Then it was away for the fishing-grounds,
a five-mile paddle dead to windward. "Everybody is jolly in Bora
Bora," is the saying throughout the Society Islands, and we
certainly found everybody jolly. Canoe songs, shark songs, and
fishing songs were sung to the dipping of the paddles, all joining
in on the swinging choruses. Once in a while the cry Mao! was
raised, whereupon all strained like mad at the paddles. Mao is
shark, and when the deep-sea tigers appear, the natives paddle for
dear life for the shore, knowing full well the danger they run of
having their frail canoes overturned and of being devoured. Of
course, in our case there were no sharks, but the cry of mao was
used to incite them to paddle with as much energy as if a shark were
really after them. "Hoe! Hoe!" was another cry that made us foam
through the water.
On the platform Tehei and Bihaura danced, accompanied by songs and
choruses or by rhythmic hand-clappings. At other times a musical
knocking of the paddles against the sides of the canoes marked the
accent. A young girl dropped her paddle, leaped to the platform,
and danced a hula, in the midst of which, still dancing, she swayed
and bent, and imprinted on our cheeks the kiss of welcome. Some of
the songs, or himines, were religious, and they were especially
beautiful, the deep basses of the men mingling with the altos and
thin sopranos of the women and forming a combination of sound that
irresistibly reminded one of an organ. In fact, "kanaka organ" is
the scoffer's description of the himine. On the other hand, some of
the chants or ballads were very barbaric, having come down from pre-
Christian times.
And so, singing, dancing, paddling, these joyous Polynesians took us
to the fishing. The gendarme, who is the French ruler of Bora Bora,
accompanied us with his family in a double canoe of his own, paddled
by his prisoners; for not only is he gendarme and ruler, but he is
jailer as well, and in this jolly land when anybody goes fishing,
all go fishing. A score of single canoes, with outriggers, paddled
along with us. Around a point a big sailing-canoe appeared, running
beautifully before the wind as it bore down to greet us. Balancing
precariously on the outrigger, three young men saluted us with a
wild rolling of drums.
The next point, half a mile farther on, brought us to the place of
meeting. Here the launch, which had been brought along by Warren
and Martin, attracted much attention. The Bora Borans could not see
what made it go. The canoes were drawn upon the sand, and all hands
went ashore to drink cocoanuts and sing and dance. Here our numbers
were added to by many who arrived on foot from near-by dwellings,
and a pretty sight it was to see the flower-crowned maidens, hand in
hand and two by two, arriving along the sands.
"They usually make a big catch," Allicot, a half-caste trader, told
us. "At the finish the water is fairly alive with fish. It is lots
of fun. Of course you know all the fish will be yours."
"All?" I groaned, for already the Snark was loaded down with lavish
presents, by the canoe-load, of fruits, vegetables, pigs, and
chickens.
"Yes, every last fish," Allicot answered. "You see, when the
surround is completed, you, being the guest of honour, must take a
harpoon and impale the first one. It is the custom. Then everybody
goes in with their hands and throws the catch out on the sand.
There will be a mountain of them. Then one of the chiefs will make
a speech in which he presents you with the whole kit and boodle.
But you don't have to take them all. You get up and make a speech,
selecting what fish you want for yourself and presenting all the
rest back again. Then everybody says you are very generous."
"But what would be the result if I kept the whole present?" I asked.
"It has never happened," was the answer. "It is the custom to give
and give back again."
The native minister started with a prayer for success in the
fishing, and all heads were bared. Next, the chief fishermen told
off the canoes and allotted them their places. Then it was into the
canoes and away. No women, however, came along, with the exception
of Bihaura and Charmian. In the old days even they would have been
tabooed. The women remained behind to wade out into the water and
form the palisade of legs.
The big double canoe was left on the beech, and we went in the
launch. Half the canoes paddled off to leeward, while we, with the
other half, headed to windward a mile and a half, until the end of
our line was in touch with the reef. The leader of the drive
occupied a canoe midway in our line. He stood erect, a fine figure
of an old man, holding a flag in his hand. He directed the taking
of positions and the forming of the two lines by blowing on a conch.
When all was ready, he waved his flag to the right. With a single
splash the throwers in every canoe on that side struck the water
with their stones. While they were hauling them back - a matter of a
moment, for the stones scarcely sank beneath the surface - the flag
waved to the left, and with admirable precision every stone on that
side struck the water. So it went, back and forth, right and left;
with every wave of the flag a long line of concussion smote the
lagoon. At the same time the paddles drove the canoes forward and
what was being done in our line was being done in the opposing line
of canoes a mile and more away.
