  “He fails to outrun me” (repeated many times). “The canoe trembles with speed” (many times). A few untranslatable words are uttered; then a long chain of ancestral names is invoked. “I lash you, O tree; the tree flies; the tree becomes like a breath of wind; the tree becomes like a butterfly; the tree becomes like a cotton seed fluff. One sun” (i.e., time) “for my companions, midday sun, setting sun; another sun for me——” (here the reciter’s name is uttered)—“the rising sun, the rays of the (rising) sun, (the time of) opening the huts, (the time of the) rising of the morning star!” The last part means: “My companions arrive at sunset, while I arrive with the rising sun”—(indicating how far my canoe exceeds them in speed.) These formulÆ are used both to make the log lighter for the present purpose of pulling it into the village, and in order to give it greater speed in general, when it is made up into a waga. After the log has been finally brought into the village, and left on the baku, the main central place, the creeper by means of which it has been pulled and which is called in this connection duku, is not cut away at once. This is done ceremonially on the morning of the following day, sometimes after even two or three days have passed. The men of the community assemble, and the one who will scoop out the canoe, the builder (tota’ila waga, “the cutter of the canoe”) performs a magical rite. He takes his adze (ligogu) and wraps some very light and thin herbs round the blade with a piece of dried banana leaf, itself associated with the idea of lightness. This he wraps only half round, so that a broad opening is left, and the breath and voice have free access to the herbs and blade of the adze. Into this opening, the magician chants the following long spell: |
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