No one is Home on Pylstaart

A not unusual chapter from the darker side of the Pacific story—but forgotten now by most Islands dwellers.

By Catharine E. Cowie

ALONE in the Pacific Ocean like a pearl lost from its setting and left carelessly lying on an azure carpet, is the tragic Isle of Pylstaart. The pathetic history of its inhabitants is perhaps little known to the world to-day.

The sun has risen and set in tro pical glory tinting that lonely isle in many brilliant hues, and the Pacific has dimpled in sunshine and raged in storm, since the sor row fell upon it, silencing forever life and laughter on the palm-clad hills and rock-bound shores. It is close on 100 years since the advent of that slave-ship that bereft Pyl staart and left it an island haunted with memories.

The island rises with Gibraltar’s abruptness sheer out of the ocean; on its eastern side where it drops to undulating slopes which are palm-clad in the sag of the hills, the people dwelt in palm-leaf huts.

They lived on fruits of the soil and the fish which they caught by build ing up stones on the reef, so that when the tide fell, the fish were im prisoned. With canoes they went deep-sea fishing also. Goats gave milk and food, as did the pigs and fowl.

The people were Polynesians, be ing adjacent to the Friendly Group; a fine fearless race of happy people, with a population of under one hundred. Toil came as play to them, and in the evenings they gathered on the beaches and sang and played as children.

Mau was the Chief; he and his wife, Lai, had six sons and one daughter, Tora.

A day came and all was changed for these simple people; Uma, a Chief from an Island of the Friendly Group, had been acci dentally blown out to sea in his canoe during a hurricane season storm. He was rescued by the young men of Pylstaart right out on the reef to all appearances a dead man. cut and torn with the jagged coral.

When Tora saw the unconscious form of Uma, she desired to care for him; she bathed his wounds and rubbed coconut oil on his body.

When he again came to himself he saw a lovely maiden, and fell into a deep sleep; when he awoke he called his own people in his tongue but none recognised his speech, and he was bewildered.

So Tora cared for him, mind and body, and he learned her quaint speech and she his. He taught the men of Pylstaart to make a new shaped canoe, better equipped to face the storms of the deep. When it was finished he persuaded Mau

and Lai to allow him to take Tora to himself as a wife, on the day he was to depart for his own island.

PYLSTAART ISLAND, or Ata, lies 100 miles south of Tongatabu, in the Tongan group.

The author of this story, elderly now, spent her younger years in that area. She was the wife of the late Mr. H. E. Leefe who was Resident Agent on Rotuma in 1894 and later died there. Mrs. Leefe some years later married the Rev. A. P. Cowie, a son of the then Bishop of Auck land, NZ.

Mrs. Cowie is a sister of Mr. J.

D. Whitcombe.

The story is written in a style very different to the usual journal istic manner of to-day—but it somehow suits the period about which it tells.

This he could not do unless three of Tora’s brothers went also to pro tect their sister. This was agreed upon.

The evening before departure was such a night that the atmosphere appeared alive; the stars were clear and the moon had not risen. A night when the departed reunite with those on the earth, whisper ing of mysteries revealed and tell ing future changes. Aza, the ancient of the Island, shook his head and said,“The stars are speaking.”

A deadly peril was drawing nearer and nearer to those primitive people, a cruel fate of tragic unhap piness would shortly completely en gulf them, but who could possibly imagine it in this warm lazy atmos phere with the perfume of flowers drifting round them. Mirth and laughter sounded from the beaches where the maidens were weaving garlands for the departure of the canoe.

Then much shouting attracted their attention, and looking out to sea, they saw a light swinging on the ocean, too low for a star, and likewise too red a glow.

Thus did the Peruvian slave-ship come to Pylstaart. Needless to say the canoe did not start at dawn with the bride and her groom, nor did it start at sunset.

The men of Pylstaart alone awaited the whale-boat as it grated on the beach; the women were hidden in the hills. But such happy men, rough, but so kindly, with many gifts, what harm could be fall their women? So Mau gave the signal for the women to return and

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tiake food and Kava for their nests.

Then must all go on this great anoe and see the lovely gifts, glit srmg beads, gay silks, kegs of beef n biscuits. “Ship ahoy, boat!” ailed the captain, and more boats ame.

The Islanders were sent down in ) the hold to pick out anything icy desired. Then the captain ited. On went the hatches; up ime the anchor—and away. \NLY one person was left, on / Pylstaart and that was Aza . , wh o crept in the bush; he did trust the white men whose eyes oked one thing, and whose ges ires sP° ke another. Besides, the ars had whispered.

Aza being old, fell asleep easily, id when he awoke the sun was ttmg. He went in search of his ople; no one answered his calls. ; ?at dejectedly on the beach to ?ait them. his head after meditation, his horror he saw far out at sea e slaveship. With frenzy he arched the beaches, all was silent, i he loved and belonged to, had ffL s f^ len , ruthlessly by those 10m they trusted. He bowed his ad and wept. Night fell, Aza

looked into a sky free of clouds, the stars seemed to burn from the clear vault with a hard, cruel stare- Aza drew his old bent fingers through his grey hair and in pro phetical intonation chanted “Yes a great wind shall follow, and rain’ ram, rain.”

To this day, Pylstaart is marked on the map, “Uninhabited.”