The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne (read people like a book .txt) 📖

transferring a good deal of the moist paint from his nose to mine. Then, recollecting that this was not the white man’s mode of salutation, he grasped me by the hand and shook it violently.

“Hallo, Ralph!” cried Bill in surprise, “that chap seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you, or he must be an old acquaintance.”

“Right, Bill,” I replied; “he is indeed an old acquaintance.” And I explained, in a few words, that he was the chief whose party Jack and Peterkin and I had helped to save.

Tararo having thrown away his surf-board, entered into an animated conversation with Bill, pointing frequently during the course of it to me, whereby I concluded he must be telling him about the memorable battle and the part we had taken in it. When he paused I begged of Bill to ask him about the woman Avatea, for I had some hope that she might have come with Tararo on this visit. “And ask him,” said I, “who she is, for I am persuaded she is of a different race from the Feejeeans.” On the mention of her name the chief frowned darkly, and seemed to speak with much anger.

“You’re right, Ralph,” said Bill when the chief had ceased to talk; “she’s not a Feejee girl, but a Samoan. How she ever came to this place the chief does not very clearly explain; but he says she was taken in war, and that he got her three years ago, an’ kept her as his daughter ever since. Lucky for her, poor girl, else she’d have been roasted and eaten like the rest.”

“But why does Tararo frown and look so angry?” said I.

“Because the girl’s somewhat obstinate, like most o’ the sex, an’ won’t marry the man he wants her to. It seems that a chief of some other island came on a visit to Tararo and took a fancy to her; but she wouldn’t have him on no account, bein’ already in love, and engaged to a young chief whom Tararo hates, and she kicked up a desperate shindy. So, as he was goin’ on a war-expedition in his canoe, he left her to think about it, sayin’ he’d be back in six months or so, when he hoped she wouldn’t be so obstropolous. This happened just a week ago; an’ Tararo says that if she’s not ready to go, when the chief returns, as his bride, she’ll be sent to him as a long pig.”

“As a long pig!” I exclaimed in surprise. “Why, what does he mean by that?”

“He means somethin’ very unpleasant,” answered Bill with a frown. “You see, these blackguards eat men an’ women just as readily as they eat pigs; and as baked pigs and baked men are very like each other in appearance, they call men long pigs. If Avatea goes to this fellow as a long pig, it’s all up with her, poor thing!”

“Is she on the island now?” I asked eagerly.

“No; she’s at Tararo’s island.”

“And where does it lie?”

“About fifty or sixty miles to the south’ard o’ this,” returned Bill; “but I—”

At this moment we were startled by the cry of “mao! mao—a shark! a shark!” which was immediately followed by a shriek that rang clear and fearfully loud above the tumult of cries that arose from the savages in the water and on the land. We turned hastily towards the direction whence the cry came, and had just time to observe the glaring eyeballs of one of the swimmers as he tossed his arms in the air. Next instant he was pulled under the waves. A canoe was instantly launched, and the hand of the drowning man was caught; but only half of his body was dragged from the maw of the monster, which followed the canoe until the water became so shallow that it could scarcely swim. The crest of the next billow was tinged with red as it rolled towards the shore.

In most countries of the world this would have made a deep impression on the spectators; but the only effect it had upon these islanders was to make them hurry with all speed out of the sea, lest a similar fate should befall some of the others. But so utterly reckless were they of human life that it did not for a moment suspend the progress of their amusements. It is true the surf-swimming ended for that time somewhat abruptly, but they immediately proceeded with other games. Bill told me that sharks do not often attack the surf-swimmers, being frightened away by the immense numbers of men and boys in the water, and by the shouting and splashing that they make. “But,” said he, “such a thing as you have seen just now don’t frighten them much. They’ll be at it again to-morrow or next day, just as if there wasn’t a single shark between Feejee and Nova Zembla.”

