THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD.
As the slow, empty days passed, the weight of her sorrow bore more and
more heavily upon her and she grew steadily weaker. Finally, the
doctors said the only thing was change, so, in April, 1895, she set
sail with her family for San Francisco.
On the way a stop was made in Honolulu, where Mrs. Stevenson was
deeply distressed to find the provisional government in control and
her old friend, Queen Liliuokalani, imprisoned. The deposed queen was
kept in Iolani Palace under close guard, and ostensibly debarred from
all visitors, but one must presume the guard not to have been so
strict as it seemed, for Mrs. Stevenson was able to gain entrance and
secure an audience with the royal prisoner through the not very
dignified avenue of the kitchen-door of the palace. When she gave
expression to her profound sympathy and indignation at the turn
affairs had taken, Liliuokalani replied that she wished she had had
Louis to advise her in her dark hours.
A summer without special incident was spent in California--a grey
summer for her, for her son and daughter tried in vain to interest her
in things there. Her health improved, but she cared for nothing
outside of Samoa and only yearned to go back and be near the grave on
Mount Vaea, so in the autumn they again turned their faces toward the
Pacific Isles.
When they left San Francisco they had added another member to their
party--a small donkey named Dicky, given to Mrs. Stevenson by one of
the Golden Gate Park commissioners, which she intended to use in
driving about the plantation to a little Studebaker cart she had had
made especially for the purpose. A little stable was put up on deck
for Dicky and a bale of hay provided for him, but it was not long
before the little fellow had become such a pet with the carpenter and
his mates that he was taken into the forecastle to live with them and
share their mess, eating his meals out of a tin plate. The men taught
him many amusing tricks, and it got to be quite the thing for the
cabin passengers to make trips down to the forecastle to see him do
them and to feed him chocolate creams. At Waikiki Beach, where they
lived in a cottage attached to the Sans Souci Hotel during their stay
of several months in Hawaii, Mrs. Stevenson often drove about the park
in the little cart which was just fitted to Dicky. She was surprised
at first to find that he would only make short trips and then come to
a dead stop, from which it was impossible to budge him. Nothing would
make him go on until his mistress got out and in again, and then he
would pick up his little feet and trot on for another five minutes,
when the same performance would have to be repeated. At last they
realized that he had been trained to make five-cent trips at Golden
Gate Park, and that nothing would ever break him of it. When they left
Honolulu for Samoa they had difficulty in getting him on board the
steamer, for although there was a belt and tackle to hoist him up,
they could not drag him to it. One man--then two--then finally six men
were hauling at him, while the ship waited, with all passengers on
board and surveying the scene with intense amusement. The captain
suddenly shouted through a megaphone: "Pull him the other way!" They
did so and he immediately backed right up to the tackle and was hauled
on deck amid the plaudits of the multitude. At Samoa he was a great
pet; the native girls loved him and took him with them when they went
to cut alfalfa for the cows. They made a pretty picture coming through
the forest--the girls in leaves and flowers and Dicky a walking
mountain of green, with only his long ears sticking out and his bright
eyes gleaming through the foliage.
Honolulu brought back to Mrs. Stevenson many poignant memories of
other days, of which she wrote to her mother-in-law in these words:
"As you suppose, this has been a sad season with me. People say that
one gets used to things with time, but I do not believe it. Every day
seems harder for me to bear. I say to myself many comforting things,
but even though I believe them they do not comfort me. Everything here
reminds me of Louis, and I do not think there is one moment that I am
not thinking of him. People say: 'What a comfort his great name must
be to you!' It is a pride to me, but not a comfort; I would rather
have my Louis here with me, poor and unknown. And I do not like to
have my friends offer me their sympathy--only you and one or two who
loved him for what he was and not for what he did.... As to his
Christianity his life and work show what he was. I _know_ that
whether or not he always succeeded in living up to his intentions, he
was a true follower of Christ, a real Christian, and not many have
come as close as he; and I believe that not many have tried as
honestly and earnestly. In this place everything reminds me of him,
and I feel that I must see him. I cannot believe that all these months
have passed since he left us. Perhaps the whole time will not seem so
long until we meet again. It gives me a sharp shock when I hear him
spoken of as dead. He is not dead to me--I cannot think it nor feel
it. He is only waiting, I seem to feel, somewhere near at hand."
