 NCE IN THE days long-vanished
with three great ships which had sailed from the Sunset-lands, came white-
robed Wakea - the Fair God who healed the injured, raised the dead, and walked
on water. He came to an out-lying island of the Tahitian group where two
tribes were fighting bitterly. Now, however the Polynesians are all one people,
anciently calling themselves Maori from New Zealand to Faster Island off
the South American coastline. They were the Vikings of the sunrise, rowing
their long-boats over the trackless ocean, guiding themselves by the stars
of the heavens, and speaking one language from Hawaii southward. They used
the same plants, kept the same animals and sang the same songs of the ancients.
One of these was of the god Wakea. To an island where men were fighting for
the possession of the good land came three ships with giant sails like enormous
birds with wings up-lifted, glowing goldenly in the dawn-light. Suddenly
frozen to immobility were the warriors as the ships moved around a jutting
headland. "What manner of monsters are these with the great wings?" "Perhaps
they have come to devour the people!?" Forgotten was the heat of the battle.
Friend and foe stood facing seaward, weapons clutched in paralyzed fingers,
staring in wide-eyed wonder. The ships’ oarsmen, whose paddles looked
like a hundred centipede legs touching the water, rested now from their task
of moving the giant monsters forward. Then the islanders saw something white
moving toward
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