A Goddess in the Garb of Mortality—A Garden of Eden—Temptation—Kasawayo and Kora the Mortal—The Battle—Flight to Shadowland.

AGES ago a goddess of shadowland sickened of the sacred halls of the passionless gods. One day a great desire to be a mortal entered her heart, for she had once been a mortal herself and had had the desires of mortality, but knew it not. She was sitting by her cavern door, gazing across the starlit singing seas of paradise, when she made up her mind to desert shadowland.

“My heart is lonely enough; I long for warm lips that will kiss my face and eyes and give unto my soul those impassioned tendernesses that I so strangely remember in my dreams,” she cried, as she listened to the moaning of the waves and sighing forest trees of shadowland. “Why, why should I sit here weeping, listening, for thousands of moons, and none to touch my lips?” So thought the goddess as she put her fingers up and softly twirled the skeins of tangled sunset that adorned her hair. Having made up her mind, she at once went off and consulted the oracles (who were the great dead chiefs of Fiji). Listening eagerly to them, she at once followed their advice, and so started to travel across the wonderful mountains of Mbula. It was in the great mountains of Mbula where she could kneel at the altar and feet of the great god Ndengi, who was the Supreme-Giver of shadowland. After travelling a long way, Kasawayo (for that was the goddess’s name) came to the entrance of a cavern in the mountain’s side. As she approached the entrance, a beautiful light streamed out upon her. She gazed round, and heard the tramp of the vassal gods who were passing across the outer plains. They were going off, she knew, to hang the stars and moons and fleecy clouds up in the sky.

On seeing the mighty heathen gods travelling along by the light of their own eyes—eyes that stared like beautiful moons across the plains—Kasawayo knew she had arrived at the wonderful halls wherein dwelt Ndengi. Prostrating herself before the sentinel gods (for such they were who stood for ever watching by the great hollow of the doorway where she stood), she said: “I am Kasawayo, the goddess of half-remembered dreams, and it is my wish to enter the mighty halls of Mbula.”

The taller sentinel, who stood as high as a mountain, and who was busy tattooing the sky with stars, dropped his mighty calabash that was full of the dead hopes of human dreams, and said:

“Vanaka! O Le Su Kasawayo.”

In another moment Kasawayo had entered the doorway of the underworld, and was travelling along a track that had mighty mountains on each side. Looking upward she saw the spirits of the dead flying ahead of her, on the way to the wrathful Ndengi to be judged for their sins on the great living world.

“Vanaka!” she cried, waving her hand as the sorrowing souls passed right overhead. Death had reshaped them into beautiful bird-like things that had the faces of handsome youths. Kasawayo sighed as their glimmering wings flitted beneath the stars that shone over the mountain peaks; then they passed from her sight.

Kasawayo felt very sad and weary when she at last arrived before the vast pae-pae (throne) whereon sat the great god Ndengi. Across the roof of the underworld shone a myriad stars, and many moons sent wistful gleams across the mysterious forest regions of Spiritland.

Kasawayo trembled as she approached the vast pae-pae. A stream of green light fell slantwise through the branches of the giant palms that leaned over the god’s throne, sending wistful gleams down on the small form of the ambitious goddess. As the moonbeams trickled over her tresses that fell in a shining cataract down to her bare feet, she said:

“O great Ndengi, I have travelled far, for I wish to go down the skies and live on the isles of Fiji.”

Then Ndengi spoke, and his voice sounded like the far-off muttering of thunder in the mountains:

“I will let you go down over the waters of the sunsets, but ere you go I must turn you into a bird.”

At hearing that she would be turned into a bird that could so easily fly to the homes of mortal men, Kasawayo was delighted, and at once fell on her knees before Ndengi and sang a prayer in this wise:

Then she gazed up softly in the great god’s eyes, and whispered in a frightened way:

Like a great wind was the sigh of Ndengi as Kasawayo ceased her sweet song. Then he said: “Arise!” and the goddess rose to her feet and stumbled on her thin legs, for she had been turned into a great bird! Her eyes were still beautiful and sparkled like unto the stars. Her wings were tipped with gold and striped with deep crimson and green, her breast was as snowy white as the orange blossom. Ndengi leaned against the mountains that were pillars of his throne, and, gazing on the transformed Kasawayo, said:

“I have disguised you so that no mortal will dare to love you.”

