WITH my superstitious friend,the islander,I fear I am not wholly frank,often leading the way with stories of my own,and being always a grave and sometimes an excited hearer.But the deceit is scarce mortal,since I am as pleased to hear as he to tell,as pleased with the story as he with the belief;and,besides,it is entirely needful.For it is scarce possible to exaggerate the extent and empire of his superstitions;they mould his life,they colour his thinking;and when he does not speak to me of ghosts,and gods,and devils,he is playing the dissembler and talking only with his lips.With thoughts so different,one must indulge the other;and I would rather that I should indulge his superstition than he my incredulity.Of one thing,besides,I may be sure:Let me indulge it as I please,I shall not hear the whole;for he is already on his guard with me,and the amount of the lore is boundless.
I will give but a few instances at random,chiefly from my own doorstep in Upolu,during the past month (October 1890).One of my workmen was sent the other day to the banana patch,there to dig;this is a hollow of the mountain,buried in woods,out of all sight and cry of mankind;and long before dusk Lafaele was back again beside the cook-house with embarrassed looks;he dared not longer stay alone,he was afraid of 'spirits in the bush.'It seems these are the souls of the unburied dead,haunting where they fell,and wearing woodland shapes of pig,or bird,or insect;the bush is full of them,they seem to eat nothing,slay solitary wanderers apparently in spite,and at times,in human form,go down to villages and consort with the inhabitants undetected.So much Ilearned a day or so after,walking in the bush with a very intelligent youth,a native.It was a little before noon;a grey day and squally;and perhaps I had spoken lightly.A dark squall burst on the side of the mountain;the woods shook and cried;the dead leaves rose from the ground in clouds,like butterflies;and my companion came suddenly to a full stop.He was afraid,he said,of the trees falling;but as soon as I had changed the subject of our talk he proceeded with alacrity.A day or two before a messenger came up the mountain from Apia with a letter;I was in the bush,he must await my return,then wait till I had answered:and before I was done his voice sounded shrill with terror of the coming night and the long forest road.These are the commons.