THE BIRTH OF THE COCOANUT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue II, 13 July 1895, Page 36

THE BIRTH OF THE COCOANUT.

A SAM O AN LEGEND.

(by

J. H. GIBBONS, U.S.N.)

the shores of the mountainshielded bay of I’ago Pago, there ’ I’ved, long before the Papalagi w! ' (which is the Samoan for peopleil Wvldl Illi that-burst-through-the-clouds) had A /// ! se t f° ot on the South Sea Islands, th 6 uo ’- , ' e chief Asi. His family consisted of several sons — tall, I lithe, and bronze-skinned : lazy in L--~ — J time of peace, but brave in time of war—and one daughter, Panua, the taipu of the village. Now, to be a taipu carried with it all the honours of barbaric royalty. Fanua moved about with a train of attendant maidens, whose duty it was to anticipate her every wish. No Cleopatra could have been more despotic. Yet the honour had been won by real merit ; for among all the maidens scattered through the numerous villages of tne tribe living on the narrow shores of Pago Pago, not one could be found that handled a canoe with such fearless skill as Fanua. Indeed, it was a favourite story among the old warriors that on the occasion of a certain memorable storm she had been carried in her canoe far out to sea, where for three days she had battled against wind and wave, and, when the gale abated, had brought her canoe safely into the bay, much to surprise and joy of her despairing family. The adventure is still preserved in the songs of the siva. And in this same siua or native dance, there was no one that could equal Fanua in ease of movement and grace of gesture. When the tribe made a pilgrimage to Apia, where the great Malietoa often called them to a /wio or general council, Fanua always led the march from the beach to the royal hut, and no leader of the Amazons could have had a more martial tread or wielded a spear with more dexterity. In short, the daughters of Samoa were judged no less by the rough standard of courage and endurance than by the more gentle gifts of grace and beauty. In all of these Fanua was without a rival.

In time of peace and plenty the taipu's lot was that of a perpetual queen of the May ; and bad it not been for a feud that broke out between the islands of Aunu and Tutuila, Fanua's reign might have gone on like that of the fairy Titania. This feud soon ripened into a war. Spears were sharpened and clubs were brandished in all the villages of Pago Pago. The great war-canoes were lashed together ; bands of shouting men sailed away, singing their battle songs and swearing vengeance. The old chief Asi watched his departing comrades with tears in his eyes ; he could not go with them for he was feeble and ailing. Fanua remained with her father, and from day to day brought him the news of the neighbouring camps. Villages were burned ; fields were plundered ; women were carried off; hundreds of men were killed. For nearly a year the savage warfare reigned ; then both parties began to think of peace. The men from Aunu returned to their island, and the men of Tutuila proclaimed the war ended. Joy reigned in Pago Pago. The cloud was lifted only for a time, however. Upon the heels of war came gaunt-eyed famine. The breadfruit trees had been stripped ; the plantains shrivelled away into dry husks ; not even a patch of jams or taro was left. Three of his sons had been killed in the wars ; the two that had been spared claimed that their recent hardships entitled them to a long rest. So it fell to Fauna s lot to keep the family in food, for her brothers did nothing but sit around and talk about their battles. Every day she would tramp through the bush, looking for roots and berries, or paddle off in her canoe to spear fish. Then, when night came, she would steal behind the tapa that screened oft' her sleeping-place, always tired out and sometimes very hungry. Poor Fanua ! the world was so full of toil and trouble now, and the old glad days seemed so far, far away.

One afternoon Fanua had returned early from her labours. Finding her father asleep she launched her canoe and set out for Fagatoga, a point of land that separated I’ago Pago from the sea. This was a favourite haunt ot Fanua’s when she felt weary and depressed. There was a narrow strip of white sandy beach, walled in by high rocks, and the tiniest thread of a stream that came trickling down the mountain side. The sea bad washed out a long, narrow ledge at the root of the cliff, and here Fanua, alter hauling up her canoe, sat down to dangle her feet in the cool waters of the brook. Round the point came the sound of the breakers ; the air was filled with the smell of seaweed ; brilliant winged insects floated in the sunlight, and the waters of the bay danced and sparkled as the trade-wind swept lightly over them. Fanua, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, was just falling into a delightful reverie, when she was startled by hearing a low deep voice call out her name. She sprang to her feet. Who could have followed her ?

