Here the conversation stopped; but it had gone far enough to fan into a flame Tanóva’s desire to capture this unique canoe. “Now,” said he to himself, “is my time! How shall I take her when she comes this way with the promised sinnet?” Now, just about the time for expecting the Ebbtide, Tanóva took down, from the place where it usually hung in the house, a cocoanut water-bottle, with which he went out to fetch, as he said, a bottleful of sea-water to season his vegetable soup with. This is often done by Fijian cooks, who, for all in-door cookery, are women. It is not usual for men to fetch water; but this was a special case, with a special object in view. The ordinary cocoanut water-bottle holds from half a pint to a pint; extraordinary ones would hold a quart. This kind of bottle is in very common use for holding drinking-water, and sea-water for cooking purposes. But the water-bottle of the poet’s imagination was, of course, one that in every way became a hero-giant and god. Tanóva first let down his capacious bottle in seas near home, but found them much too shallow. He could not get water enough, for his object, to flow into its enormous mouth. Wherefore, after trying in two or three other places, which were all too shallow, he proceeded in an Easterly course from his own island, and, with a little leaning to the North, was able presently to plant his right foot on the beautiful island of Moála, at the same time raising his left, and putting it firmly down on Ono, in the West. Here he again let down his cocoanut shell in deep water, taking care to turn its mouth towards the North, from which point the Ebbtide would steer her course. Let every voyager to Fiji imagine the figure of this god standing as described in that part of the group pointed out by the poet! The island of Moála is situated in 179° 50′ E., and 18° 35′ S. Ono is in 178° 30′ E., and 180 50′ S. The two islands are, therefore, about 80 miles apart, which distance of ocean is spanned by Tanóva’s legs of wondrous length, while his enormous body, topped by a head of prodigious size, towers upward towards the sky! In his hands he grasps a cord, to the other end of which is attached the water-bottle in the position already described, and now holding within it quite a sea of water. That portion of the ocean thus arched over by the great god, is the highway for steamers and sailing vessels bound for central Fiji. It is, in truth, the great and grand gate of entrance for all foreign vessels making for the now well-known port of Levuka.
Tanóva had not been long in his elevated position,
“Bestriding the narrow world like a Colossus,”
when, to his unbounded delight, the Ebbtide hove in sight. Coming swiftly up, she pressed, full sail, right through the mouth of the partly sunken bottle, and on inside, where she continued sailing to and fro, tacking about whenever she came near the bottle’s side. Having thus clearly and fairly entrapped the greatest canoe of that or any age, the god drew up his bottle, and hastening home, quietly hung it up in its place,—the glorious prize being all safe inside.
Many days had passed away since this miraculous capture; when one morning a fine large canoe, the admiration of all who saw her, sailed into Tanóva’s bay. The stranger proved to be no other than the second great canoe of Prince Hightide, with the anxious prince himself on board,—come in search of his renowned ship, and missing sons. On entering Tanóva’s palace he reported himself, as the manner of all visitors is, and as the etiquette of Cannibal-land requires. “Having waited a long time at home,” said he, “looking and hoping for the return of my sons and my big canoe, but receiving no tidings of either it or them, I am here to-day in search of both.” Ratúva the successful sinnet-beggar, being present, was the first to reply.—“We know nothing of either your canoe or your sons. I have been wondering why they did not come with the sinnet!” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the whole household, together with the Prince and his company, were startled by a great noise, as of sailors putting their canoe about—“ee!—oh!—yah!—eh!”—There was a pause in the house for an instant, and only for an instant,—such a pause as might be caused by the sudden rushing into the hearts of the assemblage of unexpected fear or joy,—which, passed, Prince Hightide shouted in a fit of irrepressible gladness,—“That’s my Ebbtide! There she is!! Here she comes!!!” There was an immediate rush to the doors, and even to the beach, to look at her coming into harbour;—but not a speck could be seen on the blue waters. This surely must have been one of Tanóva’s moments of highest enjoyment, when he saw the chagrin of the great and loudly talked of Prince of Northern Fiji.
After remaining some little time longer, the prince said he must be going; but Tanóva pressed him to stay, saying, “Don’t go yet, some vegetable soup is getting ready; wait and take some.” So he waited; for neither man, nor hero-god could have been so unpolite as to decline such hospitality. Tanóva presently rose, and taking down the water-bottle, made as if he were going to pour its contents into the soup, when, behold! while he was in the very act of doing this, out fell the monster canoe and her hardy crew! As might be supposed, the astonishment of all the assembled gods was great beyond the power of tongue to tell. Dumbness was the only proper expression of it. But on none were the signs of mingled wonder and joy more visible than on the noble prince himself.
As soon as the panic occasioned by these mysterious doings had in part subsided, Ratúva, who could not forget his promised sinnet, addressing the prince, said, “Of course you will now go on with me with the sinnet?” but the wary old aristocrat replied, “Don’t you wish you may get it! You won’t catch me sailing into any more of your Kandávu water-bottles.” Thereupon he and his sons returned home, intensely disgusted with all the gods and vegetable soups and cocoanut bottles of that island.
Now this is how the cannibal poet has shown in his song that Prince Hightide was taught a lesson of humility; and how, too, the Northern tribes of that age came to understand that there were gods in the South, as mighty as their own.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FIJIAN NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS—THIRD NIGHT.—ELOPEMENT OF A GODDESS.
We had yet a third story-telling entertainment, the leading points of which I well remember. On this occasion Lolóma was the chief narrator. I had drawn largely on my recollections of Lempriere’s classical dictionary, and thought I had fairly distanced the efforts of the cannibal poets, with the loves of the Olympian gods and goddesses, but I found that the company had local legends of equal interest. Lolóma discoursed eloquently on a love theme with an elopement for its central incident, and I was bound to confess that the conduct of the hero was worthy of Paris himself.