Chapter VIII. Bastin Attempts the Martyr's Crown
That carved stone and the marble hand took a great hold of myimagination. What did they mean? How could they have come to the bottomof that hole, unless indeed they were part of some building and itsornaments which had been destroyed in the neighbourhood? The stone ofwhich we had only uncovered a corner seemed far too big to have beencarried there from any ship; it must have weighed several tons. Besides,ships do not carry such things about the world, and none had visitedthis island during the last two centuries at any rate, or localtradition would have recorded so wonderful a fact. Were there, then,once edifices covered with elegant carving standing on this place, andwere they adorned with lovely statues that would not have disgracedthe best period of Greek art? The thing was incredible except on thesupposition that these were relics of an utterly lost civilisation.
Bickley was as much puzzled as myself. All he could say was that theworld was infinitely old and many things might have happened in itwhereof 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 unapproachablemountain in the midst of the lake and that on it appeared to besomething which looked like ruins as seen from the top of the cliffthrough 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 theedge of the lake, a distance of five or six miles over rough country.Having arrived there I perceived that the cone-shaped mountain in thecentre, which was about a mile from the lake shore, was much larger thanI had thought, quite three hundred feet high indeed, and with avery large circumference. Further, its sides evidently once had beenterraced, and it was on one of these broad terraces, half-way up andfacing towards the rising sun, that the ruin-like remains were heaped.I examined them through my glasses. Undoubtedly it was a cyclopeanruin built of great blocks of coloured stone which seemed to have beenshattered by earthquake or explosion. There were the pillars of a mightygateway and the remains of walls.
I trembled with excitement as I stared and stared. Could I not get tothe place and see for myself? I observed that from the flat bush-cladland at the foot of the mountain, ran out what seemed to be the residueof a stone pier which ended in a large table-topped rock between twoand three hundred feet across. But even this was too far to reach byswimming, besides for aught I knew there might be alligators in thatlake. I walked up and down its borders, till presently I came to a pathwhich led into a patch of some variety of cotton palm.
Following this path I discovered a boat-house thatched over with palmleaves. Inside it were two good canoes with their paddles, floating andtied to the stumps of trees by fibre ropes. Instantly I made up my mindthat I would paddle to the island and investigate. Just as I was aboutto step into one of the canoes the light was cut off. Looking up I sawthat a man was crouching in the door-place of the boat-house in order toenter, and paused guiltily.
"Friend-from-the-Sea" (that was the name that these islanders had givento 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 oflife?"
"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 carriedand remembered that I was unarmed. Then I came out.
"What does all this mean, Chief?" I asked angrily when we were clear ofthe patch of cotton palm.
"I mean, Friend, that you have been very near to making a longer journeythan you thought. Have patience now and listen to me. I saw you leavingthe village this morning and followed, suspecting your purpose. Yes,I followed alone, saying nothing to the priests of Oro who fortunatelywere away watching the Bellower for their own reasons. I saw yousearching out the secrets of the mountain with those magic tubes thatmake 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 iscalled 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 younot come away from that canoe I was about to discover whether this isso."
"Then for what are the canoes used?" I asked with irritation.
"You see that flat rock, Friend, with the hole beyond, which is themouth of a cave that appeared only in the great storm that brought youto our land? They are used to convey offerings which are laid upon therock. Beyond it no man may go, and since the beginning no man has evergone."
"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 isOro?"
"Oro is a god, Friend, though it is true that the priests say that abovehim there is a greater god called Degai, the Creator, the Fate who madeall things and directs all things."
"Very well, but why do you suppose that Oro, the servant of Degai, livesin that mountain? I thought that he lived in a grove yonder where yourpriests, as I am told, have an image of him."
"I do not know, Friend-from-the-Sea, but so it has been held from thebeginning. The image in the grove is only visited by his spirit fromtime to time. Now, I pray you, come back and before the priests discoverthat you have been here, and forget that there are any canoes upon thislake."