Kasawayo, on hearing this, smiled in her heart as she stared in Ndengi’s great mirror, a lagoon that imaged him as he sat on his throne. She saw that she had a woman’s eyes, and she knew what a woman’s eyes could do. Then, down the mountain’s paths and across the valleys of Mbau, the goddesses came running, for they had heard the echoes, and would wish Kasawayo good-bye ere she left shadowland.

“Vanaka! Le tao. O Kasawayo, you look beautiful, though you are a bird.”

Kasawayo lifted her eyes in her vanity and saw her own image reflected in Ndengi’s great eyes! “He warns me!” she muttered.

Then Kasawayo spread her new wings, and without a moment’s hesitation flew off into the starlit, silent night. Often her wings brushed against the soft light of the stars as she curved in her downward flight ere she came to the Fijian Isles, which she had seen in dreams and heard about from sinful spirits. She was well pleased as she fluttered over the breadfruit trees that grow in such abundance near Nadronga on the isle of Viti Levu. Sitting on the topmost bough of a tall coco-palm, she gazed down, and stared curiously on a flock of Fijian children who were romping in the drala-weed and deep fern of the forest floor. The sight of those children awakened strange old memories in her mind. Looking down in a sidelong look, as a bird must look, she said:

“Children of the forest, I am the goddess Kasawayo, and have come from shadowland to watch over you all!”

The children gazed in surprise as they looked up and saw a wonderful bird with a human face speaking to them from the topmost bough of the coco-nut palm. Then they all shouted back to the goddess:

“Are you Kasawayo, she of whom the great chiefs of our village so often talk and pray about?”

Then a fierce-looking boy looked up and said:

“You’ve caused a lot of sorrow in our hut, you have. Why didn’t you hear my mother’s prayers?”

But Kasawayo only flapped her wings, and gazed down on the children in sorrow. At this moment a serpent crawled out of the thick bamboo bush hard by the swampy lagoon. It had a long, crimson-hued neck that soared upwards and fell as it crawled, like the neck of a lika-bird (swan). On seeing the children it at once stood erect on its twisted tail, and hissed forth:

“Children, what are you talking to up in that tree?”

“We are talking to a bird, O god of the shore caves,” said the children, as they all pointed up into the coco-palm.

The serpent, who was a disguised god, looked curiously up into the coco-palm, and then said in a soft, insinuating way:

“Why, Kasawayo!—it’s you!” Then it added: “Why, I never thought to see you down here after all these thousands of years!”

“Yes, it’s I, right enough; Ndengi let me come down and see you all for a while.”

“Did he?” responded the serpent.

Kasawayo felt a bit worried as she looked sideways down at the serpent. Then, feeling it would be best to be quite pleasant, she said as she gave a coquettish glance:

“I am pleased to see you again, but what I really wish to see is a handsome Fijian youth who will love me and return with me to the halls of Mbau.”

“You do, do you?” thought the serpent-god as it looked up at Kasawayo, a crafty, envious gleam in its big green eyes.

Kasawayo, who now had a woman’s instincts, trembled slightly as she noticed that look. Then she said:

“I know you’ll help me to find a handsome, passionate mortal, won’t you?”

The serpent-god swelled to double his size, and, looking up at Kasawayo, thought to himself:

“Why, I like the look of you myself, and I can be a passionate lover if I like.”

Being a wary serpent-god, he took care that Kasawayo should have no inkling of his thoughts. Then he unrolled his spotted body so that he might reveal his vivid colours to the best advantage. Having shown his beauty, he said:

“Kasawayo, I will do my best to find you a handsome lover.”

“Vanaka! O serpent-god,” quoth Kasawayo, as she spread her wings that the serpent might see that she was as well-coloured as he was. In another moment she had bravely fluttered down to the forest floor.

“Alow! Woi!” cried the wondering children, as Kasawayo stood beside the hot-eyed serpent.

“Run away, children!” said the artful serpent-god.

In a moment the children had all vanished, were running home to the village to tell their parents all they had seen.

Turning to Kasawayo, the serpent-god said in his gentlest voice:

“Come on!”

And so Kasawayo with a trembling heart went away through the forest, walking by the side of the crawling serpent-god whose heart was bitter indeed to think he was not disguised by the fates as a handsome youth instead of an ugly serpent-thing.

