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