THE WHALE TOOTH
It was in the early days in Fiji, when John Starhurst arose in the
mission house at Rewa Village and announced his intention of carrying
the gospel throughout all Viti Levu. Now Viti Levu means the "Great
Land," it being the largest island in a group composed of many large
islands, to say nothing of hundreds of small ones. Here and there on
the coasts, living by most precarious tenure, was a sprinkling of
missionaries, traders, bêche-de-mer fishers, and whaleship deserters.
The smoke of the hot ovens arose under their windows, and the bodies
of the slain were dragged by their doors on the way to the feasting.
The Lotu, or the Worship, was progressing slowly, and, often, in
crablike fashion. Chiefs, who announced themselves Christians and were
welcomed into the body of the chapel, had a distressing habit of
backsliding in order to partake of the flesh of some favorite enemy.
Eat or be eaten had been the law of the land; and eat or be eaten
promised to remain the law of the land for a long time to come. There
were chiefs, such as Tanoa, Tuiveikoso, and Tuikilakila, who had
literally eaten hundreds of their fellow men. But among these gluttons
Ra Undreundre ranked highest. Ra Undreundre lived at Takiraki. He kept
a register of his gustatory exploits. A row of stones outside his
house marked the bodies he had eaten. This row was two hundred and
thirty paces long, and the stones in it numbered eight hundred and
seventy-two. Each stone represented a body. The row of stones might
have been longer, had not Ra Undreundre unfortunately received a spear
in the small of his back in a bush skirmish on Somo Somo and been
served up on the table of Naungavuli, whose mediocre string of stones
numbered only forty-eight.
The hard-worked, fever-stricken missionaries stuck doggedly to their
task, at times despairing, and looking forward for some special
manifestation, some outburst of Pentecostal fire that would bring a
glorious harvest of souls. But cannibal Fiji had remained obdurate.
The frizzle-headed man-eaters were loath to leave their fleshpots so
long as the harvest of human carcases was plentiful. Sometimes, when
the harvest was too plentiful, they imposed on the missionaries by
letting the word slip out that on such a day there would be a killing
and a barbecue. Promptly the missionaries would buy the lives of the
victims with stick tobacco, fathoms of calico, and quarts of trade
beads. Natheless the chiefs drove a handsome trade in thus disposing
of their surplus live meat. Also, they could always go out and catch
more.
It was at this juncture that John Starhurst proclaimed that he would
carry the Gospel from coast to coast of the Great Land, and that he
would begin by penetrating the mountain fastnesses of the headwaters
of the Rewa River. His words were received with consternation.
The native teachers wept softly. His two fellow missionaries strove to
dissuade him. The King of Rewa warned him that the mountain dwellers
would surely kai-kai him--kai-kai meaning "to eat"--and that he, the
King of Rewa, having become Lotu, would be put to the necessity of
going to war with the mountain dwellers. That he could not conquer
them he was perfectly aware. That they might come down the river and
sack Rewa Village he was likewise perfectly aware. But what was he to
do? If John Starhurst persisted in going out and being eaten, there
would be a war that would cost hundreds of lives.
Later in the day a deputation of Rewa chiefs waited upon John
Starhurst. He heard them patiently, and argued patiently with them,
though he abated not a whit from his purpose. To his fellow
missionaries he explained that he was not bent upon martyrdom; that
the call had come for him to carry the Gospel into Viti Levu, and that
he was merely obeying the Lord's wish.
To the traders who came and objected most strenuously of all, he said:
"Your objections are valueless. They consist merely of the damage that
may be done your businesses. You are interested in making money, but I
am interested in saving souls. The heathen of this dark land must be
saved."
John Starhurst was not a fanatic. He would have been the first man to
deny the imputation. He was eminently sane and practical.
He was sure that his mission would result in good, and he had private
visions of igniting the Pentecostal spark in the souls of the
mountaineers and of inaugurating a revival that would sweep down out
of the mountains and across the length and breadth of the Great Land
from sea to sea and to the isles in the midst of the sea. There were
no wild lights in his mild gray eyes, but only calm resolution and an
unfaltering trust in the Higher Power that was guiding him.
One man only he found who approved of his project, and that was Ra
Vatu, who secretly encouraged him and offered to lend him guides to
the first foothills. John Starhurst, in turn, was greatly pleased by
Ra Vatu's conduct. From an incorrigible heathen, with a heart as black
as his practices, Ra Vatu was beginning to emanate light. He even
spoke of becoming Lotu. True, three years before he had expressed a
similar intention, and would have entered the church had not John
Starhurst entered objection to his bringing his four wives along with
him. Ra Vatu had had economic and ethical objections to monogamy.
Besides, the missionary's hair-splitting objection had offended him;
and, to prove that he was a free agent and a man of honor, he had
swung his huge war club over Starhurst's head. Starhurst had escaped
by rushing in under the club and holding on to him until help arrived.
But all that was now forgiven and forgotten. Ra Vatu was coming into
the church, not merely as a converted heathen, but as a converted
polygamist as well. He was only waiting, he assured Starhurst, until
his oldest wife, who was very sick, should die.
