steer to the seaward?” thus she panted and cried. Never a word from the oarsman, toiling there in the dark; But right for a gate of the reef he silently headed the bark, And wielding the single paddle with passionate sweep on sweep, Drove her, the little fitted, forth on the open deep. p. 51And fear, there where she sat, froze the woman to stone: Not fear of the crazy boat and the weltering deep alone; But a keener fear of the night, the dark, and the ghostly hour, And the thing that drove the canoe with more than a mortal’s power And more than a mortal’s boldness. For much she knew of the dead That haunt and fish upon reefs, toiling, like men, for bread, And traffic with human fishers, or slay them and take their ware, Till the hour when the star of the dead [51a] goes down, and the morning air Blows, and the cocks are singing on shore. And surely she knew The speechless thing at her side belonged to the grave. [51b] p. 50 p. 51 p. 52It blew All night from the south; all night, Rahéro contended and kept The prow to the cresting sea; and, silent as though she slept, The woman huddled and quaked. And now was the peep of day. High and long on their left the mountainous island lay; And over the peaks of Taiárapu arrows of sunlight struck. On shore the birds were beginning to sing: the ghostly ruck Of the buried had long ago returned to the covered grave; And here on the sea, the woman, waxing suddenly brave, Turned her swiftly about and looked in the face of the man. And sure he was none that she knew, none of her country or clan: p. 53A stranger, mother-naked, and marred with the marks of fire, But comely and great of stature, a man to obey and admire. p. 52 p. 53 And Rahéro regarded her also, fixed, with a frowning face, Judging the woman’s fitness to mother a warlike race. Broad of shoulder, ample of girdle, long in the thigh, Deep of bosom she was, and bravely supported his eye. “Woman,” said he, “last night the men of your folk— Man, woman, and maid, smothered my race in smoke. It was done like cowards; and I, a mighty man of my hands, Escaped, a single life; and now to the empty lands And smokeless hearths of my people, sail, with yourself, alone. Before your mother was born, the die of to-day was thrown And you selected:—your husband, vainly striving, to fall p. 54Broken between these hands:—yourself to be severed from all, The places, the people, you love—home, kindred, and clan— And to dwell in a desert and bear the
Prev.
Back
Top