The Call Of The South

CHAPTER XV ~ THE STORY OF TOKOLMÉ

Early one morning some native hunters came on board our vessel and asked me to come with them to the mountain forest of the island of Ponapé in quest of wild boar. Glad to escape from the ship, which lay in a small land-locked harbour on the south-eastern side of the island, I quickly put together my gear, stepped into one of the long red-painted canoes alongside, and pushed off with my companions—men whom I had known for some years and who always looked to me to join them in at least one of their hunting trips whenever our brig visited their district on a trading cruise. Half an hour’s paddling across the still waters of the harbour brought us to a narrow creek, lined on each side with dense mangroves. Following its upward course for the third of a mile, we came to and landed at a point of high land, where the-dull and monotonous mangroves gave place to giant cedar trees and lofty palms. Here were two or three small native huts, used by the hunters as a rendezvous. Early as it was, some of their women-folk had arrived from the village, and cooked and made ready a meal of baked fish and chickens. Then after the inevitable smoke and discussion as to the route to be taken, and telling the women to expect us back at nightfall, we shouldered our rifles and hunting spears, and started off in single file along a winding track that followed the turnings of the now clear and brawling little stream. At first we experienced considerable trouble in ridding ourselves of over a dozen mongrel curs; they had followed the men from the village (two miles distant) and the women had fastened all of them in, in one of the huts, but the brutes had torn a hole through the cane-work side of the hut and came after us in full cry. Kicking and pelting them with sticks had no effect—they merely yelped and snarled and darted off into the undergrowth, only to reappear somewhere ahead of us. Finally my companions became so exasperated that, forgetting they were newly-made converts to Christianity, they burst out into torrents of abuse, invoking all the old heathen gods to smite the dogs individually and collectively, and not let them spoil our sport. This proving of no effect, an exasperated and stalwart young native named Nâ, who was the owner of one of the most ugly and persistent of the animals, asked me to lend him my Winchester, and, waiting for a favourable chance, shot the brute dead. In an instant the rest of the pack vanished without a sound, and we saw no more of them till we returned to the huts in the evening.

These natives (seven in all) were, with the exception of a man of fifty years of age, all young men, and fine types of the Micronesian. Although much slighter in build than the average Polynesian of the south-eastern islands of the Pacific, they were extremely muscular and sinewy, and as active and fleet of foot as wild goats. Their skins, where not tanned a darker hue by the sun, were of a light reddish-brown, and the blue tatooing on their bodies showed out very clearly; most of them had a very Semitic and regular cast of features, and their straight black hair and fine white teeth imparted a very pleasing appearance. Unlike some of the natives of the Micronesian Archipelago on the islands farther to the westward they dislike the disgusting practice of chewing the betel-nut, and in general may be regarded as a very cleanly and highly intelligent race of people. Somewhat suspicious, if not sullen, with the European stranger on first acquaintance, they do not display that spirit of hospitality and courtesy that seems to be inherent with the Samoans, Tahitians and the Marquesans. From the time when their existence was first made known to the world by the discoveries of the early Spanish voyagers to the South Seas they have been addicted to warfare, and the inhabitants of Ponapé in particular had an evil reputation for the horrible cruelties the victors inflicted upon the vanquished in battle, even though the victims were frequently their own kith and kin. When, less than twenty years ago, Spain reasserted her claims to the Caroline Islands (of which Ponapé is the largest and most fertile) and placed garrisons on several of the islands, the natives of Ponapé made a savage and determined resistance, and in one instance wiped out two companies of troops and their officers. A few years ago, however, the entire archipelago passed into the hands of Germany—Spain accepting a monetary compensation for parting with territory that never belonged to her—and at the present time these once valorous and warlike savages are learning the ways of civilisation and—as might be expected—rapidly diminishing in numbers.

After ridding ourselves of the dogs we pressed steadily onward and upward, till we no longer heard the hum of the surf beating upon the barrier reef, and then when the sun was almost overhead we emerged from the deep, darkened aisles of the silent forest into a small cleared space on the summit of a spur and saw displayed before us one of the loveliest panoramas in the universe. For of all the many beautiful island gems which lie upon the blue bosom of the North Pacific, there is none that exceeds in beauty and fertility the Isle of Ascension, as Ponapé is sometimes called—that being the name used by the Spaniards.

Three thousand feet below we could see for many miles the trend of the coast north and south. Within the wavering line of roaring white surf, which marked the barrier reef, lay the quiet green waters of the narrow lagoon encompassing the whole of this part of Ponapé, studded with many small islands—some rocky and precipitous, some so low-lying and so thickly palm-clad that they, seemed, with their girdles of shining beach, to be but floating gardens of verdure, so soft and ephemeral that even the gentle breath of the rising trade wind at early morn would cause them to vanish like some desert mirage.

