Then the bodies were dragged to the town. To be eaten? How should I know, when I was sent with the others to Korolamalama to fetch the women and children? And when we neared the place they thought that we were their own men returning from the banana-planting, and they came out to meet us. But the two who saw us first ran shrieking to the others, and Butho, he who held the basin at the missionary collection last Sunday, followed close after them, making signs to us to keep unseen. And he deceived the women, saying that their chief had sent him to bid them bring crabs and yams to him in the plantation (for they had just come from fishing on the reef). But they, still doubting him, half followed and half held back, until they reached the thicket where we lay. Then Amori, whose husband we had slain, raised a great uproar, crying to the others to flee, for there was treachery; and they scattered into the bush, screaming like a flock of paroquets. But Butho, who feared nothing, flung his ula at the woman Amori and struck her on the back so that she fell on her face, and he slew her with his club where she lay, and we others pursued the women, striking down the elderly, who made the greatest uproar, and saving the young girls alive. These we led with the children to the Vunisalevu.
Did they weep? No; they dared not weep, for Butho, the fearless, who led us, told them that she who first wept aloud should die; and thereafter, when Ina, the daughter of Naikele, lifted up her voice, he struck her on the mouth with his short throwing-club. Ah! she was never called “Ina the beautiful” more, for her teeth were all broken, and her nose crushed, so that no man desired her as before, and she became a kitchen-woman, and carried firewood for the chief’s kitchen all her days. So the women feared to weep aloud lest Ina’s fate should befall them.
“Nothing now remains of Korolamalama but the name and a few mounds.”
Ah, it was a great victory! Nothing now remains of Korolamalama but the name and a few mounds. Therefore the Vunisalevu was very glad, knowing that the right was triumphant, and that vengeance could never come again from Korolamalama. The white man? Oh, he was very grateful to them of course, for they had helped him out of their great love for him, and they asked for no reward, nor would they take one when it was offered to them—neither oil, nor mats, nor timber, nor anything of value. The captain was a good man, not like the white men of this day, who will cheat their own fathers for the sake of gain, but a generous man and a right-doer. His crew, perhaps, were wicked men, for they swore much and fought among themselves, so that we all feared them. What? How many times must I tell you that the captain wanted no reward? Nay, more, for as the women of Korolamalama were many, and food was scarce at the time, he offered to take some away; and the chief bade him come and choose from among them, and he came at night with four of his sailors. And all the women were brought to the chief’s house trembling, for they thought that evil was to befall them as the others. And the captain took a lantern and held it in the face of each in turn, taking hold of any that shrank back. And when he had seen all, he pointed to Sili and to Manana and to Latia, as the three whom he had chosen. And we were all surprised, for we thought that he would have chosen strong women who would work; but those he had pointed to were young maidens, children, and useless for work. The first two were the daughters of the woman Kurulawa, who stood by, and of low rank, but Latia was a chief’s daughter, and beautiful. But when the Vunisalevu told them they were to go with the white man, and the sailors came to take them, they cried aloud to the men to save them, and the other women caught them in their arms and wept, so that there was a very great uproar. But the sailors shook them all off except the woman Kurulawa, and her they struck, so that she fell upon the mats. Then they bound the hands of the three girls with ropes, and put pieces of wood in their mouths, and so stopped their cries—for one could not hear the other speak for the noise they made when they knew that the white men would take them.
* * * * * * *
I wonder where those women are now, if they be still alive! They were not on board when Captain Aneli came back the next year, and I forgot to ask him about them.
II.
Ah, the white men of that day were braver than the white men who live among us now—be not angry, sir, if I say this—and Captain Aneli was the bravest of them all! Many great deeds he did in these seas besides the burning of Korolamalama and the slaughter of its people. I sailed eighteen months with him, and saw much fighting, not only upon the land but upon the sea also—among ourselves who sailed together. But Captain Aneli was fearless, and we all dreaded him after he slew the big white man and the Portugee who rebelled against him, and had flogged the Indian who prepared the food until he died. He loved me well, and gave me great gifts, teaching me to shoot with the little gun, and bidding me be always near him lest the evil-minded among the crew should again rebel against him. But when we reached New Zealand, and had been at anchor but two days, a man came from the shore and seized my captain, binding his wrists with iron fastenings that snapped to like the lock of a musket; and he was led away, shouting many evil words, and I saw him no more. I know not why this was done, but the man must have been one of the captain’s enemies and evil-minded, for he was a just man and brave.