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- 7770
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:25.203Z
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- 7710
- text
- terminating in a paddle at the lower end, after the general fashion of
these weapons, was curved into a heathenish-looking little image. This
instrument, however, might perhaps have been emblematic of his double
functions. With one end in carnal combat he transfixed the enemies of
his tribe; and with the other as a pastoral crook he kept in order his
spiritual flock. But this is not all I have to say about Kolory.
His martial grace very often carried about with him what seemed to me
the half of a broken war-club. It was swathed round with ragged bits of
white tappa, and the upper part, which was intended to represent a
human head, was embellished with a strip of scarlet cloth of European
manufacture. It required little observation to discover that this
strange object was revered as a god. By the side of the big and lusty
images standing sentinel over the altars of the Hoolah Hoolah ground, it
seemed a mere pigmy in tatters. But appearances all the world over are
deceptive. Little men are sometimes very potent, and rags sometimes
cover very extensive pretensions. In fact, this funny little image was
the ‘crack’ god of the island; lording it over all the wooden lubbers
who looked so grim and dreadful; its name was Moa Artua*. And it was in
honour of Moa Artua, and for the entertainment of those who believe in
him, that the curious ceremony I am about to describe was observed.
*The word ‘Artua’, although having some other significations, is in
nearly all the Polynesian dialects used as the general designation of
the gods.
Mehevi and the chieftains of the Ti have just risen from their noontide
slumbers. There are no affairs of state to dispose of; and having eaten
two or three breakfasts in the course of the morning, the magnates of
the valley feel no appetite as yet for dinner. How are their leisure
moments to be occupied? They smoke, they chat, and at last one of their
number makes a proposition to the rest, who joyfully acquiescing, he
darts out of the house, leaps from the pi-pi, and disappears in the
grove. Soon you see him returning with Kolory, who bears the god Moa
Artua in his arms, and carries in one hand a small trough, hollowed out
in the likeness of a canoe. The priest comes along dandling his charge
as if it were a lachrymose infant he was endeavouring to put into a
good humour. Presently entering the Ti, he seats himself on the mats as
composedly as a juggler about to perform his sleight-of-hand tricks; and
with the chiefs disposed in a circle around him, commences his ceremony.
In the first place he gives Moa Artua an affectionate hug, then
caressingly lays him to his breast, and, finally, whispers something in
his ear; the rest of the company listening eagerly for a reply. But
the baby-god is deaf or dumb,--perhaps both, for never a word does, he
utter. At last Kolory speaks a little louder, and soon growing angry,
comes boldly out with what he has to say and bawls to him. He put me in
mind of a choleric fellow, who, after trying in vain to communicated a
secret to a deaf man, all at once flies into a passion and screams it
out so that every one may hear. Still Moa Artua remains as quiet as
ever; and Kolory, seemingly losing his temper, fetches him a box over
the head, strips him of his tappa and red cloth, and laying him in
a state of nudity in a little trough, covers him from sight. At this
proceeding all present loudly applaud and signify their approval by
uttering the adjective ‘motarkee’ with violent emphasis. Kolory however,
is so desirous his conduct should meet with unqualified approbation,
that he inquires of each individual separately whether under existing
circumstances he has not done perfectly right in shutting up Moa Artua.
The invariable response is ‘Aa, Aa’ (yes, yes), repeated over again
and again in a manner which ought to quiet the scruples of the most
conscientious. After a few moments Kolory brings forth his doll again,
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