Читать книгу Lolóma, or two years in cannibal-land. A story of old Fiji онлайн

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We had each a cutlass and a gun, but no ammunition fit for use. When the skipper called out that we surrendered, we emerged from our hiding-place, and walked boldly towards one of the wrecked villages, which was rapidly being set in order again, threatening the common people around us with instant death if they offered to molest us. The head chief of the district, Waikatakata (Hot-Water), who had been apprised of our coming, awaited us, seated on a large stone at the door of his roofless house, with his counsellors and a large assemblage around him.

The captain presented a whale’s tooth, which was one of a number stowed in the schooner for the purpose of trade, and asked the protection of the tribe for the white men.

The important personage he addressed, called the Turanga Levu by his vassals, had, it seemed, had no previous personal acquaintance with foreigners.

Waikatakata said—“Welcome to the men with shark’s eyes. The people from beyond where the ocean carries the sky can bring us guns and hatchets, and help us to punish the insolent foe. We have heard of their prowess in the kingdom of Bau, and desire that they should make this land their home.”