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Updated: May 27, 2025
But Narau groaned again, and backed away from the heels he had dogged so faithfully. "Ra Vatu is soon to become Lotu," Starhurst explained, "and I have come bringing the Lotu to you." "I want none of your Lotu," said the Buli, proudly. "And it is in my mind that you will be clubbed this day." The Buli nodded to one of his big mountaineers, who stepped forward, swinging a club.
So saying, he showed the whale tooth he had received from Erirola. Narau groaned. "It is the whale tooth of Ra Vatu," he whispered to Starhurst. "I know it well. Now are we undone." "A gracious thing," the missionary answered, passing his hand through his long beard and adjusting his glasses. "Ra Vatu has arranged that we should be well received."
"No, no; whale teeth were beautiful," and his mouth watered for it, but he passed it back to Erirola with many apologies. In the early dawn John Starhurst was afoot, striding along the bush trail in his big leather boots, at his heels the faithful Narau, himself at the heels of a naked guide lent him by Mongondro to show the way to the next village, which was reached by midday.
It was not until after John Starhurst and Narau had gone off to bed that Erirola crept into the chief's house, and, after diplomatic speech, handed the whale tooth to Mongondro. The old chief held the tooth in his hands for a long time. It was a beautiful tooth, and he yearned for it. Also, he divined the request that must accompany it.
"Now will I answer thee," he muttered, at the same time swinging his club with both hands. Narau, hiding among the women and the mats, heard the impact of the blow and shuddered. Then the death song arose, and he knew his beloved missionary's body was being dragged to the oven as he heard the words: "Drag me gently. Drag me gently." "For I am the champion of my land." "Give thanks! Give thanks!
In the morning, attended by Narau, he expected to start on foot for the smoky mountains that were now green and velvety with nearness. Mongondro was a sweet-tempered, mild-mannered little old chief, short-sighted and afflicted with elephantiasis, and no longer inclined toward the turbulence of war.
Narau bolted into the nearest house, seeking to hide among the woman and mats; but John Starhurst sprang in under the club and threw his arms around his executioner's neck. From this point of vantage he proceeded to argue. He was arguing for his life, and he knew it; but he was neither excited nor afraid. "It would be an evil thing for you to kill me," he told the man.
He comes now." Breaking through the thicket of brush, John Starhurst, with Narau close on his heels, strode upon the scene. The famous boots, having filled in wading the stream, squirted fine jets of water at every step. Starhurst looked about him with flashing eyes. Upborne by an unwavering trust, untouched by doubt or fear, he exulted in all he saw.
Give thanks!" Next, a single voice arose out of the din, asking: "Where is the brave man?" A hundred voices bellowed the answer: "Gone to be dragged into the oven and cooked." "Where is the coward?" the single voice demanded. "Gone to report!" the hundred voices bellowed back. "Gone to report! Gone to report!" Narau groaned in anguish of spirit. The words of the old song were true.
John Starhurst had hailed him with sober delight. Truly, the Lord was with him thus to spur on so broken-spirited a creature as Narau. "I am indeed without spirit, the weakest of the Lord's vessels," Narau explained, the first day in the canoe. "You should have faith, stronger faith," the missionary chided him. Another canoe journeyed up the Rewa that day.
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