“Sing to me,” said the god, as he glided by Kasawayo’s side.

Kasawayo at once lifted her half-bird, half-human face, and sang.

And, while the serpent-god was flattering Kasawayo and giving artful hints, a handsome native youth suddenly emerged from the forest shadows and stood before them.

“A youth—the very one!” exclaimed the goddess.

On hearing Kasawayo’s unguarded exclamation, the god got into a great rage and cursed himself for asking the goddess to sing. For it was the sweet voice of the goddess that had attracted the handsome youth as he lay dreaming under the coco-palms.

Now this youth’s name was Kora, and Kora was a passionate youth. The serpent-god noticed the look of admiration that leapt into the youth’s eyes as he stood before them.

“I must get rid of him,” thought the god, as he looked up into Kora’s face and said in a very deceitful voice:

“Kora, how very pleased I really am to see you at this moment. What do you think of this beautiful bird that is here by my side?”

Saying this, the serpent, without waiting to hear Kora’s opinion, took hold of the bird’s wing and introduced her to Kora.

As Kasawayo’s eyes sparkled with delight and the handsome youth bowed and kissed her tenderly on the face, the jealous serpent said quickly:

“See, Kora, ’tis but a bird, and for all its beauty is only fit for flying.”

But, nevertheless, the kiss that Kora gave the bird was so unduly prolonged, and was so passionate, that the disguised goddess hung her head and blushed up to the soft feathers that adorned her brow! The jealous serpent perceiving this, and seeing that Kora was already in love with Kasawayo, looked up and said:

“Go away, Kora; Kasawayo is my guest. To-night she goes back again to shadowland, so I have little time with her.”

“Ho! ho!” said Kora; “so you want her all for yourself, do you?”

Saying this, Kora stared defiantly at the serpent.

Without any more ado, the serpent seized hold of the frightened Kasawayo and started off into the deeper shadows of the forest.

In a moment Kora sprang forward, saying:

“You shall not take her away from me; well enough I can see that she loves me, and not you!”

Then Kora lifted his big war-club and made a desperate attack on the serpent. In a moment the serpent had lifted its hideous head and chanted forth, “Wathi, wathi, noko-buli!” As the sad Kora heard those words, he realized that the serpent was a heathen god. He knew well enough that he had no power to thwart the serpent’s wishes and so save Kasawayo.

As the serpent once more seized hold of the goddess, she looked over her shoulder and gazed into the eyes of Kora as much as to say, “O beautiful Kora, I love you. Yet must I go away into the forest with this terrible serpent-god.”

Kora hung his head for shame to think that a serpent had more power than he had.

When the god came to his dwelling-cave, which was by the sea, he pulled Kasawayo hurriedly into the dark beyond the big doorway. This great cave was lit up by a dim light that was emitted from the eyes of the serpent. Dragging Kasawayo over to the far corner he placed the trembling goddess on a large lump of red coral that was carved into a chair. As she sat there, couched in the moonlight that crept through the doorway, she trembled violently, and gazed despairingly on the serpent. It was then that the serpent-god crawled to the far end of the big cavern, and, raising his head till it touched the crystals of the sparkling roof, said, “Wathi, wathi!” and lo, the serpent was no longer a serpent, but stood there before Kasawayo—a handsome god!

Kasawayo said:

“Though you are now turned into a handsome god, still I do not like you. You do not look as beautiful as the Fijian youth, Kora.”

On hearing this, the god got into a terrible rage. Then, quickly cooling down, he said:

“If you will only love me, I will let you walk through the forest by night in your own shape, for, though you are beautiful, you are not as lovely as you were when you had a woman’s form in Mbau. Now will you love me?”

For a moment Kasawayo sat couched in the moonshine, thinking over what the god Buli-buli had said. Then she looked up into his glistening serpent-like eyes, and said:

“I am in your power, so I will do my best to please and love you.”

Immediately the god heard Kasawayo say this, he said in a terrible voice that echoed through the hollow cavern:

“Wathi! wathi!”

Before the echoes had faded away Kasawayo stood shining in the moonshine. She was once more transformed back into a beautiful goddess.

Being a heathen serpent-god, and having none of the passions of the mortals, Buli-buli simply gazed upon Kasawayo, and said:

“Now that I have made you a goddess again, you must sit here in this cavern and sing to me all through the day and all through the night.”

