Three men were poling along in their canoe from a point lower down the coast, to which they had been to fetch firewood, and the prow of the wanqua had almost run against me. These sailors took in the situation at once. Their long sharp-pointed poles were brought to bear in detaching the clam from the rock, one of their number sinking in the water and directing the operation with his hands. Then I was lifted into the canoe, the shell adhering bodily to my foot. I presently revived. After I had been deposited in the town, one half of the shell was pulverised by a hardwood club. The flesh on my ancle was a good deal torn by the frantic exertions I had made to free myself. I was not long in recovering from these injuries, but the incident itself made a lasting impression on me, and ever afterwards I was very careful about wandering on the reef alone.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE BIG FISH.
Half a mile from Ramáka, a small stream which had its source in the mountains found its way to the beach and discharged itself into the sea. The banks of this stream, within the tidal influence, were skirted with mangroves, an encroaching growth well fitted to secure a footing on the uncertain brink of the ocean. These strange semi-aquatic plants hold in their meshes a vast quantity of decaying animal and vegetable matter deposited by the tides, which alternately cover and uncover their roots and part of the trunks. The remains of dead leaves, molluscs, and sea-weed, ferment in the sun, forming a noisome mass in the black mud and ooze. The pendulous roots of the mangrove take the shape of loops and arches from 6 to 10ft. high, supporting the body of the tree. These mazy arcades and thickets maintain an unequal strife with the ocean, but the matted roots holding the soil, often promote the growth of land, and gradually appropriate portions of Neptune’s domain. The receding waters disclose an immense variety of festering life. Sea-urchins, crabs, and many nameless things struggle in the slime. Mussels, barnacles, and oysters, cling to the branches, passing half their time in the water and half out, as the tide flows and ebbs. Crabs and worms, sea-centipedes, and strange limbless forms, wriggle and scuttle together in the fierce sun, like maggots rioting in carrion. The sea-birds here find dainty banquets, and they love to visit these localities.
The banks of this stream had of late acquired an evil name. They were said to be haunted by an enormous fish, or marine monstrosity, which swallowed up men, women, and children who came within its reach. Those Fijians who had seen the creature, and had lived to tell the tale, were too terrified at the sight to be able to give anything like an accurate description. It was a fact that in the course of a few weeks, nine people who had gone to bathe in the river or draw water, had disappeared. It was believed that they had been gobbled up by what some called “the big fish,” and others a marine deity.
I determined to solve the mystery if possible; so one evening, wading through the mangrove swamp, I gained the shelter of a cavern which the sea had hollowed out of the rocky face of the rising shore, and there waited patiently for the appearance of the monster. That it was no myth was certain, for I saw in the ooze beneath the mangroves, the marks of dentated feet that belonged to some animal which was, I believed, unknown to me. As I sat in my dismal place of watching, the sombre bats, which figure in many a gruesome Fijian story, flapped their wings against me, giant nocturnal moths and beetles joined black Vesper’s pageant, and the melancholy hoot of the owl took part in the nightly revels. I could dimly see the flying foxes hanging by their unwebbed thumbs from creviced rocks, till it suited them to spread the umbrella-like membrane which covers their slim fingers, and dive into the sable night. Screeching sea-birds, just going to rest, mingled their hoarse voices with the sighing of the breakers near at hand, and the saddened tone of the wind as it sang through the crags and crannies of the rocks.
Presently I heard a rustling sound among the mangrove roots close by. The noise seemed to me like that of some creature whose scales rubbed against each other. Then there was a splash in the river, and all was silent. I stole cautiously from my hiding-place, and gained a position which commanded a view of the river’s banks for some short distance. In a few minutes there emerged from the stream a creature nearly 20 feet in length. It stretched itself, and remained motionless on the muddy bank. I saw it clearly in the bright light of the moon, which now emerged from a heavy pall of clouds which had long obscured it. There was no mistaking the creature—it was a crocodile. I was as much surprised as an English gentleman would be at finding his favourite trout stream filled with crocodiles, for they are as foreign to Fiji as to Great Britain. It was an inexplicable puzzle.
I made my way back to the town cautiously, and narrated my discovery. After I had told the leading chiefs assembled in Hot-Water’s house all I knew about crocodiles, which was that they were good swimmers, but could not turn very rapidly either in the water or on land, it was proposed that a man should be placed in the river as a bait, and that when the crocodile had seized him, a large party of Fijians should be at hand to kill it with their long spears. I would not consent, however, to the cruelty they wished to practice on a human being. It was eventually agreed that a rope of sinnet, with a running noose at the end, should be passed over the bough of a tree near the lurking place of the unwelcome visitor; that a man should sit in the loop where it trailed on the ground; that he should run off as soon as he had enticed the creature into the proper position; and that then 14 men, concealed at a distance, should haul on the rope, and hoist the crocodile into a secure position in which he could be killed at leisure. The trap was laid on the following day, and it answered admirably. No one volunteered to act as the bait, but a Fijian, being ordered by his chief to undertake the duty, discharged it with so much address that the moment the crocodile extended his jaws to seize him, he slipped away, and the noose was tightly drawn. When the crocodile, dangling helplessly from the tree, had been killed with spears, its body, which measured about 18ft. in length from the nose to the tip of the tail, was cut up, baked, and eaten, the bones being preserved for the making of spear-heads and needles.
The capture of the crocodile was made the occasion of a great holiday festival. The incident was witnessed from a distance by the greater part of the townspeople, and the wild shouts of delighted laughter which went up as the creature rose in the noose, struggling vainly, could have been heard a mile off. No other crocodile[[19]] or alligator has ever been seen in Fiji. I believed until quite recently that this one had been drifted by currents from the East Indies. Explorations within the last year or two in New Britain and New Ireland, islands on the east coast of New Guinea, however, show that the rivers of those countries abound with alligators. It is therefore much more probable that the unwelcome visitor found its way from one of those islands. Had there been a pair of them, they would probably have succeeded in establishing their race in Fiji.
[19]. The destruction of a crocodile in Fiji about the beginning of the century is a well-attested fact.