After this the natives had a series of wrestling and boxing matches; and being men of immense size and muscle, they did a good deal of injury to each other, especially in boxing, in which not only the lower orders but several of the chiefs and priests engaged. Each bout was very quickly terminated; for they did not pretend to a scientific knowledge of the art, and wasted, no time in sparring, but hit straight out at each other’s heads, and their blows were delivered with great force. Frequently one of the combatants was knocked down with a single blow, and one gigantic fellow hit his adversary so severely that he drove the skin entirely off his forehead. This feat was hailed with immense applause by the spectators.

During these exhibitions, which were very painful to me, though I confess I could not refrain from beholding them, I was struck with the beauty of many of the figures and designs that were tattooed on the persons of the chiefs and principal men. One figure, that seemed to me very elegant, was that of a palm-tree tattooed on the back of a man’s leg, the roots rising, as it were, from under his heel, the stem ascending the tendon of the ankle, and the graceful head branching out upon the calf. I afterwards learned that this process of tattooing is very painful, and takes long to do, commencing at the age of ten, and being continued at intervals up to the age of thirty. It is done by means of an instrument made of bone, with a number of sharp teeth, with which the skin is punctured. Into these punctures a preparation made from the kernel of the candle-nut, mixed with cocoa-nut oil, is rubbed, and the mark thus made is indelible. The operation is performed by a class of men whose profession it is, and they tattoo as much at a time as the person on whom they are operating can bear, which is not much, the pain and inflammation caused by tattooing being very great—sometimes causing death. Some of the chiefs were tattooed with an ornamental stripe down the legs, which gave them the appearance of being clad in tights; others had marks round the ankles and insteps, which looked like tight-fitting and elegant boots. Their faces were also tattooed, and their breasts were very profusely marked with every imaginable species of device—muskets, dogs, birds, pigs, clubs, and canoes, intermingled with lozenges, squares, circles, and other arbitrary figures.

The women were not tattooed so much as the men, having only a few marks on their feet and arms. But I must say, however objectionable this strange practice may be, it nevertheless had this good effect—that it took away very much from their appearance of nakedness.

Next day, while we were returning from the woods to our schooner, we observed Romata rushing about in the neighbourhood of his house, apparently mad with passion.

“Ah!” said Bill to me, “there he’s at his old tricks again. That’s his way when he gets drink. The natives make a sort of drink o’ their own, and it makes him bad enough; but when he gets brandy he’s like a wild tiger. The captain, I suppose, has given him a bottle, as usual, to keep him in good-humour. After drinkin’ he usually goes to sleep, and the people know it well, and keep out of his way for fear they should waken him. Even the babies are taken out of earshot; for when he’s waked up he rushes out, just as you see him now, and spears or clubs the first person he meets.”

It seemed at the present time, however, that no deadly weapon had been in his way, for the infuriated chief was raging about without one. Suddenly he caught sight of an unfortunate man who was trying to conceal himself behind a tree. Rushing towards him, Romata struck him a terrible blow on the head, which knocked out the poor man’s eye and also dislocated the chief’s finger. The wretched creature offered no resistance; he did not even attempt to parry the blow. Indeed, from what Bill said, I found that he might consider himself lucky in having escaped with his life, which would certainly have been forfeited had the chief been possessed of a club at the time.

“Have these wretched creatures no law among themselves,” said I, “which can restrain such wickedness?”

“None,” replied Bill. “The chief’s word is law. He might kill and eat a dozen of his own subjects any day for nothing more than his own pleasure, and nobody would take the least notice of it.”

This ferocious deed took place within sight of our party as we wended our way to the beach, but I could not observe any other expression on the faces of the men than that of total indifference or contempt. It seemed to me a very awful thing that it should be possible for men to come to such hardness of heart and callousness to the sight of bloodshed and violence; but, indeed, I began to find that such constant exposure to scenes of blood was having a slight effect upon myself, and I shuddered when I came to think that I too was becoming callous.

I thought upon this subject much that night while I walked up and down the deck during my hours of watch, and I came to the conclusion that if I, who hated, abhorred, and detested such bloody deeds as I had witnessed within the last few weeks, could so soon come to be less sensitive about them, how little wonder that these poor, ignorant savages, who were born and bred in familiarity therewith, should think nothing of them at all, and should hold human life in so very slight esteem!