After a winter spent in Hawaii, during which the marriage of her son
took place, Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter sailed, in May, 1896, for
Samoa. In these various trips between San Francisco and the islands
she usually sailed on the _Mariposa_, and because she had so much
baggage Captain Morse and the other officers took to calling the ship
"Mrs. Stevenson's lighter."
Their home-coming, being unexpected, was rather forlorn. They reached
Vailima in the evening and went to bed rather drearily in the empty
house, Mrs. Strong having determined to get breakfast as best she
could the next morning and then send out word to their former Samoan
helpers. After their long journey she slept late, and, springing from
her bed somewhat guiltily, ran to the window. What was her
astonishment to see smoke coming out of the cookhouse chimney, Talolo
at the door, and Iopu, the yard man, coming up with a pail of
water--all the business of the place, in fact, going on like
clockwork, just as though they had never been absent for a day!
Running into her mother's room, she found her sitting up in bed just
finishing her breakfast, which had been brought up on a tray by
Sosimo. The news had gone forth the night before that they had
returned, and every man of the Vailima force was at his post at break
of day.
Once more the lonely widow took up the routine of her life, and,
though its main incentive had gone, in time there came to her a sort
of melancholy satisfaction in living among the scenes made dear by
memories of the loved one. The scale on which the household had been
conducted was now cut down very much, and she and her daughter,
retaining but a few of the former great retinue of servants, led a
calm and peaceful life among their tropic flowers. "Vailima is so
lovely now," writes Mrs. Strong to the elder Mrs. Stevenson. "The
trees are all so big, and the hibiscus hedge is over ten feet high and
blazing with flowers. The lawn is like velvet and everywhere the grass
is knee-high. If it is true that Louis can see us from another world
he would be pleased with this day. This is the day when we decorate
the grave, and all the afternoon people kept coming with flowers and
strange Samoan ornaments. You should have seen Leuelu's sisters in
silk bodices trimmed with gold braid, and green velvet _lavalavas_
bordered with plush furniture fringe! And they looked very fine, too.
Once arrived on the mountain top we stood looking at the magnificent
view of the sea, and the coral reef, and the distant mountains. We
banked the grave with flowers and the wreath of heather that you
sent. Chief Justice Ide and his two beautiful daughters were there."
Mother and daughter spent pleasant days in the garden--digging up kava
roots, stringing them on twine and hanging them up in the hall to dry,
and in many another homely task. In the evening they played chess,
and, as neither knew the game, they were well matched, and spent
engrossing evenings over it. Sometimes they would light a lantern and
walk over to see Mr. Caruthers, the lawyer, who lived more than a mile
away. When he saw the flicker of their lantern through the palm-trees
he would wind up his little musical box and they could hear its tinkle
of welcome. "We walked barefoot,"[59] says Mrs. Strong, "and I shall
never forget those lovely walks at night and the feel of the soft,
mossy grass under our feet. Mr. Caruthers was a clever, interesting
man. His Samoan wife would sit by sewing, and his children would study
their lessons in the other room while we sat on his veranda and had
long talks. On the night of his farewell visit to us we stood on the
veranda at Vailima and looked out on a glittering moonlight night, the
lawn sloping before us, the great shadowy trees beyond, and in the
distance the blue line of the sea--'nothing between us and the North
Pole,' we used to say. Mr. Caruthers said, 'How can you leave this for
any other country? This is the "cleaner, greener land,"' and he quoted
Kipling's verses."
[Footnote 59: It is the custom in Samoa to go barefoot
in the wet season, in order to avoid the unpleasantness
of soggy wet shoes.]
