ed
into a caste. When a man fancied himself possessed by a god, he became
a recognized saint. He was tabu. He ascended to the altar and danced
or gyrated as he pleased. The old missionaries, who believed these
sorcerers inhabited by devils, record incredible deeds by them. Often
the spirit forsook them, and they became common clay, but when primed
with the deity's power, they would ascend vertical rocks of great
height by touching the smooth surface with tiny idols which they held
in their hands, and without any contact by their feet. These demoniacs
recall the oracles of ancient nations, and especially Simon Magus,
the precursor of innumerable fathers of new religions, who by the
power of the "Christian God" fell to a horrible death when he tried
to fly before the Roman emperor on the wings of the devil.

Before a day of sacrifice a victim was selected by the high priest. The
victim had no knowledge of his approaching end. He must not be
informed, and though his father and mother and family were told in
advance, they never warned their unfortunate loved one. No hand was
lifted to avert his fate, for he was tabu to the gods. Though no excuse
could be offered for the slaying of their own clansman except the
direful hold of religion, which in Tahiti, as in Europe not so long
ago, put Protestant and Catholic on the pyre in the name of Christ,
yet so soft-hearted were these people that they could not disturb
the peace of mind of the offering, and until the moment when he was
struck down from behind he was as unconcerned as any one. They never
tortured as the English and French tortured Joan of Arc, and as the
police of America torture thousands of Americans every day.

I looked long at this ruined pagan tabernacle, this arc of the
covenant for Oberea and Oamo, and for Tetuanui's fathers. The chief
said that his grandfather had seen it in its palmy period. Oberea
was an ancestress of my host of Papara, Tati Salmon, who had the
table-ware of Stevenson, and who was of the clan of Teva, as she.

Wrecked, battered by the surf, torn to pieces by pickaxes, undermined
by the sea, and overgrown by the rank foliage of the tropics,
the marae preserved for me and for Brooke, too, a solemnity and
reminiscent grandeur that brought a vision of the beauty and might
of the passionate Oberea, who had commanded it to be built. Though
different in environment as the sea from the desert, and in size and
aspect, materials and history, I was t