A thousand deaths by Jack London

tooth, fully six inches long, beautifully proportioned, the ivory turned

yellow and purple with age. This tooth was likewise the property of Ra Vatu;

and in Fiji, when such a tooth goes forth, things usually happen. For this is

the virtue of the whale tooth: Whoever accepts it cannot refuse the request

that may accompany it or follow it. The request may be anything from a human

life to a tribal alliance, and no Fijian is so dead to honor as to deny the

request when once the tooth has been accepted. Sometimes the request hangs

fire, or the fulfilment is delayed, with untoward consequences.

High up the Rewa, at the village of a chief, Mongondro by name, John Starhurst

rested at the end of the second day of the journey. In the morning, attended

by Narau, he expected to start on foot for the smoky mountains that were now

green and velvety with nearness. Mongondro was a sweet-tempered, mild-mannered

little old chief, short-sighted and afflicted with elephantiasis, and no

longer inclined toward the turbulence of war. He received the missionary with

warm hospitality, gave him food from his own table, and even discussed

religious matters with him. Mongondro was of an inquiring bent of mind, and

pleased John Starhurst greatly by asking him to account for the existence and

beginning of things. When the missionary had finished his summary of the

Creation according to Genesis, he saw that Mongondro was deeply affected. The

little old chief smoked silently for some time. Then he took the pipe from

his mouth and shook his head sadly.

“It cannot be,” he said. “I, Mongondro, in my youth, was a good workman with

the adze. Yet three months did it take me to make a canoe–a small canoe, a

very small canoe. And you say that all this land and water was made by one

man–”

SOUTH SEA TALES

22

“Nay, was made by one God, the only true God,” the missinary interrupted.

“It is the same thing,” Mongondro went on, “that all the land and all the

water, the trees, the fish, and bush and mountains, the sun, the moon, and the

stars, were made in six days! No, no. I tell you that in my youth I was an

able man, yet did it require me three months for one small canoe. It is a

story to frighten children with; but no man can believe it.”

“I am a man,” the missionary said.

“True, you are a man. But it is not given to my dark understanding to know

what you believe.”

“I tell you, I do believe that everything was made in six days.”

“So you say, so you say,” the old cannibal murmured soothingly.

It was not until after John Starhurst and Narau had gone off to bed that

Erirola crept into the chief’s house, and, after diplomatic speech, handed the

whale tooth to Mongondro.

The old chief held the tooth in his hands for a long time. It was a beautiful

tooth, and he yearned for it. Also, he divined the request that must accompany

it. “No, no; whale teeth were beautiful,” and his mouth watered for it, but he

passed it back to Erirola with many apologies.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the early dawn John Starhurst was afoot, striding along the bush trail in

his big leather boots, at his heels the faithful Narau, himself at the heels

of a naked guide lent him by Mongondro to show the way to the next village,

which was reached by midday. Here a new guide showed the way. A mile in the

rear plodded Erirola, the whale tooth in the basket slung on his shoulder. For

two days more he brought up the missionary’s rear, offering the tooth to the

village chiefs. But village after village refused the tooth. It followed so

quickly the missionary’s advent that they divined the request that would be

made, and would have none of it.

They were getting deep into the mountains, and Erirola took a secret trail,

cut in ahead of the missionary, and reached the stronghold of the Buli of

Gatoka. Now the Buli was unaware of John Starhurst’s imminent arrival. Also,

the tooth was beautiful–an extraordinary specimen, while the coloring of it

was of the rarest order. The tooth was presented publicly. The Buli of Gatoka,

seated on his best mat, surrounded by his chief men, three busy fly-brushers

at his back, deigned to receive from the hand of his herald the whale tooth

presented by Ra Vatu and carried into the mountains by his cousin, Erirola. A

clapping of hands went up at the acceptance of the present, the assembled

headman, heralds, and fly-brushers crying aloud in chorus:

“A! woi! woi! woi! A! woi! woi! woi! A tabua levu! woi! woi! A mudua, mudua,

mudua!’

SOUTH SEA TALES

23

“Soon will come a man, a white man,” Erirola began, after the proper pause.

“He is a missionary man, and he will come today. Ra Vatu is pleased to desire

his boots. He wishes to present them to his good friend, Mongondro, and it is

in his mind to send them with the feet along in them, for Mongondro is an old

man and his teeth are not good. Be sure, O Buli, that the feet go along in the

boots. As for the rest of him, it may stop here.”

The delight in the whale tooth faded out of the Buli’s eyes, and he glanced

about him dubiously. Yet had he already accepted the tooth.

“A little thing like a missionary does not matter,” Erirola prompted.

“No, a little thing like a missionary does not matter,” the Buli answered,

himself again. “Mongondro shall have the boots. Go, you young men, some three

or four of you, and meet the missionary on the trail. Be sure you bring back

the boots as well.”

“It is too late,” said Erirola. “Listen! He comes now.”

Breaking through the thicket of brush, John Starhurst, with Narau close on his

heels, strode upon the scene. The famous boots, having filled in wading the

stream, squirted fine jets of water at every step. Starhurst looked about him

with flashing eyes. Upborne by an unwavering trust, untouched by doubt or

fear, he exulted in all he saw. He knew that since the beginning of time he

was the first white man ever to tread the mountain stronghold of Gatoka.

The grass houses clung to the steep mountain side or overhung the rushing

Rewa. On either side towered a mighty precipice. At the best, three hours of

sunlight penetrated that narrow gorge. No cocoanuts nor bananas were to be

seen, though dense, tropic vegetation overran everything, dripping in airy

festoons from the sheer lips of the precipices and running riot in all the

crannied ledges. At the far end of the gorge the Rewa leaped eight hundred

feet in a single span, while the atmosphere of the rock fortress pulsed to the

rhythmic thunder of the fall.

From the Buli’s house, John Starhurst saw emerging the Buli and his followers.

“I bring you good tidings,” was the missionary’s greeting.

“Who has sent you?” the Buli rejoined quietly.

“God.”

“It is a new name in Viti Levu,” the Buli grinned. “Of what islands, villages,

or passes may he be chief?”

“He is the chief over all islands, all villages, all passes,” John Starhurst

answered solemnly. “He is the Lord over heaven and earth, and I am come to

bring His word to you.”

“Has he sent whale teeth?” was the insolent query.

“No, but more precious than whale teeth is the–”

SOUTH SEA TALES

24

“It is the custom, between chiefs, to send whale teeth,” the Buli interrupted.

“Your chief is either a niggard, or you are a fool, to come empty-handed into

the mountains. Behold, a more generous than you is before you.”

So saying, he showed the whale tooth he had received from Erirola.

Narau groaned.

“It is the whale tooth of Ra Vatu,” he whispered to Starhurst. “I know it

well. Now are we undone.”

“A gracious thing,” the missionary answered, passing his hand through his long

beard and adjusting his glasses. “Ra Vatu has arranged that we should be well

received.”

But Narau groaned again, and backed away from the heels he had dogged so

faithfully.

“Ra Vatu is soon to become Lotu,” Starhurst explained, “and I have come

bringing the Lotu to you.”

“I want none of your Lotu,” said the Buli, proudly. “And it is in my mind that

you will be clubbed this day.”

The Buli nodded to one of his big mountaineers, who stepped forward, swinging

a club. Narau bolted into the nearest house, seeking to hide among the woman

and mats; but John Starhurst sprang in under the club and threw his arms

around his executioner’s neck. From this point of vantage he proceeded to

argue. He was arguing for his life, and he knew it; but he was neither excited

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