It seemed a rash thing to let the Tiernan sail away without us as we had finished, not only our own supplies, but the King's also. True, Mr. Lauterbach, the mate of the Tiernan, let us have several kegs of salt beef, and Reuben (which was the nearest we could come to pronouncing his name), the King's majordomo, had fetched three big hawkbill turtles from another island. The turtles were for the King's own larder, but he sent us a generous portion of each; we, of course, divided accordingly when we opened our kegs of beef. But these provisions would soon be finished, and if, as we each feared but dared not say, the Equator were lost, "cocoanut steaks" might become our sole diet. Indeed, I had packed the most of our belongings in some large camphor-wood chests ready to go on board, and we had even chosen our bunks when a picture of Captain Reid's face if he arrived to find us gone rose before my mind's eye. "Louis," I suddenly whispered, "I don't want to go." Without a question Louis immediately cancelled our passage and the Tiernan sailed away without us. Not many days afterward she capsized and sank in a very odd way. A heavy gale that had piled the sea up into enormous waves was followed by a dead calm. The Tiernan, lying quite helpless, was rolled over, further and further, until she "turned turtle" and sank. Years after the mate, Mr. Lauterbach, whom I had supposed to be drowned, came to see me in San Francisco. He, he told me, with some natives, managed to turn over a boat that floated out upside down from the schooner. With only the carcass of the ship's pet pig which they had picked up and what rain fell from the sky for sustenance, the boat went drifting off. I am not sure that they had an oar, but Mr. Lauterbach caught a native sleeping-mat that was floating on the water; the castaways took turns in holding up this mat, which thus served as a sail. They could not hope for a rescue in these unfrequented waters, so Mr. Lauterbach tried to work toward an inhabited island with only the position of sun and stars for guidance. When he did make land, after an incredible length of time to have lived without food or water, there were, as I remember, only himself, one man and a demented woman left living in the boat. None of our party, except, perhaps, Ah Foo, would have been able to endure such hardships—if, indeed, we had not gone straight down with the schooner—the most likely thing to happen. So it was as well that I asked to go back to our meagre fare to await the Equator.
[16] Butaritari had lapsed into heathenism when we arrived there, but, by showing a magic lantern which included some Bible pictures among the slides, we quite unconsciously reconverted the whole island, King and all.
[17] We were forced to kidnap "the passenger," Paul Hoeflich, a very pleasant, agreeable German, when we were on the Equator. Mr. Hoeflich had taken passage on the schooner from Butaritari to another island, only a few miles distant, where he meant to start business as an independent trader. All his worldly goods, including the stuff for stocking his store, were on board the Equator. It was the beginning of the bad season, and we had continual contrary winds with heavy seas. In vain we cruised round and round his island—we could not make a landing. We were losing much time, so my husband informed Mr. Hoeflich that he must join us in a trip to Samoa, our next destination. It so fell out that Mr. Hoeflich, who had helped greatly to lighten the tedium of a long voyage in bad weather (we arrived at Apia in a somewhat wrecked condition, with one foretopmast gone), took an immense liking to Samoa and remained there instead of returning to the Gilberts. He has prospered exceedingly and blesses the day he was kidnapped. At this time, when we met him he had come back to the line islands for a final arrangement of his affairs preliminary to settling permanently in Samoa.
[18] As we neared the end of our walk we came into quite a large village. The aspect of the people was more savage and ugly than we had heretofore seen, the faces brutal and unintelligent. Half-grown children, and, indeed, some more than half-grown, were entirely naked. The young boys were like little old men, their faces hard and their eyes haggard and anxious. I saw one with St. Vitus's dance, several with hydrocephalus, and a number who had affections of the eyes. Many of the little girls had their heads entirely shaved, with the exception of a small tassel at the nape of the neck which gave a very curious effect. The older ones wore their hair bushed out to a great size. Almost all wore necklaces of braided hair with an oval bit of red or white shell hanging to it like a locket. One haughty, impudent, fat young fellow, evidently a beau, swaggered about with a white handkerchief, twisted most ingenuously into a crown, on his head. Almost all of the women wore a girdle of flat, round beads (made of cocoanut shells) above the ridi.
As we walked along the village street the whole population joined us. We stopped at the sight of a church neatly made of wattled cocoanut leaves bearing at the peak of its front gable a belfry of braided leaves. There was actually a bell in this belfry which looked as though a breath would disperse it. The floor of the church is covered with mats, which are renewed each new year. A very odd thing was an arrangement of strings which, inside of the building, crossed each other with a sort of pattern just above a tall man's height. All along these strings, at regular intervals, strips of bright-hued calico were tied—I thought in an attempt at ornamentation, but was told it was for a game of the children. I should like to see the game played. Indeed, I do not believe it to be a game. (We found afterward that these decorations were for the purpose of propitiating "chinch," a terrible evil spirit—the devil, in fact.) We asked for the missionary; a fine-looking young Hawaiian came up to us, saluting us with the pleasant "Aloha!" His house was our appointed place of meeting with the captain. The missionary, we were told, was in council with the "old men."
