The White Flying-Fox Of Kolovai

By Falo, a Resident of Tonga, Now a Visitor to Sydney

HE was a sailor before he settled down to be a trader in Kolovai, Hihifo, Tonga. He was an honest man, that one. He never owed a living person a sixpence in his life.

His station was on the beach. There were two ways to it. One was by the Government road, perhaps close on 15 miles from the capital, Nukualofa. The other was by the flats, at low tide—a sea road, taken by those who knew how to keep off the quick-sand.

This writer was in danger there once driving in a sulky. The tide was rising fast. The old trader looking through his glasses, saw someone in difficulties and came to the rescue. He guided the horse; and, with his bare feet, felt for the cart track.

“Now, let go the reins, horse sense will do the rest,” he said. And so it did. I had driven the horse into the quick sand.

Anyone would remark on the clean liness of his trading station. The tidy trader and his family, the wee house, the yard, the copra platform, all were in good order, encouraging many a traveller to turn in, to accept hospitality, generously given.

IT was a bad year for trade. The old trader knew that the credit he gave the chief of Kolovai was at his own risk, as it was against the law of the little kingdom to give credit to a Tongan.

Many a sleepless night he passed, think ing of how he could get his account settled. Persuasion, threats, were of no avail. A brilliant idea came into his mind.

One morning, soon after, the chief came in again, and asked for more credit.

“But, Chief, I need the money for my business. When will you settle your ac count. The white flying-fox will be com ing in, and you can’t go to heaven if you don’t pay your debt,” he said.

The chief was given a little more credit and went home, satisfied with his success.

The trader cherished his brilliant idea.

After a successful day, digging up the first season’s yams, the chief was in a happy mood. Sitting at dusk with his people, on the grass, in front of his house, close to the sacred toa trees of his ancestors, he was enjoying a bowl of kava.

Then his look of amazement caused all present to gaze, horrified—a white flying fox was flying in, and had settled on one of the trees. Not one word was said.

With head bent low, the chief retired within his house, to his bed of mats, fearfully ill.

All night his relatives and his people sat outside his house, strangely stirred.

Had they not seen with their own eyes the white flying-fox come in and settle on the. tree. And one was heard to whisper within the house: “It is hanging there still.”

They all knew that meant the old chief was to die, as his ancestors had done be fore him, when the white flying-fox came for them.

It was at dawn, when the trembling chief suddenly thought of the trader, and the account he owed, and what he said about the flying-fox, only a week ago.

He turned to his attendant, and said in a humble voice: “Unlock that box, take

out £4O in gold pieces. Hurry! Take it to the * trader, on the beach, and pay my account.”

The old trader patted himself on the back*, metaphorically, when he saw the gold, that morning, on his counter, in settlement of the chief’s account. But when he understood more of what had happened, that the chief was dying, it was his turn to hurry, with the attendant.

He realised that he had gone too far.

He told the chief that what he had done was “only for fun.” He had caught a flying-fox, painted it white, and released it, when it flew back to its old home on the sacred toa trees.

The chief breathed a sigh of relief, and decided not to die.

The flying-fox was shot immediately by order of the chief.

They discovered that it really was not white —much to the joy of the relatives and people.

The chief instantly recovered his usual good health and humour and called for a bowl of kava celebrate his escape.

This is a true story. But let no one doubt that the mysterious 'visit of the white flying-fox really happens. It has been in a few times since then to take the spirit of the chiefs of Kolovai to their ancestors.