The two women lived in perfect security in their lonely forest home,
never having the slightest fear of the natives who passed that way in
their comings and goings. Once in the middle of the night Mrs. Strong
was waked up by the sound of voices on the veranda, and, running down,
found her mother surrounded by twenty Samoans, all with baskets. Mrs.
Stevenson, hearing the sound of talking, had come down, to find these
men coming heavily laden from the direction of the Vailima taro, yam,
cocoanut, and banana plantation. "I politely asked them," says Mrs.
Strong, "to show my mother the contents of their baskets. They agreed
readily enough, and one after another they opened their baskets at her
feet, disclosing nothing but edible wild roots, until we began to feel
abashed and asked them to desist. Nothing would do, however, but that
each of the twenty should empty out his basket, with much laughing and
joking, and thereby prove his innocence of having plundered the
plantation. As a peace offering, my mother directed me to give them
some twists of tobacco and tins of salmon and biscuit. Then they
explained that, owing to the breadfruit having been blown off the
trees while still green, by a hurricane, there had been a famine in
their village. Their Samoan pride made them ashamed for the other
villages to know that they were reduced to eating wild roots, and so
they had sneaked up in the night to the bush back of our plantation
and filled their baskets with the roots. We apologized again and went
back to bed. The twenty Samoans sat on our veranda for hours singing,
but, although our servants were gone for the night and we two white
women were entirely alone in the house, we felt no fear. Where else in
the world could this have happened?"
Secluded as Vailima was, the family could not even here escape the
curiosity of tourists, for on "steamer days" there was always a
procession of them going up the hill from Apia to see the home of
Stevenson. One day its mistress was directing some workmen on the roof
of the carriage house when a party of tourists came up and asked if
that was Vailima and where was Mrs. Stevenson. She replied, "No spik
English," and they went on to the house, sat on the veranda and had
tea, never dreaming that the odd little person in the blue gown,
directing the roofing of the carriage house, was Mrs. Stevenson
herself.
The variety of her experiences and the wide scope of her abilities may
be shown better than in any other way, perhaps, by quotations from a
small notebook which she had carried with her from one end of the
world to the other. These entries show that she did not simply "do the
best she could," but that she made a conscientious study of how to
take care of her invalid husband, what to do in emergencies, how to
feed him when they were on ships or desert islands, etc. In every
place that they went to she kept her eyes open and learned new
receipts for cooking, sickness, and all the other requirements of
life. The entries were jotted down so hastily and often under such
peculiar circumstances that in many cases they are written upside
down, so that you have to keep turning the book about to follow it. I
quote here a few of the most characteristic entries:
The telephone number of a chronometer maker (Butler, Clay 416).
Mr. Antone knows all about Samoan vegetation.
Our marriage day was the 19th of May. [Neither she nor Mr. Stevenson
could ever remember the date of any event, not even that of their
marriage, so she evidently made sure of it by putting it in the
notebook.]
Name of my adopted father [in the South Seas] is Paaena. Name of Pa's
village is Atuona.
Addresses of friends in San Francisco, London, Scotland, Nebraska,
Philadelphia, France, Italy, New York, Hawaii.
Receipt for Spanish fish.
Lotion for the hands.
Then follow a number of prescriptions stamped and evidently written
out by the chemist. They are for a "tickling cough," "night sweats,"
"for light blood spitting," "for violent hemorrhages," "how to inject
ergotine tonic for weakness after spitting blood," and "hypodermic
injections for violent hemorrhages." Among other doctors'
prescriptions pasted in the book there is one for cankered ear in
dogs. It was this prescription that she used on a young English
officer of the _Curaçoa_ who was visiting Vailima, and who was
suffering terribly from some ear trouble. Mrs. Stevenson said to him,
"I can cure you if you will let me treat you with my dog medicine." He
agreed, and, as a result, was well enough to attend a theatre that
night, and before long was entirely recovered.
One interesting prescription, written and signed in a hand that looks
very French, has the heading in Mrs. Stevenson's hand, "Elixir of
Life."