The voice was unfamiliar ; she must bedreaming. Thus would she have dismissed her fears with a laugh ; but the smile that trembled on her lips turned into an exclamation of fright, when, almost within reach of her hand, and slowly wriggling toward her, she saw a hideous sea-monster. Its head seemed to tower above the boulders on the shore ; its tawny mane, tangled with weeds and kelp, fell over a pair of large green eyes that rolled and glittered ; its flaming red nostrils distended with each breath, and its open mouth showed immense fangs that could easily have snapped a war-canoe in twain. Slowly waving its head the dreadful thing drew nearer and nearer.

There was a narrow path leading along the course of the brook, and up this Fanua clambered, never looking

behind her until she had reached the bank above. Here she paused for breath. A low, deep, appealing voice was calling, ’ Stay Fanua ; stay 1’ More frightened than ever at this mysterious summons—for there was no human being in sight—she sped away through the

thicket, believing herself to be pursued by a demon, and never slopped running until she had reached the outskirts of her own village. Asi lay on his mat groaning and complaining, when Fanua, who had tarried outside long enough to regain her wits, came into the hut. Her two brothess were sitting around a kava bowl, in company with some friends, still talking of their battles, and from time to time bidding the old man drink. Asi shook his head, and with a guesture of despair cried, ‘ Give me food, not

drink.’ Fanua did what she could to comfort him, but only in a half-hearted way, for her recent adventure was preying on her mind. Perhaps, after all—thus her thoughts ran on—she might be mistaken alout the voice, but the sea-monster was a reality, and there was her canoe to be rescued. If she were to tell her brothers of her experience, they would probably laugh at her. So Fanua kept her own counsel ; but at the same time she was more and more determined to rescue her canoe before her brothers should find out her loss.

Sunrise next day found her creeping along the edge of the bank that overhung the spot where she had been so rudely disturbed. To her joy she found that her canoe was still safe. She was going over in her mind the best and safest way to reach it, when there was a great commotion in the water below her. A pair of green eyes surmounted by a tawny mane rose slowly out of the sea. Again a voice called * Fanua !’ There was no mistaking it this time ; the voice came from the sea-monsUr. She was not at all frightened now, for she was in a position of safety ; but she was sorely puzzled. At last she plucked up courage enough to cry out, ‘ Who is it calling ?’ ‘ Kolkol calls,’ replied the voice. ‘ Kolkol, the guardian of the sea-caves. Look, he brings you food.’ And surely enough the sea monster wriggled up on the beach with a large fish between his paws. Fanua had been taught by her father that the spirit of Alii, the great progenitor of all Samoans, often showed itself in the islands ; that the fury of the hurricane was his quickening breath, the roar of the breakers his sullen muttering. She knew, too, that some of the older women could turn the cooing of the lupi or wood-pigeon into a love-song and that young girls often held conchshells to their ears in order to hear the whispers of absent sweethearts. In these simple stories fishes were always mute, and sea-monsters unknown. The voice that was calling to her now was not harsh and terrifying but deep and clear like that of the tulajale or talkingman at the fono when he leaned upon his staff and pleaded for his people. Fanua felt that if spirit this was, it was surely a good spirit, despite its hideous form. ‘ I thank you for the fish,’ she said demurely, and then

added quickly, ‘ but I should like very much to get my canoe. ‘ Fanua need not fear Kolkol,’ replied the voice. ‘ Your 'people are hungry ; Kolkol brings them food. When the waters have crept to their highest mark on

the beach, meet him here each day, and he will bring you such humble gifts as his poor haunts afford. Come, take your canoe. What, you still fear Kolkul ? Goodbye, then, until to-morrow. Remember to-morrow when the waters have risen.’ The monster slid back into the sea and sank out of sight. The voice was gone, and Fanua, although she could not tell why, had complete confidence in its promise. She ran down to the beach, hastily launched her canoe, and after picking up the fish, paddled toward

home. Occasionally she looked back, but there was not a ripple on the bay, save where the canoe left its eddying wake. The women of the village were astir when she returned. Many of them were bringing water from the springs. To some that questioned her, Fanua simply replied by showing the fish. * Asi has a kind daughter,’croaked one old dame, ‘but his sons are a lazy lot.’ Every day, at the turn of the tide, Fanua stole away to Fagatoga, where the sea-monster was always waiting with his gift. Sometimes he brought palolo— queer little wriggling things that the Samoans considered a great delicacy, because there was only one