And so for many days and nights Kasawayo sang and sang till her throat was tired. At length her heart began to long for the voice of Kora, and her eyes for one sight of his beauty.

One evening, as the sun was setting, she said to the god Buli-buli, who was at that moment dozing by the cavern’s door:

“Oh, I am so tired of singing away in this cave; though I love you, Buli-buli, still I feel that I would like to go out into the forest by night alone.”

For a moment the god looked at Kasawayo, growled, and then said:

“If you go out into the forest alone, I shall be turned into a serpent again till you come back; and, were you to be unfaithful to me by allowing the lips of a mortal to touch your own, I should be doomed to remain ever in the shape of a serpent.”

Saying this, the god looked fiercely at Kasawayo, as though he would read her soul.

Kasawayo, being a true Fijian goddess-woman, put her most innocent look into her bright eyes.

Then the god continued:

“Now, will you promise me that, if I let you go out into the forest alone, you will be faithful and return again?”

“Oh yes, I promise faithfully that I will be true to you and return to the cave again.” Saying this, Kasawayo’s heart beat violently with joy at the thought that she might meet the handsome Kora once more.

Buli-buli looked up into her face for a long while, then said:

“The sun has dipped his head into the moani aili (ocean); the stars are marching across the plains of shadowland; go, Kasawayo, into the forest alone!”

Kasawayo jumped to her feet, delight shining in her dark eyes. As she passed out of the cavern, she looked over her shoulder to bid farewell to the god, but she only saw a huge serpent crawling on its spotted belly across the floor of the cave.

Directly she arrived outside the cavern she ran away at full speed into the moonlit forest. She was indeed beautiful to look upon. Her hair hung in thick, curling tresses down to her smooth brown back, and often got entangled in her soft feet as she ran. A girdle of sweet-scented flowers swathed her loins. As she ran along, the forest winds put out their spirit fingers, lifted her masses of hair tenderly, and looked at her beautiful form; and the moo-moo flowers scented her body as she brushed past. Coming to the hollows, where grew the taro and the fruits of the mortals, she turned aside and went inland. For she heard the laughter of the little mortal children in the villages and the sounds of drums beating. Her heart fluttered as she heard those mortal noises, and knew that the forest high chiefs were worshipping their Meke idols beneath the big crimson blossoms of the ndrala-trees.

“Tani! Vanaka! O Le saka!” were the words that came to her ears like echoes of some far-away memory.

A great longing came to her soul. She felt that she would love to go into the village that was just by and look upon the faces of the mortals. But she stifled the feeling, for had she not promised the god Buli-buli to keep away from them?

She had not gone far down the little track that led away from the native village, when she came to a moonlit space that was just by a forest lagoon. She knew not why it was, but her heart beat rapidly as she crept nearer and nearer. And no wonder, for there, sitting on a mossy stump of a dead breadfruit tree, with head bowed with grief, was Kora.

Lifting the big palm-leaves that brushed against her face, Kasawayo gazed on the weeping youth with loving eyes. Then in her sweetest accents she commenced to sing this song:

Kora slowly raised his head. For a moment he gazed like one who still thought that he dreamed. The O Le maun oa (nightingale) ceased to sing in the backa trees just overhead, so delicious was the warm-throated melody that Kasawayo sang. Then Kora started up to his feet. He realized that some beautiful goddess was singing to him. He knew well that no one but his lost Kasawayo would have so beautiful a voice.

Still the goddess sang on. And as she sang she thought of the serpent-god who had, for her sake, been transformed into a serpent so that she might go into the forest alone.

She longed to rush forth from the bamboos and reveal herself to Kora. But how could she do so when she had promised the serpent-god to be faithful to him? So she still remained hidden, and sang on.

Kora listened to her voice with delight. Then he cried out:

“Kasawayo! I know ’tis you who sing; come forth and let me see you.”

On hearing the voice of the youth calling her, so strong was her love that she almost rushed forward. For a moment she controlled the awful impulse, and started to sing once more, and these were the words of her song:

Then Kora also made up a song; and the words of the song were like unto this:

Then Kasawayo answered in this wise:

“If I show you my face, will you promise not to kiss me, or say those beautiful words of love that I would so love to hear you say? For, Kora, dear one, I am a goddess, and, though I have a heart that feels some of the passions of the mortals, it is sinful that I should love a mortal.”

