Chapter VIII
Bastin Attempts the Martyr's Crown
That carved stone and the marble hand took a great hold of my
imagination. What did they mean? How could they have come to the
bottom of that hole, unless indeed they were part of some
building and its ornaments which had been destroyed in the
neighbourhood? The stone of which we had only uncovered a corner
seemed far too big to have been carried there from any ship; it
must have weighed several tons. Besides, ships do not carry such
things about the world, and none had visited this island during
the last two centuries at any rate, or local tradition would have
recorded so wonderful a fact. Were there, then, once edifices
covered with elegant carving standing on this place, and were
they adorned with lovely statues that would not have disgraced
the best period of Greek art? The thing was incredible except on
the supposition that these were relics of an utterly lost
civilisation.
Bickley was as much puzzled as myself. All he could say was
that the world was infinitely old and many things might have
happened in it whereof we had no record. Even Bastin was excited
for a little while, but as his imagination was represented by
zero, all he could say was:
"I suppose someone left them there, and anyhow it doesn't
matter much, does it?"
But I, who have certain leanings towards the ancient and
mysterious, could not be put off in this fashion. I remembered
that unapproachable mountain in the midst of the lake and that on
it appeared to be something which looked like ruins as seen from
the top of the cliff through glasses. At any rate this was a
point, that I might clear up.
Saying nothing to anybody, one morning I slipped away and
walked to the edge of the lake, a distance of five or six miles
over rough country. Having arrived there I perceived that the
cone-shaped mountain in the centre, which was about a mile from
the lake shore, was much larger than I had thought, quite three
hundred feet high indeed, and with a very large circumference.
Further, its sides evidently once had been terraced, and it was
on one of these broad terraces, half-way up and facing towards
the rising sun, that the ruin-like remains were heaped. I
examined them through my glasses. Undoubtedly it was a cyclopean
ruin built of great blocks of coloured stone which seemed to have
been shattered by earthquake or explosion. There were the pillars
of a mighty gateway and the remains of walls.
I trembled with excitement as I stared and stared. Could I not
get to the place and see for myself? I observed that from the
flat bush-clad land at the foot of the mountain, ran out what
seemed to be the residue of a stone pier which ended in a large
table-topped rock between two and three hundred feet across. But
even this was too far to reach by swimming, besides for aught I
knew there might be alligators in that lake. I walked up and down
its borders, till presently I came to a path which led into a
patch of some variety of cotton palm.
Following this path I discovered a boat-house thatched over
with palm leaves. Inside it were two good canoes with their
paddles, floating and tied to the stumps of trees by fibre ropes.
Instantly I made up my mind that I would paddle to the island and
investigate. Just as I was about to step into one of the canoes
the light was cut off. Looking up I saw that a man was crouching
in the door-place of the boat-house in order to enter, and paused
guiltily.
"Friend-from-the-Sea" (that was the name that these islanders
had given to me), said the voice of Marama, "say--what are you
doing here?"
"I am about to take a row on the lake, Chief," I answered
carelessly.
"Indeed, Friend. Have we then treated you so badly that you are
tired of life?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Come out into the sunlight, Friend, and I will explain to
you."
I hesitated till I saw Marama lifting the heavy wooden spear he
carried and remembered that I was unarmed. Then I came out.
"What does all this mean, Chief?" I asked angrily when we were
clear of the patch of cotton palm.
"I mean, Friend, that you have been very near to making a
longer journey than you thought. Have patience now and listen to
me. I saw you leaving the village this morning and followed,
suspecting your purpose. Yes, I followed alone, saying nothing to
the priests of Oro who fortunately were away watching the
Bellower for their own reasons. I saw you searching out the
secrets of the mountain with those magic tubes that make things
big that are small, and things that are far off come near, and I
followed you to the canoes."
"All that is plain enough, Marama. But why?"
"Have I not told you, Friend-from-the-Sea, that yonder hill
which is called Orofena, whence this island takes its name, is
sacred?"
"You said so, but what of it?"
"This: to set foot thereon is to die and, I suppose, great as
you are, you, too, can die like others. At least, although I love
you, had you not come away from that canoe I was about to
discover whether this is so."
