|
Walter E. Traprock - The Cruise of the Kawa
We could only look our astonishment.
"Yes," continued the chief, smiling benignly, "first among you all is he to have his name recorded in our
ancient fashion."
As he pronounced these words Baahaabaa lifted his left foot solemnly and pointed to his own royal
appellation tattooed on the sole. Our wives did likewise.
"What is his name?" Whinney asked.
William Henry Thomas's head rose proudly as his wife replied in thrilling, woodland tones, "Fatakahala."
"Fatakahala!" repeated Baahaabaa, "Flower of Darkness," and William Henry Thomas raised his head as
high as it would go.
"When does the ceremony take place?" asked Whinney. Baahaabaa pointed to the distant peak of the
mountain.
"Tonight. Maka, the Tattooer, is ready; the fishbones are sharpened; the juice of the tupa-berries fills the
holy shell. We go."
All that day we strung ceremonial garlands about the base of the mountain, which, with its circumference
of a mile and three-quarters, was no small task. But sunset found it completed. We supped on the beach
and at nine, under a rising moon, climbed toward the summit. The peak was reserved for William Henry
Thomas, Maka and her four attendants who bore the utensils and long ropes of eva-eva - "to tie
him with," whispered Baahaabaa.
At exactly ten, by the shadow of the mountain on the atoll, William Henry Thomas stepped forth into the
moonlight to face his ordeal - alone.
In the darkness we waited, Kippy clinging close to me. Then came a sound at which I could but shudder.
It was a giggle, the voice plainly that of William Henry Thomas. This was followed by a hysterical sob
of laughter.
"The christening has begun," murmured Kippy.
You can not imagine anything more horrible. Never before to my knowledge had William Henry
Thomas laughed. Now, wilder and yet more wild rang his uncontrollable mirth, rising at times to
demoniac screams, anon sinking to convulsive chuckles. The worst of it was that it was infectious.
Conscious though we were of the poor wretch's suffering, we could not help joining his vocal expression
of it, and thus we sat, in the darkness, our peals of laughter bursting forth at every fresh paroxysm. Tears
of distress rolled down Swank's cheeks.
An hour later the vines parted and a recumbent form was borne gently down the mountain; William
Henry Thomas, that was, his new name wrapped in soft leaves over which his wife sobbed in tender
ecstasy.
On the day following a bolt fell from the blue.
Swank and I were spending the afternoon with Triplett on board the Kawa where the captain was
|
