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"He like you too much?" she asked again. I told her, with a grin, I believed the old lady was rather partial to me. "All right," said she. "Victoreea he big chief, like you too much. No can help you here in Falesá; no can do too far off. Maea he small chief stop here. Suppose he like you make you all right. All-e-same God and Tiapolo. God he big chief got too much work.
I marched into the tunnel, Uma keeping tight hold of me, opened my lantern and lit the match. The first length of it burned like a spill of paper, and I stood stupid, watching it burn, and thinking we were going aloft with Tiapolo, which was none of my views.
I marched into the tunnel, Uma keeping tight hold of me, opened my lantern, and lit the match. The first length of it burned like a spill of paper, and I stood stupid, watching it burn, and thinking we were going aloft with Tiapolo, which was none of my views.
Some said he had a church there, where he worshipped Tiapolo, and Tiapolo appeared to him; others swore that there was no sorcery at all, that he performed his miracles by the power of prayer, and the church was no church, but a prison, in which he had confined a dangerous aitu. Namu had been in the bush with him once, and returned glorifying God for these wonders.
“No sir,” says I, “no such foolishness. I’ve come here to trade, tell him, and not to make friends. But, as to Case, I’ll send that man to glory!” So off Maea went, pretty well pleased, as I could see. Well, I was committed now; Tiapolo had to be smashed up before next day, and my hands were pretty full, not only with preparations, but with argument.
At this Uma fell in a terrible taking; if I went in the high bush I should never return; none could go there but by the protection of Tiapolo. “I’ll chance it on God’s,” said I. “I’m a good sort of a fellow, Uma, as fellows go, and I guess God’ll con me through.” She was silent for a while. “I think,” said she, mighty solemn—and then, presently—“Victoreea, he big chief?” “You bet!” said I.
Tiapolo he small chief—he like too much make-see, work very hard.” “I’ll have to hand you over to Mr. Tarleton,” said I. “Your theology’s out of its bearings, Uma.” However, we stuck to this business all the evening, and, with the stories she told me of the desert and its dangers, she came near frightening herself into a fit.
He was got up in light pyjamas, near white, his gun sparkled, he looked mighty conspicuous; and the land-crabs scuttled from all round him to their holes. “Hullo, my friend!” says I, “you no talk all-e-same true. Ese he go, he come back.” “Ese no all-e-same; Ese Tiapolo,” says my friend; and, with a “Good-bye,” slunk off among the trees.
All this time, and all the time I was following home, I kept repeating that native word, which I remembered by “Polly, put the kettle on and make us all some tea,” tea-a-pollo. “Uma,” says I, when I got back, “what does Tiapolo mean?” “Devil,” says she. “I thought aitu was the word for that,” I said. “Aitu ’nother kind of devil,” said she; “stop bush, eat Kanaka.
Some said he had a church there, where he worshipped Tiapolo, and Tiapolo appeared to him; others swore that there was no sorcery at all, that he performed his miracles by the power of prayer, and the church was no church, but a prison, in which he had confined a dangerous aitu. Namu had been in the bush with him once, and returned glorifying God for these wonders.
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