FIG. 29.
EASTER ISLAND WOMEN
Parapina standing.
FIG. 30.
ANGATA, THE PROPHETESS.
When my husband returned saying he had accomplished nothing, I felt that it was “up to me.” “This,” I said, “is a matter requiring tact, and is therefore a woman’s job; I will go and see the old lady.” I had already received from her an embarrassing present of fowls, which, after referring the matter to our host, it had seemed better to accept. Not without inward trepidation, I rode down to the village, taking the Fernandez boy as interpreter, for many of the natives speak a smattering of Spanish. The place was a perfect shambles, joints of meat hanging from all the trees, and skins being pegged out to dry on every hand, but the raiders had been displaying energy in rebuilding the wall round the church. The Prophetess was with a group outside the house of the acting priest, who was her son-in-law; she was a frail old woman with grey hair and expressive eyes, a distinctly attractive and magnetic personality. She wore suspended round her neck some sort of religious medallion, a red cross, I think, on a white ground, and her daughter who supported her carried a small picture of the Saviour in an Oxford frame. She held my hand most amiably during the interview, addressing me as “Caterina.” I had brought her a gift and began by thanking for the fowls. She refused all payments, saying “Food comes from God, I wish for no money,” and proceeded to offer me some of the meat. This gave an opening, and in declining I besought her not to let the Kanakas go out again after the animals, for Mr. Edmunds said he would shoot if they did, and there would be trouble for them when the Baquedano came. As I spoke of the raids her face hardened and her eyes took the look of a fanatic; she said something about “God” with the upward gesture which was her habit in speaking His name. I hastened to relieve the tension by saying that “We must all worship God,” and was happy to find that I was allowed a share in the Deity. Her manner again softened, and looking up to heaven she declared, with an assured confidence, which was in its way sublime, “God will never let the Kanakas be either killed or hurt.” The natives were, in fact, firmly persuaded that no bullet could injure them. As for myself, Angata would, she said, “pray” for me, adding, with a descent to the mundane, that if ever she had “chickens or potatoes,” I should be the first to have them. It was impossible to reason further; we parted the best of friends, but the “tactful” mission had failed!
This was the state of affairs when we decided that we must transfer our work and consequently our belongings to the other end of the island. Our surveyor and photographer remained, however, at Mataveri, as the accommodation there was more convenient for their occupations, so Mr. Edmunds was not alone. Moving camp, levelling ground, and building walls, were not light matters, when the Kanakas had found such much more interesting employment, but at last it was accomplished, and then came the question of the stores, which after the robbery at the wool-shed had been taken to Mataveri. After much consultation it was decided to remove them to Raraku, as on the whole safer than leaving them at the Manager’s house, which might, by the look of things, be any day looted or burnt down. But when the ox-cart had been carefully loaded up with the numerous boxes and goods, the cash supply, consisting of £50 of English gold and some Chilean paper, being carefully hidden amongst them, a spell of bad weather set in. It was impossible to move the cart, and our possessions sat there day after day most handily arranged for the revolutionists if their desires should turn that way.
Our new camp we were often obliged to leave without defence save for the redoubtable Bailey, who had also served as guard at Mataveri (fig. 28). There had been no demonstration against us so far, but of course the future was unknown, and I never came in sight of our house, on returning from any distant work, without casting an anxious glance to see if it were still standing. We always went about armed, and the different ranges for rifle-shot were measured off from my house and marked by cairns, which will no doubt in future add yet one more to the mysteries of Easter Island.
One day I had just come back from a stroll, when the cry was raised “The Kanakas are coming,” and a troop of horsemen, about thirty strong, appeared on the sky-line some four hundred yards distant. Fortunately S. was at hand, we hurried inside my house, shut the lower half of its door, which resembled that of a loose-box, and carelessly leant out. Any unpleasantness could then only be frontal; at the same time all weapons were within easy grasp, though not visible from the outside.
It soon, however, became clear that the visitors were approaching at a walk only, from which it was gathered their intentions were friendly. Nevertheless it was a relief when, as they got nearer, they raised their hats and gave a cheer; they then formed a semicircle round the door and dismounted. The “priest” who was with them, and who carried a picture of the Virgin, read something, presumably a prayer, at which the company crossed themselves. He then gave greetings from Angata, and a message from her to say that Mana was returning safely with letters on board, and the men presented from their saddle-bows, eggs, potatoes, and about a dozen hens. The position was unwelcome, but as none of the goods were stolen, it seemed better to accept, and discharge the obligation as far as possible by giving in return what European food we could spare We subsequently informed Mr. Edmunds, and sent a message to the Prophetess that, as our camp was out of bounds, the Kanakas must not come without leave. The old lady herself, however, kept sending to us for anything she happened to want, and as the requests continually grew in magnitude the breaking-point seemed only a question of time. One of the earlier demands, to which Mr. Edmunds thought it advisable we should accede, was for material for a flag for the new Republic; later, it floated proudly as a tricolour, made of a piece of white cotton, some red material from the photographic outfit, and a fragment of an old blue shirt.
Elsewhere things went from bad to worse, and it seemed as if the expected warship would never arrive. Word came that the Kanakas had ordered the native overseer to leave his house, the only one outside the village, and were taking away the servants of the Manager; our photographer wrote that he “dared not come over as their lives were being threatened”; and finally, one afternoon we received a note from Mr. Edmunds, saying, that “he could not leave the place as the Kanakas were talking of coming up in a body to the house.” They were also, as we later learnt, threatening to kill him if he resisted their taking possession. It was obvious that the crisis had arrived; that we must risk leaving the camp and go into Mataveri. We talked over every conceivable plan of campaign, but it was too late to do anything that night, and I remember that, finally at dinner, to turn our thoughts, we discussed the curious manner in which some of the statues had fallen. In four cases which we had seen that day, while the body lay on its front, the head had broken off in mid air, turned a complete somersault, and rested on its back with the crown towards the neck. The next morning, August 5th, I awoke early and recorded in my journal the events of the day before. “Of course,” I added, “if it were a stage play, just as the crisis arrived there would be cries of ‘the Baquedano is here,’ and the curtain would fall. But, alas! it is not.” Scarcely was the ink dry—only it was pencil—when a man rode up waving a note from Mr. Edmunds, and shouting, “A ship!—a ship!” The previous afternoon, as the Kanakas were assembling in the village to go up to Mataveri, the Baquedano had been sighted, and four of the ringleaders were now in irons. I scarcely knew how great had been the long strain till the relief came.