Mardi: and A Voyage Thither, Vol. II | Page 9

it came to the last, some of these unfortunates went
joyfully to their doom, declaring that they gloried to die in the service
of holy Doleema; still, were there others, who audaciously endeavored
to shun their fate; upon the approach of a festival, fleeing to the
innermost wilderness of the island. But little availed their flight. For
swift on their track sped the hereditary butler of the insulted god, one
Xiki, whose duty it was to provide the sacrifices. And when crouching
in some covert, the fugitive spied Xiki's approach, so fearful did he
become of the vengeance of the deity he sought to evade, that
renouncing all hope of escape, he would burst from his lair, exclaiming,
"Come on, and kill!" baring his breast for the javelin that slew him.
The chronicles of Maramma were full of horrors.

In the wild heart of the island, was said still to lurk the remnant of a
band of warriors, who, in the days of the sire of the present pontiff, had
risen in arms to dethrone him, headed by Foni, an upstart prophet, a
personage distinguished for the uncommon beauty of his person. With
terrible carnage, these warriors had been defeated; and the survivors,
fleeing into the interior, for thirty days were pursued by the victors. But
though many were overtaken and speared, a number survived; who, at
last, wandering forlorn and in despair, like demoniacs, ran wild in the
woods. And the islanders, who at times penetrated into the wilderness,
for the purpose of procuring rare herbs, often scared from their path
some specter, glaring through the foliage. Thrice had these demoniacs
been discovered prowling about the inhabited portions of the isle; and
at day-break, an attendant of the holy Morai once came upon a frightful
figure, doubled with age, helping itself to the offerings in the image of
Doleema. The demoniac was slain; and from his ineffaceable tatooing,
it was proved that this was no other than Foni, the false prophet; the
splendid form he had carried into the rebel fight, now squalid with age
and misery.

CHAPTER VII
They Visit The Lake Of Yammo
From the Morai, we bent our steps toward an unoccupied arbor; and
here, refreshing ourselves with the viands presented by Borabolla, we
passed the night. And next morning proceeded to voyage round to the
opposite quarter of the island; where, in the sacred lake of Yammo,
stood the famous temple of Oro, also the great gallery of the inferior
deities.
The lake was but a portion of the smooth lagoon, made separate by an
arm of wooded reef, extending from the high western shore of the
island, and curving round toward a promontory, leaving a narrow
channel to the sea, almost invisible, however, from the land-locked
interior.
In this lake were many islets, all green with groves. Its main-shore was
a steep acclivity, with jutting points, each crowned with mossy old
altars of stone, or ruinous temples, darkly reflected in the green, glassy
water; while, from its long line of stately trees, the low reef-side of the

lake looked one verdant bluff.
Gliding in upon Yammo, its many islets greeted us like a little Mardi;
but ever and anon we started at long lines of phantoms in the water,
reflections of the long line of images on the shore.
Toward the islet of Dolzono we first directed our way; and there we
beheld the great gallery of the gods; a mighty temple, resting on one
hundred tall pillars of palm, each based, below the surface, on the
buried body of a man; its nave one vista of idols; names carved on their
foreheads: Ogre, Tripoo, Indrimarvoki, Parzillo, Vivivi, Jojijojorora,
Jorkraki, and innumerable others.
Crowds of attendants were new-grouping the images.
"My lord, you behold one of their principal occupations," said Mohi.
Said Media: "I have heard much of the famed image of Mujo, the
Nursing Mother;--can you point it out, Braid-Beard?"
"My lord, when last here, I saw Mujo at the head of this file; but they
must have removed it; I see it not now."
"Do these attendants, then," said Babbalanja, "so continually new-
marshal the idols, that visiting the gallery to-day, you are at a loss
to-morrow?"
"Even so," said Braid-Beard. "But behold, my lord, this image is
Mujo."
We stood before an obelisk-idol, so towering, that gazing at it, we were
fain to throw back our heads. According to Mohi, winding stairs led up
through its legs; its abdomen a cellar, thick-stored with gourds of old
wine; its head, a hollow dome; in rude alto-relievo, its scores of
hillock-breasts were carved over with legions of baby deities, frog-like
sprawling; while, within, were secreted whole litters of infant idols,
there placed, to imbibe divinity from the knots of the wood.
As we stood,