How to make roof paint.
How to make house paint.
Dr. Funk's cure for elephantiasis. [She cured several of her Samoan
servants of this dread disease with this simple remedy.]
Dr. Russel's cure for anemia.
Receipts for ginger beer, lemon pudding, icing, and candy, oranges in
syrup, macaroni and corn, savory, pineapple cake, taro and fish rolled
into balls and fried, Abdul Rassak's mutton curry, home mincemeat,
rice yeast and bannocks for cooking aboard ship, Butaritari potato
cake and pudding, Ah Fu's pig's head, Ah Fu's yeast, pork cake,
fritters, mulled wine, and green corn cakes.
A memorandum of a lock to be turned by figures.
Medicine for _tona_--boils with which Samoan children are often
afflicted.
More cooking receipts--Magzar fowl, Tautira duff, raw-fish salad from
a Tahiti receipt, strawberry shortcake, spontaneous yeast, banana
_popoi_, Pennsylvania scrapple, miti sauce to eat with pig roasted
underground, baked breadfruit, breadfruit pudding, onion soup, bisque
of lobster, bouillabaise, banana beer, Russian _risotto_, Scotch
woodcock, Russian pancake, Spanish tortillas, and blackberry cordial.
Bamboo fence.
To graft mangoes.
Fill wet boots with oats.
How to mend a hole in a boat (Captain Otis).
Abdul Rassak's receipt for taking the poison out of cucumbers.
Creosote in a cupboard to keep out flies and preserve meat.
Furniture polish.
To make a Hawaiian oven.
To make Tahitian flowers and ornaments.
To clean Benares ware.
To destroy red ants.
To preserve meats.
How to keep butter cool in hot weather.
To knit a baby's hood.
Crochet cover for a pincushion [with a little picture showing it when
finished].
Surely, it would not be easy to duplicate this cosmopolitan list in
any other woman's notebook.
Among the villages of the island there was one, Vaiee, with which the
Stevensons had a special friendship, dating back to the first year of
their arrival in Samoa. At that time the villagers were building a
church and had saved up sixty dollars with which to buy corrugated
iron for the roof. One day a deputation of elders, headed by the
chief, called on Mr. Stevenson to ask if he would act as their agent
in buying the iron. Of course, he was interested at once and laid out
the money to such good advantage that they got more corrugated iron
than sixty dollars had ever bought before. After that they came again
with small sums, which were kept for them in the Vailima safe, and
whenever they wanted to buy anything for the village he helped them to
get good value for their money. Their gratitude sometimes took
embarrassing forms, as on one occasion when they brought a present of
a large white bull with a wreath around its neck. At other times, they
brought offerings of turtles, rolls of tapa, fish, and pigs; and on
the night of Mr. Stevenson's death several of the chiefs crossed the
island on foot and were in time to help the men who were cutting the
road to Mount Vaea.
Remembering all this, when the village of Vaiee invited Mrs. Stevenson
and her daughter to make them a visit they naturally wanted to go.
This sort of visiting trip--usually lasting three days, one to arrive,
one to visit, and one to go--is called a _malaga_ (accented on second
syllable--malan'ga), and is a very popular institution among the
natives. The visiting party generally travels in state, taking with it
a boat, food, and servants. The story of the _malaga_ to the village
of Vaiee follows in Mrs. Strong's own words:
"There was only a footpath over the mountain, and as we had to cross
many torrents on no better bridge than a felled cocoanut tree, we
could not even go on horseback. My mother was not able to make the
trip on foot, and I conceived the brilliant idea of slinging a chair
with ropes to two poles and having our Samoan men carry her in it. So
all was arranged, and we made an early morning start. I walked
barefoot and my mother sat in her 'sedan chair' like an island
princess, with her little bare feet swinging with the swaying of the
chair. We had four men for relays in carrying the chair, while others
carried our presents--tins of biscuits, barrels of salt beef, rolls of
calico, and numerous trinkets--besides our wardrobe, which contained a
'silika' (silk) dress for each of us in which to do honor to our
hosts.
