hands. One missionary relates that, on one occasion, a chief’s daughter,—a fine
young woman about eighteen years of age,—was standing by his side, when he
observed by the condition of the wound that she had recently performed the
ceremony. Taking her hand, he asked why she had cut off her finger? There was
a touch of pathos in her reply. Her mother was ill, and fearing lest she should
die, she had mutilated herself in the hope the gods would preserve her life.
“Well, and how did you do it?” “I took a sharp shell, and worked it about until
the joint was separated, and then I allowed the blood to stream from it. This was
my offering to persuade the gods to restore my mother.” One cannot doubt the
genuineness of the filial affection which could make such a sacrifice, though we
may wish that it had been more wisely exercised.
When a second offering was required, the votary severed the second joint of the
same finger. If a third or fourth were demanded, he amputated the same bones of
the other little finger; and when he had no more joints that he could conveniently
spare, he would rub the stumps of his mutilated fingers with rough stones, until
the blood again streamed from the wounds.
Human sacrifices, as we have said, were very numerous, especially in the Henry,
the Tahitian, and the Society island groups. At the so-called Feast of Restoration
(Raumatavchi raa,) no fewer than seven victims were required. It was always
celebrated after an invading army had forced the inhabitants to retreat to the
mountains, and had desecrated the maraes by cutting down the branches of the
sacred trees, and cooking their food with them, and with the wooden altars and
decorations of the sacred place.
At the inauguration of their greatest kings, the islanders used what was called
Maro ura, or the red sash. This was a piece of network, about six feet long and
seven inches wide, upon which the red feathers of the parroquet were neatly
fastened. A chief could receive no more honourable appellation than that of Arii
maro ura, “King of the Red Sash.” A new piece, about eighteen inches long, was
attached at every sovereign’s inauguration; and on all such occasions several
human victims were required. A sacrifice was made, first for the mau raa tite, or
the extension of the network upon pegs, in order to attach to it the new piece. A
second was necessary for the fatu raa, or actual attachment; and a third for the
piu raa, or twitching the sacred relic off the pegs. These ceremonies not only
invested the sash itself with peculiar solemnity, but also rendered the chiefs who
wore it more important in the eyes of the people. Well might it be so, when the
thing was dyed, as it were, in innocent human blood.