"Then for what are the canoes used?" I asked with irritation.
"You see that flat rock, Friend, with the hole beyond, which is
the mouth of a cave that appeared only in the great storm that
brought you to our land? They are used to convey offerings which
are laid upon the rock. Beyond it no man may go, and since the
beginning no man has ever gone."
"Offerings to whom?"
"To the Oromatuas, the spirits of the great dead who live
there."
"Oromatuas? Oro! It is always something to do with Oro. Who and
what is Oro?"
"Oro is a god, Friend, though it is true that the priests say
that above him there is a greater god called Degai, the Creator,
the Fate who made all things and directs all things."
"Very well, but why do you suppose that Oro, the servant of
Degai, lives in that mountain? I thought that he lived in a grove
yonder where your priests, as I am told, have an image of him."
"I do not know, Friend-from-the-Sea, but so it has been held
from the beginning. The image in the grove is only visited by his
spirit from time to time. Now, I pray you, come back and before
the priests discover that you have been here, and forget that
there are any canoes upon this lake."
So, thinking it wisest, I turned the matter with a laugh and
walked away with him to the village. On our road I tried to
extract some more information but without success. He did not
know who built the ruin upon the mountain, or who destroyed it.
He did not know how the terraces came there. All he knew was that
during the convulsion of Nature which resulted in the tidal wave
that had thrown our ship upon the island, the mountain had been
seen to quiver like a tree in the wind as though within it great
forces were at work. Then it was observed to have risen a good
many more feet above the surface of the lake, as might be noted
by the water mark upon the shore, and then also the mouth of the
cave had appeared. The priests said that all this was because the
Oromatuas who dwelt there were stirring, which portended great
things. Indeed great things had happened--for had we not arrived
in their land?
I thanked him for what he had told me, and, as there was
nothing more to be learned, dropped the subject which was never
mentioned between us again, at least not for a long while. But in
my heart I determined that I would reach that mountain even
though to do so I must risk my life. Something seemed to call me
to the place; it was as though I were being drawn by a magnet.
As it happened, before so very long I did go to the mountain,
not of my own will but because I was obliged. It came about thus.
One night I asked Bastin how he was getting on with his
missionary work. He replied: Very well indeed, but there was one
great obstacle in his path, the idol in the Grove. Were it not
for this accursed image he believed that the whole island would
become Christian. I asked him to be more plain. He explained that
all his work was thwarted by this idol, since his converts
declared that they did not dare to be baptised while it sat there
in the Grove. If they did, the spirit that was in it would
bewitch them and perhaps steal out at night and murder them.
"The spirit being our friends the sorcerers," I suggested.
"That's it, Arbuthnot. Do you know, I believe those devilish
men sometimes offer human sacrifices to this satanic fetish, when
there is a drought or anything of that sort."
"I can quite believe it," I answered, "but as they will
scarcely remove their god and with it their own livelihood and
authority, I am afraid that as we don't want to be sacrificed,
there is nothing to be done."
At this moment I was called away. As I went I heard Bastin
muttering something about martyrs, but paid no attention. Little
did I guess what was going on in his pious but obstinate mind. In
effect it was this--that if no one else would remove that idol he
was quite ready to do it himself.
However, he was very cunning over that business, almost
Jesuitical indeed. Not one word did he breathe of his dark plans
to me, and still less to Bickley. He just went on with his
teaching, lamenting from time to time the stumbling-block of the
idol and expressing wonder as to how it might be circumvented by
a change in the hearts of the islanders, or otherwise. Sad as it
is to record, in fact, dear old Bastin went as near to telling a
fib in connection with this matter as I suppose he had ever done
in his life. It happened thus. One day Bickley's sharp eye caught
sight of Bastin walking about with what looked like a bottle of
whisky in his pocket.
"Hallo, old fellow," he said, "has the self-denying ordinance
broken down? I didn't know that you took pegs on the sly," and he
pointed to the bottle.
"If you are insinuating, Bickley, that I absorb spirits
surreptitiously, you are more mistaken than usual, which is
saying a good deal. This bottle contains, not Scotch whisky but
paraffin, although I admit that its label may have misled you,
unintentionally, so far as I am concerned."
