The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17Stevenson, Robert Louis
History
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Samoan Islands -- History; Short stories
So now Keola was the most terrified man in the four oceans. He had heard
tell of eaters of men in the south islands, and the thing had always
been a fear to him; and here it was knocking at his door. He had heard
besides, by travellers, of their practices, and how when they are in a
mind to eat a man they cherish and fondle him like a mother with a
favourite baby. And he saw this must be his own case; and that was why
he had been housed, and fed, and wived, and liberated from all work; and
why the old men and the chiefs discoursed with him like a person of
weight. So he lay on his bed and railed upon his destiny; and the flesh
curdled on his bones.
The next day the people of the tribe were very civil, as their way was.
They were elegant speakers, and they made beautiful poetry, and jested
at meals, so that a missionary must have died laughing. It was little
enough Keola cared for their fine ways; all he saw was the white teeth
shining in their mouths, and his gorge rose at the sight; and when they
were done eating, he went and lay in the bush like a dead man.
The next day it was the same, and then his wife followed him.
"Keola," she said, "if you do not eat, I tell you plainly you will be
killed and cooked to-morrow. Some of the old chiefs are murmuring
already. They think you are fallen sick and must lose flesh."
With that Keola got to his feet, and anger burned in him.
"It is little I care one way or the other," said he. "I am between the
devil and the deep sea. Since die I must, let me die the quickest way;
and since I must be eaten at the best of it, let me rather be eaten by
hobgoblins than by men. Farewell," said he, and he left her standing,
and walked to the sea-side of that island.
It was all bare in the strong sun; there was no sign of man, only the
beach was trodden, and all about him as he went the voices talked and
whispered, and the little fires sprang up and burned down. All tongues
of the earth were spoken there; the French, the Dutch, the Russian, the
Tamil, the Chinese. Whatever land knew sorcery, there were some of its
people whispering in Keola's ear. That beach was thick as a cried fair,
yet no man seen; and as he walked he saw the shells vanish before him,
and no man to pick them up. I think the devil would have been afraid to
be alone in such a company: but Keola was past fear and courted death.
When the fires sprang up, he charged for them like a bull. Bodiless
voices called to and fro; unseen hands poured sand upon the flames; and
they were gone from the beach before he reached them.
"It is plain Kalamake is not here," he thought, "or I must have been
killed long since."
With that he sat him down in the margin of the wood, for he was tired,
and put his chin upon his hands. The business before his eyes continued:
the beach babbled with voices, and the fires sprang up and sank, and the
shells vanished and were renewed again even while he looked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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