To the southward was the small, land-locked harbour of Roân Kiti, whose gleaming waters were as yet undisturbed by the faintest ripple, and the two American whaleships and my own vessel which floated on its placid bosom, lay so still and quiet, that one could have thought them to be abandoned by their crews were it not that one of the whalers began to loose and dry sails, for it had rained heavily during the night. These two ships were from New Bedford, and they had put into the little harbour to wood and water, and give their sea-worn crews a fortnight’s rest ere they sailed northward away from the bright isles of the Pacific to the cold, wintry seas of the Siberian coast and the Kurile Islands, where they would cruise for “bowhead” whales, before returning home to America.

Here, because the White Man both felt and looked tired after the long climb, and because the Brown Men wanted to make a drink of green kava, we decided to rest for an hour or two—some of the men suggesting that we should not return till the following day. Food we had brought with us, and everywhere on the tops of the mountains water was to be found in small rocky pools. So whilst one of the men cut up a rugged root of green kava and began to pound it with a smooth stone, the White Man, well content, laid down his gun, sat upon a boulder of stone and looked around him. I was pleased at the view of sea and verdant shore far below, and pleased too at the prospect of some good sport; for everywhere, on our way up to the mountains, we had seen the tracks of many a wild pig, and here, on the summit of this spur, could rest awhile, before descending into a deep valley on the eastern side of the island, where we knew we would find the wild pigs feeding along the banks of a mountain stream which debouched into Roân Kiti harbour, four miles away.

“How is this place named, and how came it to be clear of the forest trees?” I asked one of my native friends, a handsome young man, about thirty years of age, whose naked, smooth, and red-brown skin, from neck to waist, showed by its tatooing that he was of chiefly lineage.

“Tokolmé it is called,” he replied. “It was once a place of great strength; a fortress was made here in the mountains, in the olden time—in the old days, long before white men came to Ponapé. See, all around us, half-buried in the ground, are some of the blocks of stone which were carried up from the face of the mountain which overlooks Metalanien “—he pointed to several huge basaltic prisms lying near—“these stones were the lower course of the fort; the upper part was of wood, great forest trees, cut down and squared into lengths of two fathoms. And it is because of the cutting down of these trees, which were very old and took many hundred years to grow, that the place where we now sit, and all around us, is so clear. For the blood of many hundreds of men have sunk into it, and because it was the blood of innocent people, there be now nothing that will grow upon it.”

The place was certainly quite bare of trees, though encompassed by the forest on all sides lower down. One reason for this may have been that in addition to the large basaltic prisms, the ground was thickly covered with a layer of smaller and broken stones to which time and the action of the weather had given a comparatively smooth surface.

“Tell me of it, Rai,” I said.

“Presently, friend, after we have had the drink of kava and eaten some food. Ah, this green kava of ours is good to drink, not like the weak, dried root that the women of Samoa chew and mix with much water in a wooden bowl. What goodness can there be in that? Here, we take the root fresh from the soil when it is full of juice, beat it to a pulp and add but little water.”

“It is good, Rai,” I admitted, “but give me only a little. It is too strong for me and a full bowl would cause me to stagger and fall.”

He laughed good-naturedly as he handed me a half coco-nut shell containing a little of the thick greenish-yellow liquid. And then, after all had drunk in turn, the baskets of cold baked food were opened and we ate; and then as we lit our pipes and smoked Rai told us the story of Tokolmé.

“In those days, before the white men came here to this country, though they had been to islands not many days’ sail from here by canoe, there were but two great chiefs of Ponapé—now there are seven—one was Lirou, who ruled all this part of the land, and who dwelt at Roân Kiti with two thousand people, and the other was Roka, king of all the northern coast and ruler of many villages. Roka was a great voyager and had sailed as far to the east as Kusaie, which is two hundred leagues from here, and his people were proud of him and his great daring and of the slaves that he brought back with him from Kusaie.5

“Here in Tokolmé lived three hundred and two-score people, who owed allegiance neither to Lirou nor Roka, for their ancestors had come to Ponapé from Yap, an island far to the westward. After many years of fighting on the coast they made peace with Lirou’s father, who gave them all this piece of country as a free gift, and without tribute, and many of their young men and women intermarried with ours, for the language and customs of Yap are akin to those of Ponapé.

“Soon after peace was made and Tolan, chief of the strangers, had built the village and made plantations, he died, and as he left no son, his daughter Leâ became chieftainess, although she was but fourteen years of age.

“Lirou, who was a haughty, overbearing young man, sent presents, and asked her in marriage, and great was his anger when she refused, saying that she had no desire to leave her people now that her father was dead.

“‘See,’ he said to his father, ‘see the insult put upon thee by these proud ones of Yap—these dog-eating strangers who drifted to our land as a log drifts upon the ocean. Thou hast given them fair lands with running water, and great forest trees, and this girl refuses to marry me. Am I as nothing that I should be so treated? Shall I, Lirou, be laughed at? Am I a boy or a grown man?’

