It was necessary to give the natives three days in which to make their preparations--constructing the oven and paving it with stones, which then required heating for thirty-six or forty-eight hours at least with fierce fires fed with logs and branches. They had also to gather their stores of food to form the foundation of the huge feast whose preparation was to succeed the mystic ceremony. During these three days we lost no opportunity of collecting from former witnesses of the ceremony whatever information or explanation they could afford, but with no very satisfactory result: the facts were undisputed, but the explanations quite insufficient. Some thought that the chief actors rubbed their bodies with a secret preparation which rendered them fireproof; others that lifelong friction on the hard hot rocks, coral-reefs, and sands had so thickened and indurated the foot-sole that it could defy fire; but all agreed as to the _bona fides_ of the exhibition. The incident recounted in the 'Polynesian Journal' was also confirmed---where Lady Thurston threw her handkerchief upon the shoulder of one of the actors, and though it remained there but a few seconds before being picked off by means of a long stick, it was greatly scorched.[9] The story or legend attached to this weird gift of fire-walking was told us, with some variation, by two or three different people, and it is mainly as follows: A far-distant ancestor of the present inheritors of this power was walking one day when he espied an eel, which he caught, and was about to kill. The eel squeaked out and said, 'Oh! Tui Na Galita (= Eng-Galita), do not kill me; spare me. I am a god and I will make you so strong in war that none shall withstand you.' 'Oh, but,' replied Na Galita, 'I am already stronger in war than any one else, and I fear no one.' 'Well, then,' said the eel. 'I will make your canoe the fastest to sail on these seas, and none shall come up with it.' 'But,' replied Na Galita, as it is, none can pass my canoe.' 'Well, then,' rejoined the eel. 'I will make you a great favourite among women, so that all will fall in love with you.' 'Not so,' said Na Galita, 'I have one wife, of whom I am very fond, and I desire no other.' The poor eel then made other offers, which were also rejected, and his chances of life were fading fast when he made a final effort. 'Oh, Na Galita, if you will spare me, I will so cause it that you and your descendants shall henceforth walk through the _masawe_ oven unharmed.' 'Good,' said Na Galita, 'now I will let you go.' This story varies somewhat from that told in the 'Polynesian Journal.'[10]