This island is a republic governed by the "old men." To arrive at the distinction of being an "old man," one must be either very rich or have performed some prodigy of valour in war time. Accompanied by the Hawaiian, we wandered along to the Council House. The missionary looked extremely like a mixture of native and Chinese—a large, imposing man with a long, thin, white moustache and thick, grey hair. As we sat outside in the circle surrounding the Council House, conversing with the Hawaiian, it occurred to me that I might buy one of the cocoanut beaded girdles worn by most of the women. The Hawaiian turned to one of them and asked what she would take for her girdle; a dollar was the answer; at that I handed a half dollar and two quarters to the young man who, saying that it was too much, gave me back half the money. "They sell them for two fish-hooks," he said, "and this is simply extortion; however, as she has seen the money she will do her best to get it, so you might as well give her the half dollar." The exchange was made, and after a moment's confabulation with a crowd of her neighbours the woman demanded the other half dollar. At this the Hawaiian asked for the piece of money she had, took it, and gave back the girdle. In an instant the whole place was in an uproar. Men bounded up with furious gestures; the old men in the Council House shouted with threatening yells, while the Hawaiian, leaping to his feet, his eyes flashing like a cat's in the dark, defied them all. Fearful that harm might come to him after we were gone, I begged him to let me give the people whatever they might ask for, but he would not hear of it, and matters were the worse for my offer, as the people evidently understood it had been made. Finally, leaving the crowd in a state of ferment, we walked away with the Hawaiian to his very pleasant house, he entertaining us on the way with a list of the laws made that day by the "old men." They were as follows: "Dancing, one dollar fine; concealed weapons, five dollars; murder, fifteen; stealing, twenty-five, and telling a lie, fifty dollars." Pretty soon the crowd began surging round us; there was more furious talk, the Hawaiian looking very fine as he walked toward the mass of people, shaking his fists and, I am bound to say, interlarding his language with English oaths. When he had forced the crowd back by, I really think, the fire of his eye, he laughed in their faces contemptuously and turned to me translating the meaning of the scene. The "old men" had made another law, against him, placing him under tapu so that he could neither trade nor be traded with. I felt very miserable at being the innocent cause of so much trouble. He said he did not care a rush and meant to leave the island anyway. He had married a native of Maraki, bringing her home to visit her people, with whom she had proposed they should stop, but now, he said, she was as eager to go as he was. When we left he presented us with a girdle that he had somehow got hold of and his wife gave me a young fowl. I, very fortunately, had a handsome wreath of flowers on my hat which I took off and gave the wife. It was amusing to watch the dandy of the village, the haughty and insolent fat young man who had been too languid to see us before, trying to keep all speculation out of his eyes when I passed over the wreath. He could not do it. The red imitation currants held his gaze like fish-hooks.
We sailed away quite gaily from Maraki, fell into a calm, and had to turn and come back again, so had yet another day, and all together four, before we really got away. All the time, more or less, we were overrun by the traders, who came to beg drink and buy and sell.
We have now seen the South Sea "bad man" of the story-books, Peter Grant. He always comes with "Little Peter," a kindly, simple lad who has been on the island since he was thirteen and speaks excellent English with the native tossing and eyebrow lifting. (Little Peter died from poisoning some years after; it was supposed to be a murder.) Peter Grant is the most hideous ruffian I have ever beheld. The skin of his face has the quality of a burn scar and is crossed with wrinkles in places where no other human being has wrinkles. His forehead is narrow and retreating, his eyes very light, with a strange scaly look, not a pair in size, colour, or movement, and set too close together in a large, gaunt face. His nose, hooked at the end until it almost touches his upper lip, is unusually bony and is bent over to the left as though from a blow. His coarse-lipped, stupid mouth is creased with slashes like cuts. One of his unpleasant peculiarities is what Louis calls "crow's-feet between the eyes."
The next to the last day at Maraki Lloyd and I went ashore with the captain, who had, as he said, "business to attend to" with a missionary. (The Hawaiian missionary who was to travel in the Morning Star with our dear Maka of Butaritari.) I knew the business had something to do with a tapu put upon Peter Grant some six months ago, but that a concerted attack was to be made upon the old missionary I did not suspect or I should never have gone. We were met by my friend the young Hawaiian, who accompanied us to the missionaries' house. There the best seat was offered me, all being received with dignified hospitality as they dropped in, one horror after another. Little Peter was appointed interpreter. The missionary was charged, first, with having instigated the natives to tapu Peter Grant. It was supposed he denied this, but in reality he did not. Head and shoulders above the rest he sat, a fine, massive figure, with impenetrable Chinese eyes, master of the situation. I only noticed once any sign of perturbation in him; that was when the head of the "old men" was brought in to be questioned. The missionary made a quick attempt to put the old man on his guard, but was instantly checked by a trader, who leaped to his feet and shook his fist in the missionary's face, ordering him to be silent. The missionary smiled contemptuously, but a thick sweat gathered upon his face and neck, his hands trembled slightly, and his great chest rose and fell, slowly and heavily. Feeling that to gaze upon him was an indelicacy, though I was doing so in sympathy and admiration, I made a slight movement to turn away; as though he knew my thought, the missionary suddenly looked me in the eyes with a charming smile, fanned me a moment with a fan that lay beside him, then handed me the fan with a bow.
Fortunately, the attempt to warn the "old man" had been enough, for he seemed idiotic in his apparent endeavours to understand what was wanted of him. The charge against the missionary then changed to theft. He was said to have stolen a murdered man's property. In answer to that he said: "Then place the affair in the hands of either the first man-of-war that comes to the group or the Morning Star," which is daily expected. The traders all cried out with fury at the mention of the Morning Star, and, all speaking at once, charged him with instigating the natives to all sorts of evil when he should be setting them a good example. For the first time he retorted, saying that the missionaries came only to try to make the people better, and that the only difficulty was the wickedness of the white men. I am sorry to say that I got the impression that there was something in danger of being discovered which would have been to the disadvantage of the missionary, but not exactly what the traders were looking for. They were too stupid to see that, and were forced to come to a pause, having gained nothing. Both Lloyd and I had a distressed feeling that we might be confounded with their party in the mind of the missionary, but he reassured us with his eyes, and, pushing aside those in his way, shook hands with Lloyd and then with me. I held his hand and pressed it and said all that eyes and smile could manage.