day in the year that they rose to the surface of the sea. She listened to strange stories that the voice told her about the vast regions beneath the reefs, where the mermaid taipus wove anemones for stars in their crowns, and wove their lava-lavas out of sea-grasses. * So they dance the siva, these mermaid taipus ?’ she asked him one day. ‘No; you are still queen,’ replied the voice; and Fanua blushed at the compliment. ‘ You must dance for me on the beach some day.’

‘ To-morrow, if you like,’ said she, gaily. ‘ Since the famine we have had no dancing. I will bedeck myself for the festival of the fishes, just as I used to on palolo day. It will be twilight when the tide is high. Come, then ; you shall see rue. ’

The sea-monster crawled up to the water’s edge next day, just as the crimson glow of the setting sun was fading away, and a silver path marked the course of the slowly rising morn. Fanua was standing on a ledge, impatiently waiting for him. She wore a towering head-dress, made of long white woody fibres, in which were stuck curiously-carved combs and bunches of red hybiscus. Around her throat was a necklace of whales’ teeth ; amulets of cowrie shells gleamed on her wrists and ankles. Her lava-lava, or kirtle, was of the finest tapu— a fabric made from the mulberry plant and stained with brilliant colours. Carefully spreading a finelywoven mat on the ledge, and seating herself crosslegged, Fanua, at the bidding of the voice, began the siva. First she described, in a low chant, the famine in the land, and ended by bending forward until her forehead touched the mat. Then she began patting with her hands, slowly at first, then faster and faster, nerved by the spirit of the song she was singing—a battle song describing the victories of the men of Tutuila. Her arms waved gracefully, her body swayed rhythmically to and fro, her head swung in a circle, her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

So taken up was Fanua with the pleasures of the dance—if dance it may be called —that she did not notice a band of men peering around the corner of the cliff. Suddenly a shower of spears came flying through the air, piercing the sea monster and pinning him to the earth. The men rushed forth with clubs, and beat him until he lay a writhing and bleeding mass. Fanua recognised her brothers among the leaders, and cried to them to stop ; but they did not heed her, and the blows fell faster and more furiously. ‘ Fools !’ cried a voice from the sea. The men heard it and sprang back affrighted, dropping their clubs and spears. The voice was harsh and terrible now. ‘ Fools !’ the voice went on, gathering fury from its scorn, ‘ you can bruise this ugly body, but the spirit you can not destroy. Kolkol and Ali are one. Were it not for Fanua, I should come to you again in a form that would make even the horrors of famine seem light. But Fanua is a dutiful daughter—a friend to man and beast.’ The men turned and looked at Fanua, who stood sobbing her face buried in her hands. ‘Do not weep, Fanua,’ said the voice; ‘ for you shall be the means of saving your people from another famine. See, where my blood was spilled, already a tree is springing up Gather its fruit, my children. First it will yield you milk, then meat. Its fibres will make you the strongest cords ; its shell will furnish you a loving cup.’

The sea monster vanished, and behold, in its place stood a tall tree, whose smooth trunk, rising like a silver shaft, was crowned with long, feathery leaves and bore clusters of tempting fruit. The men gave a cry of surprise and delight. One of them, a small, agile fellow, quickly climbed to the top of the tree, and began throwing the fruit to those below. Again the voice drifted in from the sea, but this time it was only Fanua that heard it. ‘ When you drink, our lips will meet,’ it said, ‘ when you drink, your eyes will look into mine.’

The men were bringing the fruit to her. They stripped it of its green covering, and there, on the hard yellow surface were seared two eyes. ‘The eyes of the sea monster !’ they cried. Fanua took the shell and pressed it to her lips ; her eyes met those ofKolkol; the shell opened, and she took a long, deep draught of the refreshing milk. • From that day to this, according to the Samoan chroniclers, the Kolkol nut, which we call the coacoanut, has had two eyes ; and these, the Samoans assure you, as they offer you a drink of cocoanut milk, belong to the watchful Alii, who has promised that famine shall never again visit their fair land.