John Starhurst journeyed up the sluggish Rewa in one of Ra Vatu's
canoes. This canoe was to carry him for two days, when, the head of
navigation reached, it would return. Far in the distance, lifted into
the sky, could be seen the great smoky mountains that marked the
backbone of the Great Land. All day John Starhurst gazed at them with
eager yearning.
Sometimes he prayed silently. At other times he was joined in prayer
by Narau, a native teacher, who for seven years had been Lotu, ever
since the day he had been saved from the hot oven by Dr. James Ellery
Brown at the trifling expense of one hundred sticks of tobacco, two
cotton blankets, and a large bottle of painkiller. At the last moment,
after twenty hours of solitary supplication and prayer, Narau's ears
had heard the call to go forth with John Starhurst on the mission to
the mountains.
"Master, I will surely go with thee," he had announced.
John Starhurst had hailed him with sober delight. Truly, the Lord was
with him thus to spur on so broken-spirited a creature as Narau.
"I am indeed without spirit, the weakest of the Lord's vessels," Narau
explained, the first day in the canoe.
"You should have faith, stronger faith," the missionary chided him.
Another canoe journeyed up the Rewa that day. But it journeyed an hour
astern, and it took care not to be seen. This canoe was also the
property of Ra Vatu. In it was Erirola, Ra Vatu's first cousin and
trusted henchman; and in the small basket that never left his hand was
a whale tooth. It was a magnificent 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--"
"Nay, was made by one God, the only true God," the missionary
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!'
"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--"
"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 nor afraid.
"It would be an evil thing for you to kill me," he told the man. "I
have done you no wrong, nor have I done the Buli wrong."
So well did he cling to the neck of the one man that they dared not
strike with their clubs. And he continued to cling and to dispute for
his life with those who clamored for his death.
"I am John Starhurst," he went on calmly. "I have labored in Fiji for
three years, and I have done it for no profit. I am here among you for
good. Why should any man kill me? To kill me will not profit any man."
The Buli stole a look at the whale tooth. He was well paid for the
deed.
The missionary was surrounded by a mass of naked savages, all
struggling to get at him. The death song, which is the song of the
oven, was raised, and his expostulations could no longer be heard. But
so cunningly did he twine and wreathe his body about his captor's that
the death blow could not be struck. Erirola smiled, and the Buli grew
angry.
"Away with you!" he cried. "A nice story to go back to the coast--a
dozen of you and one missionary, without weapons, weak as a woman,
overcoming all of you."
"Wait, O Buli," John Starhurst called out from the thick of the
scuffle, "and I will overcome even you. For my weapons are Truth and
Right, and no man can withstand them."
"Come to me, then," the Buli answered, "for my weapon is only a poor
miserable club, and, as you say, it cannot withstand you."
The group separated from him, and John Starhurst stood alone, facing
the Buli, who was leaning on an enormous, knotted warclub.
"Come to me, missionary man, and overcome me," the Buli challenged.
"Even so will I come to you and overcome you," John Starhurst made
answer, first wiping his spectacles and settling them properly, then
beginning his advance.
The Buli raised the club and waited.
"In the first place, my death will profit you nothing," began the
argument.
"I leave the answer to my club," was the Buli's reply.
And to every point he made the same reply, at the same time watching
the missionary closely in order to forestall that cunning run-in under
the lifted club. Then, and for the first time, John Starhurst knew
that his death was at hand. He made no attempt to run in. Bareheaded,
he stood in the sun and prayed aloud--the mysterious figure of the
inevitable white man, who, with Bible, bullet, or rum bottle, has
confronted the amazed savage in his every stronghold. Even so stood
John Starhurst in the rock fortress of the Buli of Gatoka.
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do," he prayed. "O Lord!
Have mercy upon Fiji. Have compassion for Fiji. O Jehovah, hear us for
His sake, Thy Son, whom Thou didst give that through Him all men might
also become Thy children. From Thee we came, and our mind is that to
Thee we may return. The land is dark, O Lord, the land is dark. But
Thou art mighty to save. Reach out Thy hand, O Lord, and save Fiji,
poor cannibal Fiji."
The Buli grew impatient.
"Now will I answer thee," he muttered, at the same time swinging his
club with both hands.
Narau, hiding among the women and the mats, heard the impact of the
blow and shuddered. Then the death song arose, and he knew his beloved
missionary's body was being dragged to the oven as he heard the words:
"Drag me gently. Drag me gently."
"For I am the champion of my land."
"Give thanks! Give thanks! Give thanks!"
Next, a single voice arose out of the din, asking:
"Where is the brave man?"
A hundred voices bellowed the answer:
"Gone to be dragged into the oven and cooked."
"Where is the coward?" the single voice demanded.
"Gone to report!" the hundred voices bellowed back. "Gone to report!
Gone to report!"
Narau groaned in anguish of spirit. The words of the old song were
true. He was the coward, and nothing remained to him but to go and
report.
