Читать книгу The Far Lands - James Norman Hall - Страница 11

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On the morning of the day when those children had gone to the lake, Téaro gathered his chiefs at the council house. He paced the room until the last of them had come; then halted before them.

“I bring you such news as none of us could have hoped for,” he said. “The decision we now have to make is of the greatest importance. When I have spoken, let each one of you give his opinion as to what our course of action should be.” He then told them of the conversation that had taken place between himself, Métua and Vaitangi on the day of the latter’s arrival at the Tongan village. “There is no deceit in Vaitangi’s nature,” he added. “His good will toward us is known to all of you. It was the desire to learn how far he might be willing to extend that good will that led Métua and me to speak as we did.”

Téaro broke off, glancing from one to another of the ariki who were gazing at him as though they could not grasp the full meaning of his words; then Paoto spoke.

“But ... what Vaitangi said was nothing, for well he knows there is nothing we can do.”

Téaro glanced impatiently at this chief. “I will repeat for you, Paoto, those words of our talk. Métua said: ‘But we have no ships.’ Vaitangi replied: ‘But great skill in building them.’ You call it nothing that we may now make plans for the future with the consent of the high chief of the Koros? Needless to say, our preparations must be made in secret. Vaitangi wishes to know nothing about them; but what greater encouragement could he have given than the assurance that we shall not be hindered in them?”

Tuahu struck his broad knee with his fist. “The way is clear,” he said. “It can be done and it shall be done!”

Marama said: “Téaro, let me understand this. You tell us that we may now, secretly, begin the building of ships for ourselves?”

“We may,” Téaro replied. “Our preparations will take years to complete, which is the reason why no time should be lost in setting about them. We shall need seven ships—it may be, eight—to carry the numbers we shall have before the last of them is completed. You need not be reminded of the greatness of the task and of how slow our progress will be. We are not, of course, relieved of the work of repairing the war canoes of the Koros and building new ones as they may be required. But this is certain: we can keep from twenty to fifty men steadily at the work of building for ourselves, and the number can be increased from time to time as occasion offers.”

Tavaké spoke: “No one could be more deeply content with the news you bring, but let us first consider the risks to be taken. How is the work to be done without Puaka’s knowledge?”

“The risks are very great,” Téaro replied; “but has there ever been a time in the long history of our people when we have not lived in the near presence of danger?”

“It has not been so here on Kurapo,” Paoto said; “nor need it be so in the future if we are prudent.”

“Prudence is a virtue that will not save us from the wrath of Puaka when he feels that he has the power to display it openly,” said Téaro.

“But that time may not come,” Paoto replied. “In the ten years that we have lived on Kurapo, Puaka has never once set foot in our valley. That he may despise us I am willing to admit, but ...”

“Paoto, you are a man without sense,” Tuahu broke in, impatiently. “The years are beginning to weigh heavily upon Vaitangi. No one sees this more clearly than Puaka who will bide his time, gathering more and more authority into his own hands. Weighing, then, the dangers, where do we run the greater risk: in preparing now while we may; or, ‘prudently,’ as you say, shall we do nothing until the day comes when nothing can be done?”

“Paoto should know that Vaitangi himself recognizes our danger and is willing that we should escape it if we can,” Métua remarked, quietly. “He believes us a foolish people, seeking a land where we may live in peace. But I can read his heart, and there, deeply hidden, unacknowledged, is the hope that we may find it.”

“You believe that?” Rata asked.

“Of Vaitangi? I know it,” the priest replied. “This is not to say that he is no true worshiper of Koro; but what would he not give for the faith that sustains us Tongans! That he cannot have; it is not in his nature. But his secret respect for those who do have it accounts for his willingness to help us.” Métua then spoke of the increase in population on Kurapo, far more rapid among the Koros because of their greater numbers. There remained only one valley on the western side, which the Koros were then using to provide for their increase. “Their need for our lands will come, perhaps within this generation,” he added; “but I give you this assurance—before half of that time has passed we Tongans will be sailing eastward once more. Our fate is hidden, like that of our ancestors for generations past. But, although some will perish, others of our blood, of our clan, will survive to carry on the quest. And who can say that we Tongans of this generation may not be the ones to reach the Homeland? Let that hope strengthen your hearts, if strength is needed, for it may well be Tané’s purpose.”

Métua’s unshakable faith—his conviction that the Far Lands of Maui were there to the east, waiting to be found and certain to be found—never failed to inspire and lift up the hearts of the others; even Paoto’s small and fearful soul knew, for the moment at least, the certitude of a great one. All felt a renewal of spirit as though the noblest of their ancestors were speaking through Métua’s voice.

They now discussed in the greatest detail how and where they should begin their task. There was one place and only one where ships could be built with the chances of escaping detection in their favor. The valley to the south of that occupied by the Tongan village was farthest from the Koro settlements; and, owing to the nature of the country inland, it was inaccessible save from the seaward side. The head wall descended in three great steps of sheer rock, down which the river entered a narrow gorge which widened to the valley itself at a point two miles distant from the lagoon. This lower valley was a forest of great trees perfectly suited to be used as hulls for their ships. The trees selected were to be felled at intervals, the hulls to be hollowed and roughly shaped at the places where they fell, then floated down the river to the spot where sheds were to be erected to house the hulls of the vessels while the wood was drying and seasoning. The river for a distance of half a mile inland from the lagoon was wide and deep enough to float the ships when completed; they would have only to widen and deepen the channel at its mouth where it was obstructed by sand. Inland from the beach they would leave a wide strip of jungle intact, which would give perfect concealment from the seaward side. A narrow path, carefully hidden, would be made through this jungle to the building sheds.

“Good!” said Tuahu. “More than good! When shall this work begin?”

“Not a day shall be lost,” Téaro replied. “With Puaka away with the war fleet we could not have a more favorable opportunity for a beginning. It may well be a month or longer before he returns. Until then we can give our full time to it, every man, every boy.” He glanced at his younger brother, who had taken no part in this discussion but sat with his elbows on his knees, chin in hands, gazing at the mat before him. “Now we will hear from Rata,” he said.

“The plan is well made,” said Rata, “and Métua has promised that it will succeed. The task before us is one that cannot be finished in less than six years, it may well be eight years. I ask whether, through so long a time, it is possible to keep Puaka in ignorance of what we do?”

“Time alone can show us that,” said Marama. “In any case, as our priest has said, it is a chance that must be taken.”

“Through eight long years?” Paoto exclaimed, despairingly. “Rata is right: what hope can there be of guarding such a secret for so long a time!”

“Paoto, do you remember the night before we reached this land of Kurapo?” said Tuahu. “When the breeze fell away to a dead calm, and many were so near to death that they neither knew nor cared that the same empty sea lay before us? Téaro said: ‘Take the paddles, those who can.’ What hope had we then? Nevertheless, when dawn came, there was the land before us.”

“Paoto has mistaken me,” said Rata. “How could we fail to take such an opportunity offered by Vaitangi himself? But I would have us face the danger of discovery by Puaka so that, if it should come, we may be prepared to meet it.”

“That we shall do,” said Téaro, and then the meeting ended.