A Memory Of The Southern Seas, George Lewis Becke [i can read books .TXT] 📗

on the palm of which were ten American gold coins, each of twenty dollars.

"Two hundred dollars hath this white man, Manka, sent to my daughter Sa Luia as a present, with these words: 'If she cares not for my suit, well and good--let her have them made into bracelets for her pretty arms."

Now this was a great gift, and it came with such generous words that the people applauded, and my father smiled, as his long thin fingers closed around the heap of gold; but suddenly his face darkened as Manaia spoke.

"'Tis a free gift to the lady Sa Luia. Therefore, O Pule-o-Vaitafe, give it to her."

"Aye, aye! 'tis hers, 'tis hers," cried the people.

My father sent a glance of bitter hatred to my lover, and his lips twitched, but without a word he came to me, and bending low before me, put the money on the ground at my feet, and I, his daughter, heard his teeth grinding with rage, and as I felt his hot breath on my hand, I knew that murder was in his heart. It is easy for a chief such as was my father, to have a man who displeases him killed secretly.

My father went away in anger, and then the chiefs decided that although the white man could not wed me, he should be received with great honour, and be given many presents; for he was known to us as a man of great strength and daring, and was tattooed like a Samoan, which is a great thing to the mind of a Samoan woman, who loathes an untattooed man as unworthy of all that a woman can give, for without tattooing a young man hath no manhood, and his children are weak of body and poor of mind.

That night my father asked me for the money, which I gave him unwillingly, for I wished to send it back to the white man. He took it and placed it in a great box, which contained such things as guns, pistols, and powder and ball, and the key of which he always wore around his neck.

When the eighth day dawned, the sea was very smooth, and our hearts were gladdened by seeing that the wind was from the south-east, and as the day wore on, it increased in strength. When night fell, and the evening fires were lit, Manaia, saying he was going to fish for _malau_, launched his boat and sailed along the shore for a league to the mouth of a small stream. Here he was met by his mother and sisters, who were awaiting him with baskets of cooked food, young coconuts and calabashes of water for the voyage. Then they put their arms around him, and wept as they bade him farewell, for seventy leagues is a long voyage for a small boat not intended for rough seas. Then they went into the forest and fled for their lives to Sen Manu of Apia, and Manaia waited for me.

When the town was buried in slumber, Selema, who lay near me, touched my head with her foot, and then asked me if I slept.

"Nay," I replied in a loud voice, and speaking with pretended anger, so as to awaken the two women between whom I lay. "How can I sleep? 'Tis too hot. Let us go to the beach awhile and feel the cool wind."

The two women grumbled a little at being disturbed, and Selema and I rose and went out of the house. Then, once we were at a safe distance, we ran swiftly to the beach, and then onwards to where Manaia awaited us.

Selema took her seat on the foremost thwart, Manaia at the stern, and I in the centre, and then we pushed off, and using canoe paddles, made for the passage through the reef out into the open sea. When the dawn broke, we were half-way across the straits which divide Savai'i from Upolu, and only two leagues away we saw the clustering houses of Tufa on the iron-bound coast. We did not dare to hoist the sail for fear of being seen, so continued to paddle, keeping well into the middle of the straits. Only that the current was so fierce, Manaia would have steered north, and gone round the great island of Savai'i and then made westward, but the current was setting against the wind, and we should have all perished had we tried to go the north way.

Presently Manaia turned and looked astern, and there we saw the great mat sail of my father's double canoe, just rising above the water, and knew that we were pursued. So we ceased paddling, and hoisted our own sail, which made us leap along very quickly over the seas, though every now and then the outrigger would lift itself out of the water, and we feared that we might capsize. But we knew that Death was behind us, and so sat still, and no one spoke but in a whisper as we looked astern, and saw the sail of the great canoe growing higher and higher. It was a very large canoe and carried a hundred men, and on the raised platform was a cannon which my father had bought from a whale-ship when it was in his mind to fight against Tamalefaiga, who was the king of Upolu.

Suddenly Selema cried out that she saw a _taumualua_{*} and a boat with a sail coming towards us from Tufa, and my heart sank within me, for I knew that if they saw we were pursued by Pule-o-Vaitafe, they would, out of respect for him, stop us from escaping. Still there was naught for us to do but go on, and so we leapt and sprang from sea to sea, and Manaia bade us be of good heart, as he turned the head of the canoe toward the land.