"As we swung into the Ala Loto Alofa[60]--an odd procession, for our
boys had decorated us with wreaths and garlands--we passed a
carriage-load of surprised 'steamer-day' tourists who had come up the
mountainside to look at Vailima. As our little party wound into the
forest the road grew gradually steeper, and we walked under the dense
shade of huge trees, hung with lianas, orchids, and other parasitic
plants. The jungle was so thick that now and then the men had to cut
away branches with their cane knives to make a passage for us. This
sounds like hard work, but the wild banana plants, giant ferns, lush
grass, and fat leaves fell before one slash of the knife. It was damp
and a little breathless in the depths of the forest, but we rested
often on the way. The worst place was about a mile of swamp land that
was full of leeches. They fell on us from the overhanging branches of
the trees, and as our feet sank into the mud they stuck to our ankles.
However, the men were constantly on the lookout for them, and when
they saw one would sprinkle salt on it and it would immediately fall
off. We had invited an English couple, a Captain F. and his wife, who
were staying at the hotel, to go with us. The lady wore shoes, and as
her feet grew more and more soppy from walking in the damp grass and
through the swamps she suffered a good deal. I was much better off
walking barefoot.
[Footnote 60: This was the "Road of the Loving Hearts,"
built by the Mataafa chiefs in return for Tusitala's
kindness to them when they were in prison.]
"By nightfall we reached the summit of the mountain, where there was a
house, and there we had an example of Samoan hospitality. The house
was not large enough to hold us and its occupants, too, so they had
built a big oven,[61] stuffed it with food, laid out fine mats for
our beds, and then quietly decamped. We never even saw our hosts to
thank them. It was a glorious night on the summit, for the full moon
made the scene as bright as daylight, and in the distance we could see
the ocean all around us. It made us feel very small and a little
frightened to see what a tiny island it was we had been living on with
such a feeling of security. Before us a beautiful waterfall fell away
into the thickets of greenery.
[Footnote 61: A Samoan oven is made by digging a hole,
lining it with hot stones, putting on top of them pigs,
fish, chickens, taro, yams, etc., all wrapped in banana
leaves, then piling hot stones on them and covering the
whole with earth. In about four hours everything is
cooked.]
"On the way up we crossed many streams, and I held my breath to see
the two men carrying my mother's chair run lightly across the
teetering log bridges, but she sat there smiling, not a bit afraid and
enjoying every minute of it. Our English friends and I were carried
over by the natives. I simply shut my eyes, clutched the thick hair of
my carrier and held my breath till we were on the other side.
"Making ourselves at home in the house so kindly left to our use, we
set the boys to open the oven and remove its contents, and then we sat
down and made a grand feast--roast pig, chicken, taro, yams, and
breadfruit--all fresh and hot. Our boys had brought salt, limes, and
bread, and on the way up we gathered fresh cocoanuts to drink with our
dinner. Then we lay down on the soft mats and fell sound asleep in our
borrowed house on the top of our little world.
"In the morning, we began the descent of the other side, which was
much easier and quicker. When we were within a mile of the village we
were shown a pool; then the men retired and we women took a swim,
after which we put on our 'silika' dresses and started on. Children
had been stationed along the path to look out for us, and, though we
could see no one, we heard shouts of '_Ua maliu mai tamaitai_' (the
ladies are coming), going from one to another. At the entrance to the
village my mother got out of her chair and we walked on. The _manaia_,
or beauty man of the village, accompanied by two magnificent looking
aides, came forward to meet us. They were oiled and polished till they
shone like bronze, and on their heads they wore the great ceremonial
headdresses. Their only garments were short kilts of _tapa_, which
made a fine display of their lace-like tattooing. On their right arms
they wore twists of green with boars' tusks, while their ankles were
encircled with green wreaths and their necks with the whale-tooth
necklaces that denote rank. It seemed strange to be received by young
men, for in all our other trips either Louis or Lloyd was the guest of
honor--making it a man's party--and to them the village maid, or
_taupo_, with her girl attendants, acted as hostess. As ours was a
woman's party, we were received by young men. The _manaia_ gave his
hand to my mother, the other two escorted me and the English lady,
and, with the poor husband trailing along behind, we walked with
stately pomp across the _malae_[62] to the guest house. There was not
a soul in sight, and, though the children must have been bursting with
interest and curiosity, not one was to be seen. The guest house stood
in the centre of the little village, which lay on the seashore,
overlooking a small bay. Behind it the forest climbed the slopes of
steep mountains, down which several streams and waterfalls rushed
into the sea, and in front the smooth wide beach stretched its white
length. On each side were the plantations of bananas, cocoanuts, and
other tropic fruits, while scattered here and there among the brown
thatched houses the breadfruit trees spread out their huge branches of
shining green.