“The old chief, who desired peace, sought in vain to soothe him. ‘Wait for another year,’ he said, ‘and it may be that she will be of a different mind. And already thou hast two wives—why seek another?’

“‘Because it is my will,’ replied Lirou fiercely, and he went away, nursing his wrath.

“One day a party of Roka’s young men and women went in several canoes to the group of small islands near the mainland called Pâkin to catch turtle; whilst the men were away out on the reef at night with their turtle nets a number of Lirou’s men came to the huts where the women were and watched them cooking food to give to their husbands on their return. Rain was falling heavily, and Lirou’s men came into the houses, unasked, and sat down and then began to jest with the women somewhat rudely. This made them somewhat afraid, for they were all married, and to jest with the wife of another man is looked upon as an evil thing. But their husbands being a league away the women could do nothing and went on with their cooking in silence. Presently, Lirou’s men who had brought with them some gourds of the grog called rarait, which is made from sugar-cane, began to drink it and pressed the women to do so also. When they refused to do so, the men became still more rude and bade the women serve them with some of the food they had prepared. This was a great insult, but being in fear, they obeyed. Then, as the grog made them bolder, some of the men laid hands on the women and there was a great outcry and struggle, and a young woman named Sipi-nah fell or was thrown against a great burning log, and her face so badly burned that she cried out in agony and ran outside, followed by all the other women. They ran along the beach in the pouring rain till they were abreast of the place where their husbands were fishing and called to them to return. When the fishermen saw what had befallen Sipi-nah they were filled with rage, for she was a blood-relation of Roka’s, and hastening back to the houses they rushed in upon Lirou’s people, slew three of them, put their heads in baskets and brought them to Roka.

“From this thing came a long war which was called ‘the war of the face of Sipi-nah,’ and a great battle was fought in canoes on the lagoon. Lirou’s father with many hundreds of his people were slain, and the rest fled to Roân Kiti pursued by King Roka, who burnt the town. Then Lirou (who, now that his father was killed, was chief) sued for peace, and promised Roka a yearly tribute of three thousand plates of turtle shell, and five new canoes. So Roka, being satisfied, sailed away, and there was peace. Had he so desired it he could have utterly swept away all Lirou’s people and burned their villages and destroyed every one of their plantations, but although he was a great fighting man he was not cruel. Yet he said to Sipi-nah, after peace was made: ‘I pray thee, come near me no more; for although I have revenged myself upon those who have ill-used and insulted thee and me, my hand will again incline to the spear if I look upon thy scarred face again. And I want no more wars.’

“The son of Lirou (who now took his father’s name) and his people began, with heavy hearts, to rebuild the town. After the council house was finished, Lirou told them to cease work and called together his head men and spoke.

“‘Why should we labour to build more houses here?’ he said. ‘See, this is my mind. Only for one year shall I pay this heavy tribute to Roka Then shall I defy him.’

“The head men were silent.

“Lirou laughed. ‘Have no fear. I am no boaster. But we cannot fight him here in Roân Kiti, which is open to the sea, and never can we make it a strong fort, for here we have no falat,6 nor yet any great forest trees. But at Tokolmé are many thousands of the great stones and mighty trees in plenty. Ah, my father was a foolish man to give such a place to people who fought against us. Are we fools, to build here another weak town, and let Roka bear the more heavily upon us? Answer me!’

“‘What wouldst thou have, O chief,’ asked one of the head men.

“‘I would have Tokolmé. It is mine inheritance. There can we make a strong fort, and from there shall we have entrance to the sea by the river. Are we to let these dogs from Yap deny us?’

“‘Let us ask them to give us, as an act of friendship, all the trees, and all the felat we desire,’ said one of the head men.

“Lirou laughed scornfully. ‘And we to toil for years in carrying the trees and stones from Tokolmé, a league away. Bah! Let us fall upon them as they sleep—and spare no one.’

“‘Nay, nay,’ said a sub-chief, named Kol, who had taken one of the Yap girls to wife, ‘that is an evil thought, and foul treachery. We be at peace with them. I, for one, will have no part in such wickedness.’ And others said the same, but some were with Lirou.

“Then, after many angry words had been spoken—some for fair dealing, and some for murder—Lirou said to the chief Kol and two others: ‘Go to the girl Leâ and her head men with presents, and say this: We of Roân Kiti are like to be hard pressed by Roka when the time comes for the payment of our tribute. If we yield it not, then are we all dead men. So give back to us Tokolmé, and take from us Roân Kiti, where ye may for ever dwell in peace, for Roka hath no ill-will against ye.’

