadowy figures as they passed down, down 149through the deep skies! for a long time their cloudy figures seemed to be falling. at last they stood, mighty shadows in the silent forest of the isles far to the westward. they were all much taller than the trees, their huge heads rising far above the forest height, as their images moved across the sky. it was the god of hate who first spoke after they had stepped into the forest of time. he said: ‘i say, we must be very careful not to make these new children as big and as strong as we ourselves are.’ for a long time the hands of the gods and goddesses were busy, as they toiled silently, mixing up the materials in the bundles they had brought with them. before sunrise appeared on the sea’s horizon, the gods had hurried back to the skies, and were watching to see what would happen. now the gods and goddesses had not long left the lonely forest when old silence trembled in his cave at hearing the jabbering and scampering about of unusual things amongst his solemn trees. an extraordinary thing had happened, for, as the light of the sun stared down through the branches of the coco-palms, six newly-created men yawned, jumped to their new, soft, brown clay feet, and gazed on each other in mute astonishment. ‘who am i? who are you?’ it sounded like echoes answering each other in a cave, as each one gabbled forth, ‘who am i? who are you?’ for a long time they babbled thus. then they all stepped forward and said to each other: ‘let us all be happy, and care not at all who we may be.’
“saying this, they rubbed noses and became ma pataro (good friends). now, just behind the bamboos and mangroves, not a spear’s throw from where they were gabbling and rubbing noses, stood six newly-created maidens. these maidens also gazed at each other in astonishment and cried out: ‘who are we? who are 150we?’ then in some fright embraced, much the same as the men had done, and said: ‘what matters it who we are, so long as we are really here?’ and then they ran down to the seashore.
“the sun had risen and set thrice when the maids danced on the shore, all singing some song which they had learnt from the soft murmurings of a seashell. each had clad her form in a small lava-lava that was made of seaweed and fastened by threaded grass about the loins. standing on the big lumps of red coral, they all dived into the ocean, to come forth laughing, as the sea-water fell glistening from their tresses that half hid their soft feet. ‘oh, how lovely this world really is!’ they said, as they lifted seashells to their ears, and, singing again, dived headlong into the ocean. it so happened that the six newly-created men had made up their minds to go down and bathe in the cool sea-water; and, as they gazed through the belt of mangroves, they suddenly gave a cry of astonishment. one said: ‘did ever one see such figures?’ another, swallowing the lump that came to his throat, said: ‘’tis more wonderful than finding ourselves in this lonely forest to see such divine figures.’ then yet another cried: ‘they must have come to us out of the night and the starlight by way of the dawn!’ then, half in fright, they crept down towards the shore so that they might see the maids the plainer. ‘vanaka! vanaka!’ they cried, losing their heads through seeing all that they did see. being foolish, as men have always been, they rushed forth from the shadows of the mangroves, in haste to embrace the maids. the maidens, looking up in wonder at hearing other voices, all screamed out in astonishment: ‘oh, look, such figures!—why, surely, more lovely than we are!’ then, seeing that the figures were rushing down the shores towards them, they huddled in fright together, 151then, hastily lifting their loosened tresses that dangled down to their feet, they ran off towards the forest of breadfruit trees. one, who possessed a figure like a goddess, lagged behind the others as they raced up the shore, for so long was her hair that it became entangled in her swiftly moving feet. suddenly she fell down on the glistening sand. the six pursuing newly-created men shouted with joy on observing the maiden’s distress. he who ran first was a handsome youth. in a moment he had reached the side of the fallen maid, who, struggling to regain her feet, glanced despairingly over her shoulder up into the eyes of him who leaned over her. the maid half turned her form whilst she still lay in a reclining position. so exquisite was the sight to him who had captured her that he nearly swooned, and so it happened that, ere the others came up, the maid had once more regained her feet and had sped off into the forests. hiding amongst the trees and flowers, the girls hastily plucked hibiscus blossoms and palm-leaves. the flowers they swiftly placed in their hair, and, hurriedly threading the leaves with grass, they wrapped them about their loins. ‘was it not foolish to run away from such figures?’ said a tall maiden, who had soft, warm eyes like unto stars in a pool. ‘it was! it was!’ they cried together, as they leaned over the lagoon and gazed sideways on their images, swerving slightly that they might discover why they were so fascinating. seeing the men no more, they all sat down on the edge of the lagoon and wept bitterly.