"What are you going to do with the paraffin?" asked Bickley.
Bastin coloured through his tan and replied awkwardly:
"Paraffin is very good to keep away mosquitoes if one can stand
the smell of it upon one's skin. Not that I have brought it here
with that sole object. The truth is that I am anxious to
experiment with a lamp of my own design made--um--of native
wood," and he departed in a hurry.
"When next old Bastin wants to tell a lie," commented Bickley,
"he should make up his mind as to what it is to be, and stick to
it. I wonder what he is after with that paraffin? Not going to
dose any of my patients with it, I hope. He was arguing the other
day that it is a great remedy taken internally, being quite
unaware that the lamp variety is not used for that purpose."
"Perhaps he means to swallow some himself, just to show that he
is right," I suggested.
"The stomach-pump is at hand," said Bickley, and the matter
dropped.
Next morning I got up before it was light. Having some
elementary knowledge of the main facts of astronomy, which
remained with me from boyhood when I had attended lectures on the
subject, which I had tried to refresh by help of an encyclopedia
I had brought from the ship, I wished to attempt to obtain an
idea of our position by help of the stars. In this endeavour, I
may say, I failed absolutely, as I did not know how to take a
stellar or any other observation.
On my way out of our native house I observed, by the lantern I
carried, that the compartment of it occupied by Bastin was empty,
and wondered whither he had gone at that hour. On arriving at my
observation-post, a rocky eminence on open ground, where, with
Tommy at my side, I took my seat with a telescope, I was
astonished to see or rather to hear a great number of the natives
walking past the base of the mound towards the bush. Then I
remembered that some one, Marama, I think, had informed me that
there was to be a great sacrifice to Oro at dawn on that day.
After this I thought no more of the matter but occupied myself in
a futile study of the heavenly bodies. At length the dawn broke
and put a period to my labours.
Glancing round me before I descended from the little hill, I
saw a flame of light appear suddenly about half a mile or more
away among those trees which I knew concealed the image of Oro.
On this personally I had never had the curiosity to look, as I
knew that it was only a hideous idol stuck over with feathers and
other bedizenments. The flame shot suddenly straight into the
still air and was followed a few seconds later by the sound of a
dull explosion, after which it went out. Also it was followed by
something else--a scream of rage from an infuriated mob.
At the foot of the hill I stopped to wonder what these sounds
might mean. Then of a sudden appeared Bickley, who had been
attending some urgent case, and asked me who was exploding
gunpowder. I told him that I had no idea.
"Then I have," he answered. "It is that ass Bastin up to some
game. Now I guess why he wanted that paraffin. Listen to the row.
What are they after?"
"Sacrificing Bastin, perhaps," I replied, half in jest. "Have
you your revolver?"
He nodded. We always wore our pistols if we went out during the
dark hours.
"Then perhaps we had better go to see."
We started, and had not covered a hundred yards before a girl,
whom I recognised as one of Bastin's converts, came flying
towards us and screaming out, "Help! Help! They kill the Bellower
with fire! They cook him like a pig!"
"Just what I expected," said Bickley.
Then we ran hard, as evidently there was no time to lose. While
we went I extracted from the terrified girl, whom we forced to
show us the way, that as the sacrifice was about to be offered
Bastin had appeared, and, "making fire," applied it to the god
Oro, who instantly burst into flame. Then he ran back, calling
out that the devil was dead. As he did so there was a loud
explosion and Oro flew into pieces. His burning head went a long
way into the air and, falling on to one of the priests, killed
him. Thereon the other priests and the people seized the Bellower
and made him fast. Now they were engaged in heating an oven in
which to put him to cook. When it was ready they would eat him in
honour of Oro.
"And serve him right too!" gasped Bickley, who, being stout,
was not a good runner. "Why can't he leave other people's gods
alone instead of blowing them up with gunpowder?"
"Don't know," I answered. "Hope we shall get there in time!"
"To be cooked and eaten with Bastin!" wheezed Bickley, after
which his breath gave out.