Saying this, Kasawayo looked about her, and whispered through the silence of the bushes:

“Hush, Kora, listen. The serpent-god may be able to know what I am doing, though his eyes be far away!”

“O Kasawayo, I promise to do as you wish,” responded the handsome youth.

Then Kora commenced to sing his beautiful song, as with complete trust Kasawayo stepped forth from the bamboo trees and stood before the youth in all her loveliness!

For a moment the young chief Kora placed his hands over his eyes. The beauty of Kasawayo was so dazzling that he dared not gaze upon her without wanting to embrace her. At length, feeling that he could withstand the temptation of her sight without risk, he uncovered his eyes. Then the youth and the goddess gazed upon each other in perfect stillness as though they were perfect figures of cold carven stone, so entranced were they with the sight of each other’s beauty.

The goddess was the first to break the silence. With all the sweet frailness that is born of woman, she, notwithstanding that she was a goddess, put forth her beautiful face and said:

“O Kora mine, let us each close our eyes, and then, inclining our forms one towards the other, imagine that we are lovers kissing.”

Kora replied:

“O Kasawayo, I will do this that you ask of me, but still am I sad to think that the meeting of our lips is only to be imagined. For we mortals love to feel the beauty of the maiden that we love; for, though the imagination is always more beautiful than the reality, still we love the beauty and sorrow that we see more than the heaven that we imagine.”

Saying this, Kora sighed and closed his eyes. Bending forward, he stretched out his hands, and then, kissing the air fondly with his impassioned lips, tried to imagine that he held the beautiful Kasawayo in his arms.

And Kasawayo the spirit-woman?—she did likewise. Only for a few moments did they both stand wrapt in the ecstasy of their imagination. The forest winds sighed amorously through the branches of the ndralas, kissing Kasawayo’s shining tresses that hung around her like a tent as her form inclined towards Kora. Then, lo! the magic fingers of the winds, that were caressing Kasawayo’s tresses, accidentally brushed them against the bare knees of the inclining, impassioned Kora! At this the young chief, through the ecstatic joy of his feelings, lost his balance and, stumbling over a little twig, fell forward into the outstretched arms of Kasawayo!

For a moment their lips met in a passionate kiss; their eyes, out of which shone the light of their love, gazed fondly upon each other.

The travelling fingers of the winds wailed a tender, love-like adagio across the night’s brooding harp of mighty forest trees. Suddenly Kasawayo’s lips gave forth a scream. Alas! she had remembered her promise to the serpent-god.

As remembrance came to her, her arms, that were still folded round the handsome Kora in a fond embrace, shrivelled up, lo!—changed into a bird’s wings.

The serpent-god, far away in his cave, knew what Kasawayo was doing! Full of jealousy and hate, he waited for the lovers to kiss again. But Kasawayo, who also knew the magic of seeing and knowing things that were far away, looked up into Kora’s eyes and said: “O my Kora, kiss me not again; should you do so, the serpent will be able to turn my body, that you so love, into that of a bird.”

Directly Kora heard the scream and felt the rustle of the feathery wings about his shoulders, he stepped apart. Looking into Kasawayo’s eyes, he said:

“I will do as you wish, nor would the thing have happened but for the interference of the winds and the twig of the ndrala-bush. But still it matters not; we will thwart the serpent-god’s spite. You are still very beautiful, though your arms have changed into the wings of a bird.”

As Kora whispered this into her ears, Kasawayo ceased weeping, gazed up into his eyes, and murmured:

“Am I really as lovely as I was before I had these wings?”

Saying this, Kasawayo spread out the wings, and in doing so revealed the topmost curves of her bosom to Kora’s eyes. So exquisite was the sight to the youth, that in a moment of forgetfulness he stepped forward to kiss her once again on her lips and so assure her of his love.

Kasawayo, seeing the brightness of his eyes, and guessing that which he was about to do, ran backwards a few steps. Putting her wings out, she cried:

“O Kora, kiss me not, for if you do I shall lose these limbs that you have touched and told me are so beautiful!”

Kora, in the distraction of not being able to fold her in his arms and kiss her lips, placed his hand to his eyes and stared across the moonlit forest in deep thought. Then, turning to Kasawayo, he said:

“Where is this terrible serpent-god? I am determined to have your love and kisses. I will go and kill the serpent.”