So, thinking it wisest, I turned the matter with a laugh and walkedaway with him to the village. On our road I tried to extract some moreinformation but without success. He did not know who built the ruin uponthe mountain, or who destroyed it. He did not know how the terracescame there. All he knew was that during the convulsion of Nature whichresulted 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 thoughwithin it great forces were at work. Then it was observed to have risena good many more feet above the surface of the lake, as might be notedby the water mark upon the shore, and then also the mouth of the cavehad appeared. The priests said that all this was because the Oromatuaswho dwelt there were stirring, which portended great things. Indeedgreat 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 moreto be learned, dropped the subject which was never mentioned between usagain, at least not for a long while. But in my heart I determined thatI 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 beingdrawn by a magnet.
As it happened, before so very long I did go to the mountain, not ofmy own will but because I was obliged. It came about thus. One night Iasked 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 idolin the Grove. Were it not for this accursed image he believed that thewhole island would become Christian. I asked him to be more plain.He explained that all his work was thwarted by this idol, since hisconverts declared that they did not dare to be baptised while it satthere in the Grove. If they did, the spirit that was in it would bewitchthem 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 mensometimes offer human sacrifices to this satanic fetish, when there is adrought or anything of that sort."
"I can quite believe it," I answered, "but as they will scarcely removethe
ir god and with it their own livelihood and authority, I am afraidthat 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 mutteringsomething about martyrs, but paid no attention. Little did I guesswhat was going on in his pious but obstinate mind. In effect it wasthis--that if no one else would remove that idol he was quite ready todo it himself.
However, he was very cunning over that business, almost Jesuiticalindeed. Not one word did he breathe of his dark plans to me, and stillless to Bickley. He just went on with his teaching, lamenting from timeto time the stumbling-block of the idol and expressing wonder as to howit might be circumvented by a change in the hearts of the islanders, orotherwise. Sad as it is to record, in fact, dear old Bastin went as nearto telling a fib in connection with this matter as I suppose he had everdone in his life. It happened thus. One day Bickley's sharp eye caughtsight of Bastin walking about with what looked like a bottle of whiskyin his pocket.
"Hallo, old fellow," he said, "has the self-denying ordinance brokendown? I didn't know that you took pegs on the sly," and he pointed tothe bottle.
"If you are insinuating, Bickley, that I absorb spirits surreptitiously,you are more mistaken than usual, which is saying a good deal. Thisbottle contains, not Scotch whisky but paraffin, although I admitthat its label may have misled you, unintentionally, so far as I amconcerned."
"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 thesmell of it upon one's skin. Not that I have brought it here with thatsole object. The truth is that I am anxious to experiment with a lamp ofmy own design made--um--of native wood," and he departed in a hurry.
"When next old Bastin wants to tell a lie," commented Bickley, "heshould make up his mind as to what it is to be, and stick to it. Iwonder what he is after with that paraffin? Not going to dose any ofmy patients with it, I hope. He was arguing the other day that it is agreat remedy taken internally, being quite unaware that the lamp varietyis not used for that purpose."
"Perhaps he means to swallow some himself, just to show that he isright," 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 elementaryknowledge of the main facts of astronomy, which remained with me fromboyhood when I had attended lectures on the subject, which I had triedto 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 thestars. In this endeavour, I may say, I failed absolutely, as I did notknow 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 wonderedwhither he had gone at that hour. On arriving at my observation-post, arocky eminence on open ground, where, with Tommy at my side, I took myseat with a telescope, I was astonished to see or rather to hear a greatnumber of the natives walking past the base of the mound towards thebush. Then I remembered that some one, Marama, I think, had informed methat there was to be a great sacrifice to Oro at dawn on that day. Afterthis I thought no more of the matter but occupied myself in a futilestudy of the heavenly bodies. At length the dawn broke and put a periodto my labours.