[Footnote 62: The _malae_ is the green lawn around which
all Samoan villages are built.]
"The guest house had been decorated with leaves, ferns, and flowers.
As we ducked under the eaves, our eyes a little dazzled by the
brightness of the sunlight, we were received by the _taupo_ and her
maidens, who were spreading fine mats for us to sit on. Oh the sweet,
cool, clean freshness of a native house! It would not be fair to call
it a hut, for that suggests squalor, or makeshift, whereas these
houses are works of art. The roof rises inside like a great dome, the
inner thatch being intricately woven in patterns, while the floor is
made of clean pebbles, neatly laid and covered with fine mats. In the
centre of the house the main pole stands like a tall mast, with
several cross-bars where the furniture--rolls of mats and _tapa_,
_kava_ bowls and cups--is kept. There is nothing else in the room,
except, perhaps, one or two camphor-wood chests. The centre pole in
the house at Vaiee was wound round and about with ropes of frangipani
flowers, while bright red hibiscus bells decorated the cross bars, and
ferns in long wreaths were looped round the edge of the room. The
eaves come down pretty low, about four feet from the ground, so that
one has to stoop to enter.
"After receiving us with great cordiality, making us comfortable with
fans, etc., the girls joined us as we sat stiffly in a semi-circle,
waiting for the chief--for we knew our Samoan manners. Presently we
saw him coming, dressed very plainly in a kilt of _tapa_ and carrying
the high chief fly flapper.[63] He was accompanied by his talking man,
with his tall staff of office, and several of the lesser house
chiefs--all looking very important and impressive. After shaking hands
with us (which is not a Samoan custom and always spoils the dignity of
a fine entrance), they sat in a semi-circle facing us. Then the
talking man drew a long breath and started in. Samoan talking men, or
_tulafale_, are noted for their eloquence, but it is the wearisome
part of a _malaga_ to have to listen to hours of high-flown discourse.
At last, however, with a final burst of oratory, our relief came, and
then the _taupo_ made and served the _kava_. In later years the
Samoans learned to grate the root for brewing, but on that occasion it
was prepared in the good old-fashioned island way. The _taupo_ and her
girls first washed their mouths out several times with fresh water and
then chewed the roots--nibbled them, rather, very daintily--until
there was enough for a brew. This was put in the middle of a huge
wooden bowl (shallow and with eight short legs, all carved out of one
piece of wood), and water was poured over it. The _taupo_,[64] very
self-conscious, sitting cross-legged before the bowl, dressed to the
nines in flowers and ferns, with a piece of red hibiscus flower stuck
on one cheek like a beauty patch, her short hair oiled and sprinkled
with grated sandalwood, was as pretty as a picture. The cup was
presented first to the chief,[65] who made a little speech of
welcome--'May your visit be a happy one'--then drank off the contents
and spun the cup along the floor. It was now presented to my mother,
who took a sip only, and afterwards to me. I poured a libation and
said in Samoan 'Blessed be our high chief meeting.' Then came our
English friends and Laulii,[66] who came with us to officiate as
'talking man' for our party. She made a charming little speech that
made everybody laugh, and then, the ceremonies being over, we all
gathered together for a real talk. We brought news from Apia--we asked
news of Vaiee. When I got into deep water with my Samoan, Laulii would
help me out, and we would both translate what was said to my mother
and the others. The _manaia_ and his young men, who had taken a back
seat while their elders received us, came over to join in the talk and
tell us of the preparations for our visit.