Saying this, Kora drew his stalwart form up to its full height, and, taking hold of his big war-club, swung it around his handsome head three times! Kasawayo, who possessed all the beautiful cunning that mortal woman reveals when she would protect the one she loves, gazed upon the youth with thoughtful eyes.

“Kora, my beloved, you are only a mortal; and, though I know well that you are brave and strong, still my heart is heavy at the thought of your meeting the serpent-god in combat.”

Side by side the lovers walked through the forest and said not a word to each other. Kasawayo, who longed to feel Kora’s arms about her, said not a word, because in her heart she knew that her companion was but a weak mortal, and so might be tempted to do the very thing that would enable the god to turn her into a complete bird again.

Many times did Kora glance sideways at her beauty, and his frame was thrilled with thoughts of love. At length he looked around at Kasawayo, who, truth to tell, had slipped a little into the rear so as to help Kora to resist temptation. Then he said:

“O lovely spirit from shadowland, I can stand this delay no longer. If you do not let me go and fight the serpent, I am quite certain that I shall embrace and kiss you.”

“So be it!” said the sad spirit-woman, for she too longed for the kisses of that mortal youth.

With her heart trembling violently with a great fear, Kasawayo said: “Come on! come!” and, turning round again, led Kora towards the sea in the direction of the serpent-god’s cavern.

As they walked along, Kasawayo’s wings drooped and almost covered the delicate flanks of her form. Kora, who enviously watched every step of her soft feet as they stirred the moonlit flowers of the forest floor, sighed and sighed at the thought of the serpent-god’s power. Often as they tramped along, Kora had to hide his eyes with one of his hands, for, as Kasawayo turned round the bends of the twining forest track, one wing would flop slightly sideways and so reveal the smoothness and exquisite beauty of her form.

Presently they arrived at the mossy slopes that led down to the seashore. For a moment they both stood still and gazed through the forest breadfruit trees out upon the silvered moonlit waters of the sea.

Suddenly Kasawayo cried out:

“Oh, hark! though the ocean is calm, I can hear the moaning of the thundering seas beating against the barriers of the serpent-god’s cavern.” Then, with a deep sigh, she continued: “O Kora, that noise that we hear is a sure sign that the serpent is in a terrible passion because I love you. Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do?”

She gazed into Kora’s eyes with tenderness, for the beauty of mortality and immortality shone in the same eyelight.

Suddenly, with a cry of delight, as a thought came to her, she said:

“O my beloved Chief, I have just thought how we can outwit the serpent-god. For listen! though you die, still you will be mine, for, being a spirit, I shall then be able to take you away to shadowland.”

As the handsome Fijian chief listened, he lifted his war-club and half imagined that he was already fighting the serpent-god.

Kasawayo gazed with admiration upon his herculean frame, and sighed at the thought that she would never possess him in a mortal state. Then she thought like unto this:

“But, still, I shall have his spirit in shadowland, and, though even goddesses cannot have all they want, I shall be satisfied with the spirit of so beautiful a youth, and, more, I can fold him in my arms and imagine he is a beautiful mortal.”

Her reflections were suddenly interrupted by Kora, who gazed upon her with impassioned glance, and said:

“Kasawayo, tell me where this cavern is. I would meet the serpent at once, and, vanquishing it in combat, possess your love and kisses.”

Kasawayo looked earnestly into Kora’s eyes, then, falling forward on one of her rounded knees, and holding a small bamboo branch in front of her bosom so that their figures should be shielded from temptation, said:

“Kora, O beloved, let us gaze upon each other a moment, for methinks it will be the last time I can drink in your mortal beauty with these eyes.”

So for a little while did they kneel together, inclining their figures one towards the other. Poor Kora, who was so truly mortal, gently blew his breath so that it would reach Kasawayo’s tresses. As the soft, jetty curls swayed gently to and fro to the zephyrs that crept from his impassioned lips and revealed the curves of the goddess’s dimpled shoulders, he said:

“O Kasawayo, ’tis sweet to breathe so, and know that at least my breathing caresses your loveliness.”

“Ah me!” softly responded Kasawayo, as she, too, breathed likewise, blowing the curls of Kora’s forehead to and fro with the warm breath of her passion. The very branches of the tall bamboos and palms seemed to bend in leafy sympathy over them as they knelt and gazed into each other’s eyes.

