“It had fallen calm soon after sunrise, so that we could not for the present have resumed our voyage, had we been so inclined.
“About half an hour before noon, a number of the natives whom we had seen in the morning, again made their appearance, with several large calabashes of water, and a quantity of taro and bread-fruit for our use. Rokóa distributed among them some trifling presents, which they hastily concealed among the folds of their maros. A few moments afterwards Mowno himself emerged from the grove, attended by the remainder of the party we had seen in the morning. There was now a further distribution of presents, when I perceived the reason why the first comers had so hastily concealed the trifles which had been given them. All presents, no matter on whom bestowed, seemed to be regarded as the especial perquisites of the chief, and a youth, who acted as Mowno’s personal attendant, presently went round among the others, collecting and taking possession of everything which he had seen them receive. This was submitted to without remonstrance, and apparently as a matter of course, though by no means cheerfully.
“Soon after this somewhat autocratic proceeding, Mowno turned abruptly to Barton, and saying that he must now return to the village, invited him to go with him to visit it. Barton appearing to hesitate, the chief pressed the matter so earnestly that his suspicions were aroused, and he peremptorily declined. Mowno’s angry looks evinced his displeasure, and after walking about for a quarter of an hour in sullen silence, with very much the demeanour of a spoiled child thwarted in his whim, he at length made a similar request of me, letting drop at the same time, some expression to the effect that one of us must go with him. Fortunately Rokóa, whose high spirit would have taken instant offence at the least semblance of a threat, did not hear this. I saw plainly, that for some reason, the young chief had set his heart upon having either Barton or myself visit his village, and I suspected this was, in fact, the sole object of his return. I observed, also, that his party was somewhat more numerous, and much better armed than it had been in the morning, and I had no doubt that, rather than suffer himself to be baffled in his purpose, he would resort to force to accomplish it.
“After a moment’s reflection, I was pretty well satisfied that I had nothing to fear from acceding to his request, believing, as I did, that I understood the motive of it. I thought, too, that a refusal would in all probability lead to an instant hostile collision between the natives and ourselves, and I finally resolved to accept, or more accurately speaking, to yield to, the invitation. Having come to this conclusion, I told Mowno that I would go with him, upon the condition that I should return before night, to which he readily assented, showing extreme satisfaction at having finally succeeded in his wishes. I gave no credit to the alleged cannibal propensities of the islanders, and was inclined from what I had already seen, to think much more favourably of them than the event justified. I supposed that the curiosity of the people of the village had been excited by the reports of those who had seen us in the morning, respecting the pale-faced strangers, and that Mowno’s only object in insisting as he did, on having Barton or myself go with him, was to gratify some aged chief who was too infirm to come down to the shore to see us, or did not want to take the trouble of doing so.”
“Well, was you right in your conjecture?” inquired Browne.
“Yes, partially at least; there was, I think, no unfriendly motive as far as Mowno was concerned. What designs others of the natives may have entertained I will not at present undertake to say. But instead of some superannuated chief, it was the curiosity of Mowno’s young wife that was to be gratified. On hearing his account of the white strangers, she had despatched him forthwith back to the shore, to bring them to the village; which commission, it seemed, he was resolved faithfully to execute, at every hazard.”
“Really,” said Browne, “civilisation must have made some considerable progress in Angatan, if the savages there make such docile and complaisant husbands.”
“This was not an ordinary case,” replied Arthur; “in the first place, Mowno was an uncommonly good-natured sort of a savage; then he had a very pretty, persuasive little wife, and he had not yet been long enough married, to have entirely merged the zeal and devotion of the lover, in the easy indifference, and staid authority of the husband; but this is anticipating.
“When I informed Rokóa of the young chief’s invitation, and my acceptance of it, he refused to consent to my going, except upon the condition that he should accompany me, and share whatever danger might attend the step. Mowno acquiesced in this arrangement, though I thought he didn’t seem to be altogether pleased with it. Barton, also, on learning that Rokóa and myself had concluded to go to the village, resolved to accompany us. Mowno was impatient to have us set out at once, and Rokóa having given some directions to the crew as to their conduct during our absence, we hastily made our preparations, and in a few moments after the matter had been decided upon, the whole party left the shore and entered the forest. A quarter of an hour’s walk brought us to a flourishing bread-fruit plantation, which we passed through without seeing a single dwelling, or any indications of inhabitants. This was bounded by a wild ravine, crossing which, we entered a dense and gloomy grove, composed almost entirely of the sacred miro, and one other kind of tree, the branches of which sprang horizontally from the trunk in a series of whorls, one above another, twisting round from left to right, and clothed with broad leaves of so dark a green as to seem almost black. Near the centre of this grove, we came suddenly upon a large marae, built principally of loose stones, overgrown with moss and lichens. It was a spacious, uncovered inclosure, the front of which consisted of a strong bamboo fence, while the three remaining sides were of stone. Within the inclosure, at one side, was a small building, probably the priest’s dwelling, and in the centre arose a solid pyramidal structure, on the terraced sides of which were ranged the misshapen figures of several gigantic idols. In front of this, and between four rude tumuli of broken coral, was a low platform, supported by stakes, and resembling the altars used for human sacrifices, during the ancient reign of heathenism in Tahiti. Beneath this platform, or altar, was a pile of human skulls; and suspended from the trees, were the shells of enormous turtles, and the skeletons of fishes. A hideous-looking old man, whom I supposed to be the priest, sat in the door of the small building, within the inclosure, and looking intently at me, made strange faces as we passed by. His skin was sallow, and singularly speckled, probably from some cutaneous disease; he had no eyebrows, and his eyes were small and glittering like those of a snake; in his countenance there was a mingled expression of cunning and cruelty that made me shudder. When we were nearest to him in passing, he struck himself violently on the breast, and cried out in a strong but dissonant voice, pointing with his long, skeleton fingers, towards the young chief:— ‘Mowno, son of Maloa, rob not the servant of Oro of a priest’s share!’ so at least, I understood the words which he uttered; but the natives hurried on, without seeming to pay any attention to him.”
“That would have frightened me mortally,” interrupted Johnny. “I should have thought that they were going to make a cannibal feast of me, and that the wicked old priest was speaking for his share.”