“So Kol and two other chiefs, with many slaves bearing presents, went to Tokolmé. But before they set out, Kol sent secretly a messenger to Leâ, with these words: ‘Though I shall presently come to thee with fair words from Lirou, I bid thee and all thy people take heed, and beware of what thou doest; and keep good watch by night, for Lirou hath an evil mind.’

“This message was given to Lea, and her head men rewarded the messenger, and then held council together, and told Lea what answer she should give.

“This was the answer that she gave to Kol, speaking smilingly, and yet with dignity:—

“‘Say to the chief Lirou that I thank him for the rich presents he hath sent me, and that I would that I could yield to his wish, and give unto him this tract of country that his father gave to mine—so that he might build a strong place of refuge against the King Roka But it cannot be, for we, too, fear Roka. And we are but a few, and some day it might happen that he would fall upon us, and sweep us away as a dead leaf is swept from the branch of a young tree by the strong breath of the storm.’

“So Kol returned to Lirou, and gave him the answer of Leâ, and then Lirou and those of his head men who meant ill to Leâ and her people, met together in secret, and plotted their destruction.

“And again Kol, who loved the Yap girl he had married, sent a message to Leâ, warning her to beware of treachery. And then it was that the Yap people began to build a strong fort, and at night kept a good watch.

“Then Lirou again sent messengers asking that Leâ would let him cut down a score of great trees, and Leâ sent answer to him: ‘Thou art welcome. Cut down one score—or ten score. I give them freely.’ This did she for the sake of peace and good-will, though she and her people knew that Lirou meant harm. But whilst a hundred of Lirou’s men were cutting the trees the Yap people worked at their fort from dawn till dark, and Lirou’s heart was black with rage, for these men of Yap were cunning fort builders, and he saw that, when it was finished, it could never be taken by assault. But he and his chiefs continued to speak fair words, and send presents to Leâ and her people, and she sent back presents in return. Then again Lirou besought her to become his wife, saying that such an alliance would strengthen the friendship between his people and hers; but Leâ again refused him, though with pleasant words, and Lirou said with a smooth face: ‘Forgive me. I shall pester thee no more, for I see that thou dost not care for me.’

“When two months had passed two score of great trees had been felled and cut into lengths of five fathoms each, and then squared. These were to be the main timbers of the outer wall of Lirou’s fort—so he said. But he did not mean to have them carried away, for now he and his chiefs had completed their plans to destroy the people of Yap, and this cutting of the trees was but a subterfuge, designed to throw Leâ and her advisers off their guard.

“One day Lirou and his chiefs, dressed in very gay attire, came into Tokolmé, each carrying in his hand a tame ring-dove which is a token of peace and amity, and desired speech of Leâ. She came forth, and ordered fine mats, trimmed with scarlet parrots’ feathers, to be spread for them upon the ground and received them as honoured guests.

“‘We come,’ said Lirou, lifting her hand to his forehead, ‘to beg thee and all thy people to come to a great feast that will be ready to-morrow, to celebrate the carrying away of the wood thou hast so generously given unto me.’

“‘It is well,’ said Leâ; ‘I thank thee. We shall come.’

“Little did Leâ and her people know that during the night, as it rained heavily, some of Lirou’s warriors had hidden clubs and spears and axes of stone near where the logs lay and where the feast was to be given. They were hidden under a great heap of chips and shavings that came from the fallen trees.

“At dawn on the day of the feast, three hundred of Lirou’s men, all dressed very gaily, marched past Tokolmé, carrying no arms, but bearing baskets of food. They were going, they said, with presents to King Roka to tell him that Lirou would hold faithfully to his promise of tribute.

“‘But why,’ asked the men of Yap, ‘do ye go to-day—which is the day of the feast?’

“‘Because the heart of Lirou is glad, and he desires peace with all men—even Roka. And whilst he and those of our people who remain feast with ye men of Yap, and make merriment, we, the tribute messengers, go unto Roka with words of goodwill.’

“Now these words were lies, for when the three hundred men had marched a quarter of a league past Tokolmé, they halted at a place in the forest where they had arms concealed. Then they waited for a certain signal from Lirou, who had said:—

“‘When thou hearest the sound of a conch shell at the beginning of the feast, march quickly back and form a circle around us and the people of Yap, but let not one of ye be seen. Then when there comes a second blast rush in, and see that no one escapes. Spare no one but the girl Lea.’

“When the sun was a little high Lirou and all his people—men, women and children—came and made ready the feast On each of the squared logs was spread out baked hogs, fowls, pigeons, turtle and fish, and all manner of fruits in abundance, and then also there were placed in the centre of the clearing twenty stone mortars for making kava.

“When all was ready, Leâ and her people were bidden to come, and they all came out of the fort, dressed very gaily and singing as is customary for guests to do. And Lirou stepped out from among his people and took Leâ by the hand and seated her on a fine mat in the place of honour, and as she sat with Lirou beside her, a man blew a loud, long blast upon a conch shell and the feast began.”