"Call It Courage" by Armstrong Sperry, Chapter 3

Uri lay close at hand, holding a robber-crab in 
his forepaws, cracking the tough shell and extracting the
 meat with gusto.

He was giddy with thirst and there was an odd weakness in his limbs.

He plunged his face into the pool and drank deeply. Then, prompted more by instinct than by conscious thought, he withdrew, to let the water run down his swollen throat sparingly, with caution.

He sighed, and sank back on the mossy bank, relishing the strength that quickened his tired body.

Were they even now watching him from secret places in the jungle, biding their time? He glanced about in apprehension.

From its base ridges of congealed lava flowed down to the distant shore.

His leg still pained, and he would need the juice of limes to cauterize the coral wound, and purau leaves to make a healing bandage.

He plucked half a dozen of the fruits, broke them on a bit of coral, and squeezed the juice into the wound. He winced as the caustic stung; but when he had bound on the leafy bandage with a twist of vine, it seemed that already his leg felt better.

For a quarter of a mile the coconuts held, beautiful trees that were more luxuriant than any in Hikueru.

Vines trailed like aerial ropes from the high branches where orchids bloomed, while little parakeets fled on swift wings and vanished in the green gloom.

Inside the barrier-reef the water deepened and shoaled in changing hues. Up here the whole world seemed consumed with light and color.

Far off a mist of gulls drifted above the breaking surf, their hoarse cries as unceasing as the hum within a shell.

In each case the opening was caused by a river which flowed from the mountain down into the lagoon; for the tiny coral polyp which builds up its ramparts from the floor of the sea cannot withstand fresh water.

Wherever a river flows into the sea there will be a breach in the barrier-reef.

Pig roasted underground in the hot oven stones of the umu—Aué! His mouth watered at the golden prospect.

But Grandfather Ruau, who had traveled as far as distant Tahiti, had told how the warriors of that island killed pigs in the mountains with naught but a knife for a weapon, bracing themselves so that the animal impaled itself upon the blade.

“I must find a tree, a tamanu, for my canoe,” the boy said aloud. “I will burn it out, then make an adze of basalt to finish it. I’ll plait a sail of pandanus. And oh, it will be a wonderful canoe!”

“I will burn it out, then make an adze of basalt to finish it. I’ll plait a sail of pandanus. And oh, it will be a wonderful canoe!”

Then, his hunger satisfied, his mind ran ahead again to the happy day when he would set sail for Hikueru, with all his demons put to rout and the bright flame of courage burning in his heart.

The boy clambered down, slipping and sliding, catching hold of roots and vines to keep from falling.

Trees whizzed past. Wind drove the air from his nostrils. The valley rushed to meet him. He brought up with a bump in a thicket of cassi.

As he extricated himself from the thorns he was still breathing with excitement.

The boy stood there irresolute and uncertain.

Some premonition of danger kept him poised, alert, and wary.

Some premonition of danger kept him poised, alert, and wary.

He saw a series of wide stone terraces rising in a pyramid many feet high; on top of this pyramid a grotesque idol, hideously ugly, reared in the brilliant sunshine.

It was an ancient idol, its contours softened with fungus and lichens, corroded by the rains of ages.

It was an ancient idol, its contours softened with fungus and lichens, corroded by the rains of ages.

No wind reached this hidden circle, and insects hummed in the hot air. Mafatu felt that he was stifling.

Around the base of the idol he saw piles of bones, charred, but not old. The platform was strewn with them.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered: “It is you, Maui, who have led me to this island. I know it. Do not forsake me now!”

But he edged forward, poised for instant flight.

The giant tree-ferns turned the jungle to an eerie gloom. The boy was filled with unaccountable dread.

Uri leaped and pranced with excitement at his master’s side.

Propping the larger piece against a rock, he squatted on his haunches before it and gripped the small sliver in both hands.

Weary with the exertion, Mafatu settled back on his haunches and watched the leaping flame.

Now he would have cooked food, warmth when he was wet through, and the first implement with which to set about building his canoe.

He set about it at once: he tore off half a dozen fronds of a low-growing coconut tree; then he began to plait them into flat, matlike screens.

The boy pulled the breadfruit from the fire and broke it in half. Its white, flaky meat was packed with sustenance; a little like bread in taste, a trifle like potato, better than either.

Deftly Mafatu slid them out of the fire, transferred them to a broad leaf that served as a plate.