“May I not touch, with my finger outstretched so, the softest dimple of your throat, Kasawayo?”

Kasawayo trembled from head to feet and nearly fell forward at the pleading of the one whom she so much loved. And it is rumoured that all the maidens who slept at that moment in the native village of Nadranga, which is on the banks of the river a mile away, dreamed of the one youth who truly loved them, not only for their beauty, but for the light of shadowland that shone in their eyes.

It so happened that Kora, seeing the weakness of Kasawayo, as she nearly fell forward into his arms, quickly came to the rescue; for he at once ceased blowing his breath into the tangled mass of hair that fell on the goddess’s bosom. Then he swiftly placed his hand before his eyes, and hid from Kasawayo’s sight the light that he knew would prove their undoing if he persisted in gazing upon her.

Leaping to his feet he said:

“Come, O my loved one, let me go and vanquish this serpent-god. I never knew that I could hate a god so much as I now hate the god who has come between us.”

Kasawayo led the way down the slope. In a few moments they both stood, like statues of despair, outside the door of the serpent-god’s cavern.

“Come forth, O serpent!” said Kora, as he struck his war-club a mighty blow against the coral rocks that stood like pillars at the awful doorway.

Kasawayo, remembering how she had promised to be faithful to the god, trembled as her lover once more struck the coral-pillars, till one of them fell crash at her feet.

It was then that a great, roaring sound, and what sounded like the angry lashing of a mighty tail, came out from the cavern’s gloom. Then the serpent’s huge head appeared at the cavern’s door. In a moment Kora bravely sprang forward, and the battle began.

Silently Kasawayo watched. She knew that Kora was mortal, and so had little chance in such an unequal combat. So well did she know how the battle would go, that she did not even cry out when the serpent’s tail gave the brave Kora a terrible blow that stretched him dead at her feet. For a moment she watched with a strange look in her eyes. She knew that, did he not truly love her, he would still lie as one dead. But it was not so, for, as she watched, and the moonlight touched Kora’s dead face, his shadow left his mortal body and leapt straightway into Kasawayo’s outstretched arms. The serpent-god, seeing this happen before his eyes, roared with rage till the cavern shook and the rocks around trembled as though from an earthquake. Going forward on his belly, the god slashed at Kora’s body with his tail. But it was only a dead body, and could not be hurt more than death had hurt it. Looking up, in his fearful rage, he saw Kasawayo and Kora’s spirit hand in hand as they rushed away along the seashore.

The first pale glimmer of dawn tinted the eastern skyline, and yet a few stars were shining, when the little Fijian children awoke in the villages. They all came running out of the hut doors in the village of Rumbo-Rumbo.

There was not a breath of wind stirring the palm trees that sheltered their hut groves. So they rushed off fast towards the sea to catch the fish in the shore lagoons. Suddenly, as they ran along and the Lukas (parrots) wheeled across the skies from the far-off mountains, they all stood perfectly still. It was a wonderful sight that met their gaze. For there, up in the sky, they distinctly saw the spirits of Kasawayo and Kora, with their large wings outspread, as they faded away with the stars far-off over the seas.

And to this very day, by the hut fires of the native villages, the frizzly-headed old chiefs tell the children how the handsome warrior Kora was seen in the arms of the beautiful Kasawayo, as they passed away, flying together into shadowland—ages and ages ago. And still the Fijians gaze with eyes of awe and complete reverence at the serpents that glide across the forest floor of their lovely isles. And if a chief should kill a bird with gold tipping its wings, loud are their lamentations.

A few days after my experiences in Fiji, I secured a berth on a fore-and-aft schooner that was bound for Samoa. After the usual discomfiture and rebellious irritation to one of my temperament when obeying the orders of disciplinary shipboard life, I arrived at Apia. The skipper, who had relieved the monotony of the voyage by telling me of his experiences when he sailed as mate under the notorious Captain Bully Hayes, gave me several pounds above my set wages, thus showing his appreciation of my violin-playing. I had often done my level best to extemporize suitable obligato to his vocal attempts when he invited me into the stuffy cuddy after eight bells. The mate died on the voyage across, and when we buried him in his hammock-shroud, the skipper, who read the burial service, had the best that was in him awakened. Like most men he had a kind, brotherly side to his rough exterior, and, as is usual with most men, his congenial side only revealed itself through feeling the near presence of the cold, poetic hand of death. I know his voice was tremulous when he said, “Let go!” and we softly dropped “Scotty” the mate into the calm depths of the hot, tropic seas, where he left a few bubbles behind him. Just before Scotty died, I held his hand and said a few kind things, and I like to fancy that his soul remembered and touched the skipper’s heart with a generous impulse so that I might arrive in Samoa with plenty of cash in my pocket.