As it chanced we did, for these stone ovens take a long time to
heat. There by the edge of his fiery grave with his hands and
legs bound in palm-fibre shackles, stood Bastin, quite unmoved,
smiling indeed, in a sort of seraphic way which irritated us both
extremely. Round him danced the infuriated priests of Oro, and
round them, shrieking and howling with rage, was most of the
population of Orofena. We rushed up so suddenly that none tried
to stop us, and took our stand on either side of him, producing
our pistols as we did so.
"Thank you for coming," said Bastin in the silence which
followed; "though I don't think it is the least use. I cannot
recall that any of the early martyrs were ever roasted and eaten,
though, of course, throwing them into boiling oil or water was
fairly common. I take it that the rite is sacrificial and even in
a low sense, sacramental, not merely one of common cannibalism."
I stared at him, and Bickley gasped out:
"If you are to be eaten, what does it matter why you are
eaten?"
"Oh!" replied Bastin; "there is all the difference in the
world, though it is one that I cannot expect you to appreciate.
And now please be quiet as I wish to say my prayers. I imagine
that those stones will be hot enough to do their office within
twenty minutes or so, which is not very long."
At that moment Marama appeared, evidently in a state of great
perturbation. With him were some of the priests or sorcerers who
were dancing about as I imagine the priests of Baal must have
done, and filled with fury. They rolled their eyes, they stuck
out their tongues, they uttered weird cries and shook their
wooden knives at the placid Bastin.
"What is the matter?" I asked sternly of the chief.
"This, Friend-from-the-Sea. The Bellower there, when the
sacrifice was about to be offered to Oro at the dawn, rushed
forward, and having thrust something between the legs of the
image of the god, poured yellow water over it, and with fire
caused it to burst into fierce flame. Then he ran away and mocked
the god who presently, with a loud report, flew into pieces and
killed that man. Therefore the Bellower must be sacrificed."
"What to?" I asked. "The image has gone and the piece of it
that ascended fell not upon the Bellower, as would have happened
if the god had been angry with him, but on one of its own
priests, whom it killed. Therefore, having been sacrificed by the
god itself, he it is that should be eaten, not the Bellower, who
merely did what his Spirit bade him."
This ingenious argument seemed to produce some effect upon
Marama, but to the priests it did not at all appeal.
"Eat them all!" these cried. "They are the enemies of Oro and
have worked sacrilege!"
Moreover, to judge from their demeanour, the bulk of the people
seemed to agree with them. Things began to look very ugly. The
priests rushed forward, threatening us with their wooden weapons,
and one of them even aimed a blow at Bickley, which only missed
him by an inch or two.
"Look here, my friend," called the doctor whose temper was
rising, "you name me the Great Priest or Great Healer, do you
not? Well, be careful, lest I should show you that I can kill as
well as heal!"
Not in the least intimidated by this threat the man, a great
bedizened fellow who literally was foaming at the mouth with
rage, rushed forward again, his club raised, apparently with the
object of dashing out Bickley's brains.
Suddenly Bickley lifted his revolver and fired. The man, shot
through the heart, sprang into the air and fell upon his face--
stone dead. There was consternation, for these people had never
seen us shoot anything before, and were quite unacquainted with
the properties of firearms, which they supposed to be merely
instruments for making a noise. They stared, they gasped in fear
and astonishment, and then they fled, pursued by Tommy, barking,
leaving us alone with the two dead men.
"It was time to teach them a lesson," said Bickley as he
replaced the empty cartridge, and, seizing the dead man, rolled
him into the burning pit.
"Yes," I answered; "but presently, when they have got over
their fright, they will come back to teach us one."
Bastin said nothing; he seemed too dazed at the turn events had
taken.
"What do you suggest?" asked Bickley.
"Flight," I answered.
"Where to--the ship? We might hold that."
"No; that is what they expect. Look! They are cutting off our
road there. To the island in the lake where they dare not follow
us, for it is holy ground."
"How are we going to live on the island?" asked Bickley.
"I don't know," I replied; "but I am quite certain that if we
stay here we shall die."
"Very well," he said; "let us try it."
