“You will see,” he answered, with one of those gleams of savage pleasure which ever and anon pass over his countenance.
We remark that there are only men and boys among the crowd,—no women nor girls. The crowd increases,—there is expectation on their countenances, as if something of importance is about to happen. Still we can obtain no information from Taro; he only says, “You will see, you will see.”
“A very well-behaved set of people are these,” observes Golding. “In England, among such a crowd, there would be fighting and squabbling. I would as lief be one of these happy islanders as an Englishman, with all our religion and civilisation.”
“I have an idea, begging pardon, Master Golding, that you are not yet very well acquainted with these happy islanders,” observes Tony Hinks. “It strikes me that ere long you will change your opinion. Wait a bit; as Tom Tar says, you will see—you will see.”
Chapter Four.
A narrow escape.
The air is warm and balmy, the blue sea sparkles brightly, the lofty mountains, glowing in the sunshine, rise up majestically into the clear sky, the graceful palm-trees gently wave their boughs; all nature is smiling with life, and health, and beauty, and all the perfections which a bountiful Creator has spread over these regions. “What a paradise,” exclaims the surgeon. “I agree with Golding, I should be well content to remain here to end my days.”
While watching for what is next to occur, we see four chief men, so they seem by their dress and bearing, walking along the beach. Taro says they are priests. There are several men in attendance. They stop, as if waiting for some one. They are armed with clubs and knives. Among the crowd comes a young man taller than his companions, and comely in his appearance. He seems joyous and light of heart, for he sings and laughs, regardless of coming ill. The priests, watching him steadfastly, slowly approach. He stops and looks at them with an inquiring expression on his youthful countenance. “We require one quick of foot to bear a message to the Eatua,” says the chief priest. The youth starts. Before he can reply, a blow from the priest’s club lays him low on the sand. The others fall on him with their clubs, and drive out any life remaining. The priests, surrounding the corpse, place it with the feet towards the sea, and utter some long incantations, each priest holding in his hand a bunch of red feathers. Then they rise and place the body of their victim parallel with the line of the sea beach, and more incantations are uttered. The king, meantime, and his principal chiefs have assembled, and take their stand near the temple. Hair is now plucked from the head of the victim, and one eye is taken out and wrapped in leaves, and presented to the king. With drums beating slowly the body is now borne up by the attendants of the priests, and placed on one of the altars. The tufts of red feathers are at the feet, and rolls of cloth at the head. After this, for a quarter of an hour or more the chief priest addresses it, and pretends to give the message it is to convey to the world of spirits. The surrounding populace look on with stupid amazement, no one knowing whose turn it may be next to be slaughtered as a sacrifice to their blood-loving deity.