Adventure, August 1917 — page 138: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

136 she said. “The composer chants and the rest repeat the last lines. This is how it goes.” Some one had found a hollow log and three men were beating on it in time to the cadence of the chant. Softly at first, the song increased in tempo and volume with a primitive, indescribable swing to it that was martial, inspiring, sending the blood tingling to the finger-tips. Loudon found himself caught in its glamour and his fists clenched about his rifle while the desire to shout with the chorus mounted. Serena’s eyes were shining in the firelight; even Mrs. Gower nodded to the rhythm. Rotorua the king! Mighty eater and smiter! Rotorua the palm that grew from the seed of Heaven. Winner of battles, he, provider of food for his chil- dren. , Who can withstand the strength of his arm in his anger? He treads—and the island shakes, his glance is the lightning; He speaks—and the thunder rolls. Lo, the sky is cracking. And all the chorus chanted: Who is like Rotorua? battles! Quaker of earth and sky, provider of food for his children! “a as the mullet flee before the shark in the shal- ows, | Even a smoke that is blown to sea by the land- wind, . So shall his enemies scatter, scatter and utterly . perish. Naught shall be left of his foes, not even a name that is whispered. Their bones shall be gound into dust and fed to the birds of the forest. Toruki the boasterf shall die and his name be for- ’ gotten. Who is ‘like Toruki? And giveth his bones to the birds while his name is forgotten. Rotorua the winner of Rotorua? Rotorua who smiteth So it went, stanza after stanza in praise of the king, of themselves and depreciation of their enemies, the very monotony of the cadence giving it strength, while the boast- ing whipped their spirits into a frenzy for the morrow’s fight “T suppose Toruki is doing the same thing on the other side of the island,”’ said Loudon, ‘‘and perhaps the crowd between us and the settlement. I am going to re- lieve Bristol until midnight. Will you walk over with me?” Adventure She rose, shivering a little as they left the fire but refusing the coat he offered her. Two kanakas tended the blaze where the sergeant crouched watchful and wide-eyed. ‘’There’s a bit hof a fire down there,” said Bristol. ‘‘You can’t see hit now. Hit’s burned down a bit. Hand you can ’ear the beggars singing, hor you could before hour chaps started.”’ They strained their eyes into the dark- ness. The chant in the crater ceased for a moment before a fresh bard took place and they could hear somewhere in the vault of darkness the far-off patter of drums and a whisper of song. Behind them the new improviser started: This is a song to the king. I, the singer of songs, Tarui; I, who have lived on Hapai, Long years before you were suckled, I, old Tarui, shall tell you How a star tumbled at midnight. This was the birth of .... THE triumphant pean broke off short. There came a wail from the crater, an eery, soul-curdling cry of ‘‘Auwe, ta attul” (Alas, the ghosts!) Then a hubbub of shrill affrighted voices and a rush of men to the-notch as Loudon and the girl clambered back into the bowl, confronting a horde of terror-stricken na- tives, their boasting forgotten, running pell- mell for the outlet with their heads turned on their shoulders. “Back!” cried Loudon, translating his meaning with emphatic gestures. ‘“‘Where’s Rotorua? Get back, you idiots! Bristol, hold them. Hang it, I can’t talk to them.” “T can,” said Serena. “You get the king. Bristol and I can manage these.” She stood slim and calm, confronting the frantic savages, her voice clear as a trumpet while she harangued them, backed by the sergeant. Loudon tore across the crater toward.a huddle of men surrounding Roto- rua. Their faces showed in the flare of the fire contorted with panic, many of them were kneeling with their arms tossed star- ward, others prostrated themselves in a grovel of fear. By the side of the king, whose leonine face was working as his great eyeballs rolled, was Mrs. Gower gesticulating toward the pool while her words, unknown in their meaning to Loudon, held the sting of a lash. Under their scorn Rotorua hung his head amid the howls of his followers. Gloo 5}