Glancing round me before I descended from the little hill, I saw a flameof light appear suddenly about half a mile or more away among thosetrees which I knew concealed the image of Oro. On this personally I hadnever had the curiosity to look, as I knew that it was only a hideousidol stuck over with feathers and other bedizenments. The flame shotsuddenly straight into the still air and was followed a few secondslater by the sound of a dull explosion, after which it went out. Also itwas 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 mightmean. Then of a sudden appeared Bickley, who had been attending someurgent case, and asked me who was exploding gunpowder. I told him that Ihad no idea.
"Then I have," he answered. "It is that ass Bastin up to some game. NowI guess why he wanted that paraffin. Listen to the row. What are theyafter?"
"Sacrificing Bastin, perhaps," I replied, half in jest. "Have you yourrevolver?"
He nodded. We always wore our pistols if we went out during the darkhours.
"Then perhaps we had better go to see."
We started, and had not covered a hundred yards before a girl, whomI recognised as one of Bastin's converts, came flying towards us andscreaming out, "Help! Help! They kill the Bellower with fire! They cookhim like a pig!"
"Just what I expected," said Bickley.
Then we ran hard, as evidently there was no time to lose. While we wentI 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 intoflame. Then he ran back, calling out that the devil was dead. As he didso there was a loud explosion and Oro flew into pieces. His burninghead 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 Bellowerand made him fast. Now they were engaged in heating an oven in which toput 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 agood runner. "Why can't he leave other people's gods alone instead ofblowing 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 hisbreath 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 inpalm-fibre shackles, stood Bastin, quite unmoved, smiling indeed, in asort of seraphic way which irritated us both extremely. Round him dancedthe infuriated priests of Oro, and round them, shrieking and howlingwith rage, was most of the population of Orofena. We rushed up sosuddenly that none tried to stop us, and took our stand on either sideof 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 anyof the early martyrs were ever roasted and eaten, though, of course,throwing them into boiling oil or water was fairly common. I take itthat the rite is sacrificial and even in a low sense, sacramental, notmerely 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, thoughit is one that I cannot expect you to appreciate. And now please bequiet as I wish to say my prayers. I imagine that those stones will behot enough to do their office within twenty minutes or so, which is notvery long."
At that moment Marama appeared, evidently in a state of greatperturbation. With him were some of the priests or sorcerers who weredancing about as I imagine the priests of Baal must have done, andfilled with fury. They rolled their eyes, they stuck out their tongues,they uttered weird cries and shook their wooden knives at the placidBastin.
"What is the matter?" I asked sternly of the chief.
"This, Friend-from-the-Sea. The Bellower there, when the sacrificewas about to be offered to Oro at the dawn, rushed forward, and havingthrust something between the legs of the image of the god, poured yellowwater over it, and with fire caused it to burst into fierce flame. Thenhe ran away and mocked the god who presently, with a loud report,flew into pieces and killed that man. Therefore the Bellower must besacrificed."
"What to?" I asked. "The image has gone and the piece of it thatascended fell not upon the Bellower, as would have happened if the godhad been angry with him, but on one of its own priests, whom it killed.Therefore, having been sacrificed by t
he god itself, he it is thatshould be eaten, not the Bellower, who merely did what his Spirit badehim."
This ingenious argument seemed to produce some effect upon Marama, butto the priests it did not at all appeal.
"Eat them all!" these cried. "They are the enemies of Oro and haveworked sacrilege!"
Moreover, to judge from their demeanour, the bulk of the people seemedto agree with them. Things began to look very ugly. The priests rushedforward, threatening us with their wooden weapons, and one of them evenaimed a blow at Bickley, which only missed him by an inch or two.
"Look here, my friend," called the doctor whose temper was rising, "youname 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 bedizenedfellow who literally was foaming at the mouth with rage, rushed forwardagain, his club raised, apparently with the object of dashing outBickley's brains.