“next day they searched and searched the forest till at last they found the men; and, lo! the men fell down on their knees before them, and the maids blushed exceedingly, their eyes sparkling with much joy. ere the moon had faded to the size of a bird’s underwing, the maidens were full of jealousy, grief, and sorrow, for 152they were each in love with the very one who loved another. when the gods of the shadowland (who were, of course, aware of all that had happened) heard the moans and wailing lamentations of the men and women whom they had created, they said: ‘what shall we do now? we have made children of the forest, and lo, have mixed them up the wrong way!’
“the goddess of love gazed sorrowfully across the stars, and said: ‘i must see what can be done for them, for now that we have made them they are our children.’
“then all the gods and goddesses stamped their feet in grief, and, crying out as with one voice, said: ‘what shall we do now that we have made the first children of the forest wrong?’
“the goddesses of love and passion replied: ‘we must now give unto them little children of their own; then they will throw the blame of their sorrows on themselves instead of on us who made them.’
“then the goddess of love continued: ‘come on! come on!’ and at once started to move towards the mountains of mburoto, and all the gods sadly followed her. and when they stood beneath the mighty tree that threw branches of night across all the skies and blossomed the bright-fingered stars, she said: ‘stay! it is here that we must gather the materials for the children of the children of this new world which we have made.’ saying this, she stooped and gathered little bits of starlight. and the gods and goddesses, who followed close behind her, said: ‘what’s that for?’
“‘that’s for the little ones’ eyes,’ answered the goddess of love. then she gathered some tiny red flowers that were always murmuring music to the soft winds on the mountain side.
“‘what’s that for?’ murmured all the gods.
153“‘why, that’s to make the children’s tiny mouths with.’
“then the goddess looked up and gave a soft whistle; and down from the beautiful palm trees of mburoto came fluttering to her feet small, black-breasted birds.
“‘lift your heads up, o little birds!’ she said, as they all sang to her. then, as they still whistled and whistled, she stooped down and with her forefinger tenderly brushed the dark down from each breast.
“‘what’s that stuff for?’ growled the old thangi-thangi, the god of hate and sin.
“‘why, that is for the hair on their tiny heads.’
“then the goddess said: ‘come on! come on!’ and led the way to the edge of the mighty threshold of atua (elysium).
“then she threw out a long fishing-net, and it fell away down the skies. as she pulled it up very gently, it was full of old sunsets and old broken moons.
“‘what’s that stuff for?’ murmured the gods, as the hills around were lit up with a sad, beautiful light.
“‘why, that is to make their little hearts with; i would have them love and worship us, these children that we have made, so that when they die, their spirits will come back again to shadowland.’
“then she led them across the wide halls of mburoto, till they came to the lagoons that were the shining mirrors of the gods and goddesses.
“‘o gods and goddesses of shadowland, bend forward and gaze into the deep waters so that your eyes will be imaged therein!’
“leaning forward, they all gazed into their own mirrored eyes, thinking the while deeply of all that they wished. the mirrored eyes of the god of hate gleamed like fire; jealousy’s eyes stared and stared; and mercy’s 154eyes gazed back with tenderest beams into the eyes of love and her sister, beauty.
“‘don’t move!’ said the goddess, as she swiftly threw her magic fishing-net into the lagoon, and caught the shining, mirrored eyelight of the gods and goddesses. picking it out of the net very tenderly with her fingers, she placed the gleaming lumps of mystical light into her wonderful bundle.
“‘is that all?’ thundered poluto, the master-of-all-desires, as he stamped his feet with impatience when the goddess stooped yet again and plucked the golden flowers that danced in laughter at her feet.
“‘is that all?’ he thundered yet again, as she put the flowers in the bundle, and then fastened her robe of the western winds about her tall, glorious form!
“‘alas! it is not enough,’ she responded, as she gazed tenderly into the eyes of impatient desire, and made great pretence to hasten. for well she knew that he wanted nothing more than that!
“then, in single file, the gods and goddesses tramped back the way they had come, and their tall shadows moved along the mighty walls of the moonlit mountains.
“next night, while the moonbeams were shining over the small grass-huts that the poor mortals had made, so that they could sleep, a shadow passed across the whole of the sky. it was the goddess of love. she had arrived down in the depths of the forest wherein dwelt the sad, newly-created mortals. she was so tall that she was obliged to use magic and so make herself small. when she had shrunken up till she was only about four times as big as a mortal, she could walk with ease beneath the tall forest trees. taking a lump of red clay out of the earth, she strode deeper into the forest glooms. standing beneath a giant breadfruit tree, she made a 155little fire out of the old moonlights and dead forest twigs. often and often she blew its little flame. then, at last, it burnt steadily with a blue light.