While we were speaking I was cutting Bastin's bonds. "Thank
you," he said. "It is a great relief to stretch one's arms after
they have been compressed with cords. But at the same time, I do
not know that I am really grateful. The martyr's crown was
hanging above me, so to speak, and now it has vanished into the
pit, like that man whom Bickley murdered."
"Look here," exclaimed the exasperated Bickley, "if you say
much more, Bastin, I'll chuck you into the pit too, to look for
your martyr's crown, for I think you have done enough mischief
for one morning."
"If you are trying to shift the responsibility for that
unfortunate man's destruction on to me--"
"Oh! shut it and trot," broke in Bickley. "Those infernal
savages are coming with your blessed converts leading the van."
So we "trotted" at no mean pace. As we passed it, Bastin
stooped down and picked up the head of the image of Oro, much as
Atalanta in Academy pictures is represented as doing to the
apples, and bore it away in triumph.
"I know it is scorched," he ejaculated at intervals, "but they
might trim it up and stick it on to a new body as the original
false god. Now they can't, for there's nothing left."
As a matter of fact, we were never in any real danger, for our
pursuit was very half-hearted indeed. To begin with, now that
their first rage was over, the Orofenans who were fond of us had
no particular wish to do us to death, while the ardour of their
sorcerers, who wished this very much, had been greatly cooled by
the mysterious annihilation of their idol and the violent deaths
of two of their companions, which they thought might be
reduplicated in their own persons. So it came about that the
chase, if noisy, was neither close nor eager.
We reached the edge of the lake where was the boat-house of
which I have spoken already, travelling at little more than a
walk. Here we made Bastin unfasten the better of the two canoes
that by good luck was almost filled with offerings, which
doubtless, according to custom, must be made upon the day of this
feast to Oro, while we watched against surprise at the boat-house
door. When he was ready we slipped in and took our seats, Tommy
jumping in after us, and pushed the canoe, now very heavily
laden, out into the lake.
Here, at a distance of about forty paces, which we judged to be
beyond wooden spear-throw, we rested upon our paddles to see what
would happen. All the crowd of islanders had rushed to the lake
edge where they stood staring at us stupidly. Bastin, thinking
the occasion opportune, lifted the hideous head of the idol which
he had carefully washed, and began to preach on the downfall of
"the god of the Grove."
This action of his appeared to awake memories or forebodings in
the minds of his congregation. Perhaps some ancient prophecy was
concerned--I do not know. At any rate, one of the priests shouted
something, whereon everybody began to talk at once. Then,
stooping down, they threw water from the lake over themselves and
rubbed its sand and mud into their hair, all the while making
genuflexions toward the mountain in the middle, after which they
turned and departed.
"Don't you think we had better go back?" asked Bastin.
"Evidently my words have touched them and their minds are melting
beneath the light of Truth."
"Oh! by all means," replied Bickley with sarcasm; "for then
their spears will touch us, and our bodies will soon be melting
above the fires of that pit."
"Perhaps you are right," said Bastin; "at least, I admit that
you have made matters very difficult by your unjustifiable
homicide of that priest who I do not think meant to injure you
seriously, and really was not at all a bad fellow, though
opinionated in some ways. Also, I do not suppose that anybody is
expected, as it were, to run his head into the martyr's crown.
When it settles there of itself it is another matter."
"Like a butterfly!" exclaimed the enraged Bickley.
"Yes, if you like to put it that way, though the simile seems a
very poor one; like a sunbeam would be better."
Here Bickley gave way with his paddle so vigorously that the
canoe was as nearly as possible upset into the lake.
In due course we reached the flat Rock of Offerings, which
proved to be quite as wide as a double croquet lawn and much
longer.
"What are those?" I asked, pointing to certain knobs on the
edge of the rock at a spot where a curved projecting point made a
little harbour.
Bickley examined them, and answered:
"I should say that they are the remains of stone mooring-posts
worn down by many thousands of years of weather. Yes, look, there
is the cut of the cables upon the base of that one, and very big
cables they must have been."
We stared at one another--that is, Bickley and I did, for
Bastin was still engaged in contemplating the blackened head of
the god which he had overthrown.
