“In another story we are told, that the man came down one evening and picked up a woman, called Sina, and her child. It was during a time of famine. She was working in the evening twilight, beating out some bark with which to make native cloth. The moon was just rising, and it reminded her of great bread-fruit. Looking up to it she said, ‘Why cannot you come down and let my child have a bit of you?’ The moon was indignant at the idea of being eaten, came forthwith, and took up her child, board, mallet, and all. The popular superstition of ‘the man in the moon, who gathered sticks on the Sabbath-day,’ is not yet forgotten in England, and in Samoa, of the woman in the moon. ‘Yonder is Sina,’ they say, ‘and her child, and mallet and board.’
“We have a fragment or two, also, about the sun. A woman called Manquamanqui became pregnant by looking at the rising sun. Her son grew, and was named ‘Child of the Sun.’ At his marriage he asked his mother for a dowry. She sent him to his father the Sun, to beg from him, and told him how to go. Following her directions, he went one morning, with a long vine from the bush, which is the convenient substitute for a rope, climbed a tree, threw his rope, with a noose at the end of it, and caught the Sun. He made his message known and (Pandora like) got a present for his bride. The Sun first asked him what was his choice, blessings or calamities? He chose, of course, the former, and came down with his store of blessings done up in a basket. There is another tale about this Samoan Phaeton, similar to what is related of the Hawaiian Mani. They say that he and his mother were annoyed at the rapidity of the sun’s course in those days—that it rose, reached the meridian, and set ‘before they could get their mats dried.’ He determined to make it go slower. He climbed a tree one morning early, and with a rope and noose all ready, watched for the appearance of the sun. Just as it emerged from the horizon, he threw, and caught it; the sun struggled to get clear, but in vain. Then fearing lest it should be strangled, it called out in distress, ‘Oh! have mercy on me, and spare my life. What do you want?’ ‘We wish you to go slower, we can get no work done.’ ‘Very well,’ replied the Sun; ‘let me go, and for the future I will walk slowly, and never go quick again.’ He let go the rope, and ever since the sun has gone slowly, and given us longer days. Ludicrous and puerile as this is, one cannot help seeing in it the wreck of that sublime description in the book of Joshua, of the day when that man of God stood in the sight of Israel, and said: ‘Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon. And the Sun stood still, and the Moon stayed until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies.’
“There are but few tales in Samoa in which we can trace the deluge; nor are these circumstantial as those which obtain in some other parts of the Pacific. It is the universal belief, however, ‘that of old, the fish swam where the land now is;’ and tradition now adds, when the waters abated, many of the fish of the sea were left on the land, and afterwards were changed into stones. Hence, they say, there are stones in abundance in the bush and among the mountains which were once sharks and other inhabitants of the deep.”
The Figians, islanders of the same group, have an advantage over the Samoans in this last mythological matter of the deluge. They have at least half-a-dozen versions of the great flood, of which the two following, furnished by Ellis and Williams, will serve:
“They speak of a deluge which, according to some of their accounts, was partial, but in others is stated to have been universal. The cause of the great flood was the killing of Turukana—a favourite bird belonging to Udengei—by two mischievous lads, the grandsons of the god. These, instead of apologizing for their offence, added insolent language to the outrage, and fortifying, with the assistance of their friends, the town in which they lived, defied Udengei to do his worst. It is said, that although it took the angry god three months to collect his forces, he was unable to subdue the rebels, and, disbanding his army, resolved on more efficient revenge. At his command the dark clouds gathered and burst, pouring streams on the devoted earth. Towns, hills, and mountains were successively submerged; but the rebels, secure in the superior height of their own dwelling-place, looked on without concern. But when at last the terrible surges invaded their fortress, they cried for direction to a god, who, according to various accounts, sent them a shaddock punt, or two canoes, or taught them to build a canoe themselves. However, all agree the remnant of the human race was saved: the number was eighty.”
So says Mr. Williams. Now for a literal translation, furnished by Mr. Osmond to Mr. Ellis:
“Destroyed was Otaheite by the sea; no man, nor dog, nor fowl remained. The groves of trees and the stones were carried away by the wind. They were destroyed, and the deep was over the land. But these two persons, the husband and the wife (when it came in), he took up his young pig, she took up her young chickens; he took up the young dog, and she the young kitten. They were going forth, and looking at Orofena (the highest hill in the island), the husband said, ‘Up both of us to yonder mountain high.’ The wife replied, ‘No, let us not go thither.’ The husband said, ‘It is a high rock and will not be reached by the sea;’ but the wife replied, ‘Reached it will be by the sea yonder: let us ascend Opitohito, round as a breast; it will not be reached by the sea.’ They two arrived there. Orofena was overwhelmed by the waves: Opitohito alone remained and was their abode. There they watched ten nights; the sea ebbed, and they saw the two little heads of the mountains in their elevation. When the waters retired, the land remained without produce, without man, and the fish were putrid in the holes of the rocks. The earth remained, but the shrubs were destroyed. They descended and gazed with astonishment: there were no houses, nor cocoa-nuts, nor palm-trees, nor bread-fruit, nor grass; all was destroyed by the sea. They two dwelt together; and the woman brought forth two children, a son and a daughter. In those days covered was the land with food; and from two persons the earth was repeopled.”
The Figian believes in a future state of perpetual bliss, but not that the soul, as soon as it leaves the body, is absolved of all care. Indeed, according to popular belief, the journey of the soul from earth to heaven is a very formidable business.
“On the road to Nai Thombothombo, and about five miles from it, is a solitary hill of hard reddish clay spotted with black boulders, having on its right a pretty grove, and on the left cheerless hills. Its name is Takiveleyaiva. When near this spot the disembodied spirit throws the whale’s tooth, which is placed in the hand of the corpse at burial, at a spiritual pandanus; having succeeded in hitting this, he ascends the hill and there waits until joined by the spirits of his strangled wife or wives. Should he miss the mark he is still supposed to remain in this solitary resting-place, bemoaning the want of affection on the part of his wife and friends, who are depriving him of his expected companions. And this is the lone spirit’s lament: ‘How is this? For a long time I planted food for my wife, and was also of great use to her friends. Why, then, is she not allowed to follow me? Do my friends love me no better than this after so many years of toil? Will no one in love to me strangle my wife?’
“Blessed at last with the company of his wife or wives, who bear his train, or sad because of their absence, the husband advances towards Nai Thombothombo, and, club in hand, boards the canoe which carries spirits to meet their examiner. Notice of his approach is given by a paroquet which cries once, twice, and so on, according to the number of spirits in the canoe, announcing a great number by chattering. The highway to Mbulu lies through Nambanggatai, which, it seems, is at once a real and unreal town, the visible part being occupied by ordinary mortals, while in the unseen portion dwells the family who hold inquest on departed spirits. Thus the cry of the bird answers a twofold purpose, warning the people to set open the doors that the spirit may have a free course, and preventing the ghostly inquisitors from being taken by surprise. The houses in the town are built with reference to a peculiarity in the locomotion of spirits, who are supposed at this stage to pass straight forward: hence all the doorways are opposite to each other, so that the shade may pass through without interruption. The inhabitants speak in low tones, and if separated by a little distance communicate their thoughts by signs.