“then she started to make tiny figures out of the red clay! opening her bundle, she carefully took out bits of old sunsets and starlight. for a long time she was very busy, toiling and toiling with her fingers, as she moulded little arms, legs, and small feet. when she had completed her task and had set the little figures all upright in a row, she very tenderly put small pinches of sunset and starlight into the little holes she had made beneath their brows. then she whispered, and it sounded as though a wind went moaning through the forest trees, and lo! the small figures all looked up at her, for their eyes were made. then she said once again: ‘now, little forest children, gaze upon me.’ then all the eyes of the small clay figures turned and gazed on her! ‘now put out your hands, and stamp, so, with your feet.’ at once the little marionettes obeyed, stamped their feet and put forth their arms. when the goddess had gazed approvingly at her own handiwork, she looked round the silent forest, and said: ‘come, my little ones, follow me.’ then she strode across the forest. and the tiny clay figures, looking round with curiosity, followed her, half frightened, as they kept close to the big ankles of the goddess who had made them. their little eyes shone like tiny constellations of wandering stars, as they followed their creator through the depth of those forest glooms.
“at dawn, when the mortals awoke from sleep, sunrise was streaming through the grass roofs of their huts. as they all jumped up and gazed with astonishment at the sight they saw, the maidens, who had slept not far away, cried out: ‘oh, how beautiful, to be sure!’ for, 156lo!—a flock of pretty fantoes (children) were peeping into their wondering eyes, laughing and clapping their tiny hands as they cried out: ‘oh, we are your children; the gods and goddesses of mbau have sent us to look after you!’
“after that the people multiplied on the island, till there were so many that some were obliged to go forth and dwell on other isles of the south seas. and they were all happy for a long, long time, for they did not have time hanging on their hands, so they were not jealous, nor did they quarrel overmuch.”
“tafola, me slo!” cried the children, as tangalora finished his story.
thereupon the old scribe hastened round with his coco-nut-shell goblet to make the usual collection. the children immediately threw in the coins which their mothers had given them, so that they might pay on a fair royalty basis for the wonders which the tattooed homer of their isles had told them. i flung in two bits of silver; and, considering all that i had heard, it was cheap at the price. then the children, giving a musical halloo that echoed through that small olympus, scrambled out of the cavern and disappeared in the forest.
tangalora entertained me right royally that night, not only by relating a lot of the fascinating storied history of heathenland, but because of his thoughtfulness: he slyly pulled a piece of sacking from an old barrel, and brought forth twelve bottles of sparkling bass’s ale! squatting there, on tangalora’s best fibre mat, things took on quite a rosy look as i listened whilst the summer night grew old. then i bade my host good-night and went outside in the open to rest. there’s a good deal of mythology in bass’s ale: i know that much. when i had made my bed beneath the palms and carefully 157placed my quilt of moss over my tired frame, i distinctly saw the moon cheerfully wave a pale hand over the highest pinnacle of vae’s mountain range. it did not seem strange that the midnight moon should laugh, and, sneezing, send a tiny spiral of mist across the clear sky. all was as it should be when a magnificent procession of mighty gods and goddesses from poluto marched across my bedroom floor, and disappeared in the adjacent glooms ere i closed my eyes in sleep.
referring to my diary and the scraps which i wrote down in those old days, i find the notes considerably mixed up, parts quite obliterated through my sea-chest getting washed about on sailing-ships. many of the pages are missing. but my memory is good, and i can easily fill in the interminable gaps. indeed, the best part of this book is being written within the sounds of the winds in the palms. the dark, sombre green of the tropic landscape stretches for miles and miles. there lies the expanse of the sapphire-hued ocean, ending far away in the pale saffron fires of the skyline’s sunset, as, in my imagination, i softly dip my pen into the magic foams that sparkle on the coral-dust sands at my feet and sigh with the coco-palms overhead.
i see by my notes that i have already recorded in my previous books[4] many of the incidents connected with my visit to samoa at this period. and, having also previously related much that befell me on my first voyage to nuka hiva and hiva oa, i have no alternative but to revert to the incidents of a very interesting experience which came to me after i had “jumped ship” in fiji. and this i will do in the next chapter.
4. a vagabond’s odyssey; wine-dark seas and tropic skies; sailor and beachcomber.