Suddenly Bickley lifted his revolver and fired. The man, shot throughthe heart, sprang into the air and fell upon his face--stone dead. Therewas consternation, for these people had never seen us shoot anythingbefore, and were quite unacquainted with the properties of firearms,which they supposed to be merely instruments for making a noise. Theystared, 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 theempty cartridge, and, seizing the dead man, rolled him into the burningpit.
"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 roadthere. To the island in the lake where they dare not follow us, for itis 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 herewe shall die."
"Very well," he said; "let us try it."
While we were speaking I was cutting Bastin's bonds. "Thank you," hesaid. "It is a great relief to stretch one's arms after they have beencompressed with cords. But at the same time, I do not know that I amreally grateful. The martyr's crown was hanging above me, so to speak,and now it has vanished into the pit, like that man whom Bickleymurdered."
"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'scrown, for I think you have done enough mischief for one morning."
"If you are trying to shift the responsibility for that unfortunateman's destruction on to me--"
"Oh! shut it and trot," broke in Bickley. "Those infernal savages arecoming with your blessed converts leading the van."
So we "trotted" at no mean pace. As we passed it, Bastin stooped downand picked up the head of the image of Oro, much as Atalanta in Academypictures is represented as doing to the apples, and bore it away intriumph.
"I know it is scorched," he ejaculated at intervals, "but they mighttrim it up and stick it on to a new body as the original false god. Nowthey can't, for there's nothing left."
As a matter of fact, we were never in any real danger, for our pursuitwas very half-hearted indeed. To begin with, now that their first ragewas over, the Orofenans who were fond of us had no particular wish to dous to death, while the ardour of their sorcerers, who wished this verymuch, had been greatly cooled by the mysterious annihilation of theiridol and the violent deaths of two of their companions, which theythought might be reduplicated in their own persons. So it came aboutthat the chase, if noisy, was neither close nor eager.
We reached the edge of the lake where was the boat-house of which Ihave spoken already, travelling at little more than a walk. Here wemade Bastin unfasten the better of the two canoes that by good luck wasalmost filled with offerings, which doubtless, according to custom,must be made upon the day of this feast to Oro, while we watched againstsurprise at the boat-house door. When he was ready we slipped in andtook our seats, Tommy jumping in after us, and pushed the canoe, nowvery heavily laden, out into the lake.
Here, at a distance of about forty paces, which we judged to be beyondwooden 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 stoodstaring at us stupidly. Bastin, thinking the occasion opportune, liftedthe hideous head of the idol which he had carefully washed, and began topreach on the downfall of "the god of the Grove."
This action of his appeared to awake memories or forebodings inthe minds of his congregation. Perhaps some ancient prophecy wasconcerned--I do not know. At any rate, one of the priests shoutedsomething, whereon everybody began to talk at once. Then, stooping down,they threw water from the lake over themselves and rubbed its sandand mud into their hair, all the while making genuflexions toward themountain in the middle, after which they turned and departed.
"Don't you think we had better go back?" asked Bastin. "Evidently mywords have touched them and their minds are melting beneath the light ofTruth."
"Oh! by all means," replied Bickley with sarcasm; "for then their spearswill touch us, and our bodies will soon be melting above the fires ofthat pit."
"Perhaps you are right," said Bastin; "at least, I admit that you havemade matters very difficult by your unjustifiable homicide of thatpriest who I do not think meant to injure you seriously, and really wasnot at all a bad fellow, though opinionated in some ways. Also, I do notsuppose that anybody is expected, as it were, to run his head into themartyr'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 verypoor one; like a sunbeam would be better."
Here Bickley gave way with his paddle so vigorously that the canoe wasas nearly as possible upset into the lake.
In due course we reached the flat Rock of Offerings, which proved to bequite as wide as a double croquet lawn and much longer.
"What are those?" I asked, pointing to certain knobs on the edge of therock 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 downby many thousands of years of weather. Yes, look, there is the cut ofthe cables upon the base of that one, and very big cables they must havebeen."
We stared at one another--that is, Bickley and I did, for Bastin wasstill engaged in contemplating the blackened head of the god which hehad overthrown.
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