Being wealthy and having an hereditary hatred for work, I mooched about for days, admiring the semi-poetic life of the natives, enjoying the generous fellowship of the truest democracy the world ever harboured or is ever likely to see. Then I met an aged mat-worshipper. First, I must say that mat-worship was a strange old Samoan custom that was still believed in by the aged chiefs when I was a boy. A bit of old tappa-cloth or fibre carpet was regarded as a sacred object (etua).

This etua was supposed to be a wonderful talisman, a kind of Aladdin’s lamp; it was the “Open Sesame” to all its worshippers’ hopes on earth and in the underworld life-to-be. I became deeply interested in those old mats, my susceptibilities being aroused much the same as are the susceptibilities of those who visit the ruins of ancient Rome and Pompeii. The mat-worshipper with whom I became acquainted was an aged chief who lived near Safata village. He possessed one of the aforesaid revered objects. There it hung, just over his sleeping-couch in his hut. Through being repeatedly kissed and rubbed by the chief and his ancestors, for Heaven only knows how many generations, it was dilapidated and threadbare. I recall the very light that shone in that aged chief’s eyes as he gazed on his sacred mat. Though very aged he was still a fine distinguished-looking old man. A vivid scar stained his well-curved, tawny shoulders, for he had been a great warrior in his early days. Throwing the tribal insignia of knighthood (a large tappa-cloth rug of beautiful design) over his shoulders, he drew himself up in a majestic manner, and gave me a half-critical glance of defiance as I held my nose—for that old mat smelt like the unclean hide of a mangy dog. It was, to him, the most romantic and sacred of relics and its odour exquisite incense! Young as I was, my curiosity was aroused.

“What is it for? Why so beautiful?” I inquired. Whereupon the old chief’s tattooed brow puckered up, looking like a piece of parchment covered with hieroglyphics. He gazed upon me half in pity, half in scorn. Once more he reverentially gazed upon the mat. Then in pigeon English, and with many half-childish gesticulations, he endeavoured to enlighten my profound ignorance as to the hidden virtues of that threadbare symbol of the beautiful.

“It am great god-mat, belonga to great chief only. You white man, but all-e-samee you fool, you not one great chief, you no got mat—eh?”

So saying, he reverently lifted the mat from the wall-nail and carried it outside the hut, where I discovered that it was not such a dirty old bit of rubbish after all. I quickly cast aside the assumed reverential aspect with which I had masked myself that I might hide my boyish levity. For, suddenly, I too gazed with genuine interest on that mouldy object. Lo! particles of its threadbareness glistened, shone in the sunlight! A tender feeling came to me for that dirty old bit of matting when I did exactly as the old native bade me—touched with my fingers the shining skeins that waved among its coarse fibres: it was the hair of some dead woman! It appeared that some ancestress of the old chief’s had imparadised that relic, for there shone her hair that had been delicately, cleverly woven into the fibres of his sacred mat.

I was greatly impressed by that old mat’s secret. Often in my world-wide travels I have been asked to inspect the heirlooms of great families and the relics of faded dynasties, but nothing seems to have affected me or aroused my admiration as that old mat and the pride of its possessor did.

It was about this period that I met another character whom I found quite as interesting as my friend who owned the sacred mat. This new character was a poet.

“Talofa! Tusitala!” said the wrinkled native poet when he welcomed me into his humble homestead.

Then I played him several heathen strains on my violin. His profile was of a Dantesque type, the nose finely curved, and the deep-set eyes full of intellect. He prostrated himself at my feet when I had finished playing to him. I can never feel grateful enough to the old mat-worshipper for introducing that mighty poet to me. The wonderful tales he told and the delight I derived from his friendship (for we went troubadouring together), have made me wealthy in many a memory since.

In Part II of this Volume I will endeavour to give an impression of my memory of O Le Langi, the pagan poet.