* A large native-built boat


"If this _taumualua_ and the boat seek to stay us, I shall run ashore," he said, "and we will take to the mountains. It is Manka's boat, for now I can see the flag from the peak--the flag of America." "And the _taumualua_ is that of Tamavili of Tufa," said Selema quietly, for she is a girl of great heart, "and it races with the white man's boat."

I, who was shaking with fear, cannot now well remember all that followed, after Manaia headed our canoe for the shore, and tried to escape, but suddenly, it seemed to me, the white man's boat, with flapping sail, was upon as, and Manka was laughing loudly.

"Ho, ho!" he cried, pulling his long white moustache, "so this is the way the wind bloweth! The old dotard Tamavili and I race together for a bride, and the bride is for neither of us, but for the man who saved her from the sea. Ha, ha! Thou art a fine fellow, Manaia, and I bear thee no ill will, even though the girl hath my good golden money."

"Nay, Manka," cried Selema quickly, and taking something from her girdle she held it up to the white man; "see, here is thy gift to the lady Sa Luia. We meant to give it back to thee with all good will, for Sa Luia loves no man but this her lover Manaia, who held her up from the angry sea when her mother died. And so when Pule-o-Vaitafe took the money from her--which was thy free gift--I waited till he slept, and stole the key of his treasure-chest, and took the money so that it might be returned to thee."

"Is this true?" asked the white man of Manaia. "The money is thine," said Manaia, who knew not what else to say, "but the woman is mine. So let us depart, for Tamavili and his men--whom no one in Malifanua thought to see for three days yet--are drawing near, and we may escape by running the canoe through the surf, and taking to the mountains."

The white man swore an oath. "Thou art a fine fellow, and I bear no ill will, but will help thee to outwit that old dodderer who tried to steal away three days before me. I will put my boat between he and thee and keep him off. Whither wouldst land?"

"Not here, unless we are pressed. But we are in bad case; for see, on the one side comes Pule-o-Vaitafe, and on the other Tamavili. Yet if thou wilt be the good friend to us, we may escape both, and keep on our way to the open sea."

"The open sea!" cried Manka quickly--"and whither to?"

"To Uea."

"Thou art a bold fellow," said the white man again, "and shalt have the girl, for thou art worthy of her. And she shall keep the money for her dowry. I am no man to go back on my word, even though I lose so fair a bride. As for Pule-o-Vaitafe, I care not a blade of grass, and for Tamavili even less. And see, take this rifle, and if Tamavili cometh too close to thee, how can I help thee defending thyself and the women?"

With that he gave Manaia one of six rifles in his boat and two score and ten cartridges, some tobacco, matches, and a pipe; then he pressed our hands and wished us God-speed, and we parted, he sailing towards the _taumualua_, which was crowded with men, and we following. When he came within speaking distance of Tamavili, he again brought his boat to the wind and mocked at the old man.

"Ho, ho! Tamavili. Whither goest in such a hurry? See, there in the canoe is the little bird we both sought, and there following comes her father. But she is neither for me nor thee. Is not her lover there, a fine man--nearly as handsome as I am, and big enough to make ten such rats as thee."

Tamavili was mad with rage, and did not answer. There were with Manka six men--all armed with rifles which loaded at the breech like that which he had given Manaia, and Manka was too great a man for even Tamavili to hurt. But suddenly, as we in the canoe sailed in between the boat and the _taumualua_, the old chief found his voice, and called out to Manaia to lower his sail.

"Give me the lady Sa Luia," he said, "and I will let thee and the girl Selema go," and as he spoke, the crew turned the _taumualua_ round and came after us, twenty men paddling on each side.

"Keep back!" cried Manaia fiercely, as he changed seats with me, and giving me the steering paddle, he took up the rifle and loaded it.

"Beware, old man!" shouted Manka, "'tis a dog that bites!"

But Tamavili was too hot with anger to take heed, and shouted to his men to go on, and then Manaia took aim and fired, and two men went down.

"Ho, ho!" and Manka's voice again mocked, "did I not say 'twas a dog that bit?"

There was great commotion in the _taumualua_ for a moment or two, but _Tamavili_ shouted to his men to go on; he would have ordered some of them to cease paddling and try and shoot Manaia, but feared to hurt or perhaps kill me, and that would have meant war between Tufa and Mulifanua.

"Alo, alo foe!"{*} he cried, standing up on the stem and brandishing his death-knife at Manaia. "I shall give thy head to the children of the village for a football ere the sun is in mid-heaven."


* "Paddle, paddle hard!"