[Footnote 63: The fly flapper is a carved stick with a
horse-hair tassel on the end.]
[Footnote 64: The _taupo_ is the maid of the village.
She is chosen for her beauty and is the official hostess
to receive all guests.]
[Footnote 65: Nowadays the Samoans, having learned
European ways, present the cup first to the ladies, but
then it was _faa-Samoa_, that is, in Samoan fashion.]
[Footnote 66: Laulii, the Samoan wife of Mr. Willis, was
a close friend of Mrs. Stevenson while she lived in the
islands, and after she left there came to California to
make her a visit at the ranch near Gilroy.]
"Immediately after the ceremonies of our reception we presented our
gifts to the chief. Laulii was the spokesman for us, and the village
talking man stood in the door of the guest house and announced in a
loud voice the list of our presents, while from the inside of the
surrounding houses came the sound of clapping hands. This ceremony of
presenting gifts was done humorously, Laulii making many jokes and
local hits which were received with polite laughter.
"We were three days in Vaiee, during which we were entertained by
dances of the village girls, war and knife dances by the _manaia_ and
his young men, and, besides being furnished with good food all the
time, we were honored with one grand feast, which was attended by the
whole village. On the morning of the second day we were sitting in the
guest house, which, by the simple expedient of hanging up a sheet of
tapa, had been turned into two bedrooms for the night, when some
native girls called my attention and pointed out to sea. A number of
canoes were to be seen coming round the point at the mouth of the
harbor, and as they came nearer we could hear the oarsmen singing and
could distinguish our names. They were bringing--so they sang--the
fish to Tamaitai Aolele--they had been out all night gathering turtles
for Tamaitai Teuila.
"Later in the day there was a grand _talolo_, or ceremony of gift
giving. My mother, as guest of honor, sat just inside the guest house,
on a pile of mats, with the rest of us in a semi-circle around her,
all facing the sea. There was a hum and buzz of excitement in the
village, and we could catch glimpses of fine headdresses and old women
scurrying about with mats and flowers. Soon the procession appeared,
led by the _manaia_ in full costume, dancing and twirling his head
knife, and accompanied by several young men. After them came others
bearing gifts hung from poles. Laulii, as our 'talking man,' received
them, and our servants, in a little group, made up a fine chorus. The
_manaia_ and his young men came up, danced in front of us, and then,
taking the poles from their attendants, laid three large turtles
before us, calling out that they were a humble offering from the men
of Vaiee to the great and glorious and beautiful lady of Vailima.
Laulii received them, to my surprise, with jeering remarks that threw
everybody into fits of laughter, evidently quite the correct thing to
do. The next people brought a huge fish, nets of crabs, strings of
brightly coloured fish, and sharks' fins.
"Seeing that one of the young men had a rag tied round his thumb, I
asked him if he had hurt his hand. He replied that when he dived for
the turtle it caught him by the thumb, and if his friends hadn't gone
to his aid he might have drowned. He told it as though it would have
been a great joke on him. We were all pretty well acquainted by this
time, and everybody threw in remarks. Then our boys removed the
presents, chose what we would take with us--only a small portion--and
the rest was returned to the village for the feast. On state occasions
the men are the cooks, and there is one dish that is only to be
prepared by the _manaia_--who has to array himself in full war paint
to serve it--and a grand dish it is, composed of breadfruit dumplings
stewed in cocoanut cream in a wooden bowl by means of hot stones
dropped in. The dumplings are served in a twist of banana leaf, and
each has a stick thrust in it to eat it by. The grand feast was held
about four o'clock, in a long arbor built for the occasion of upright
sticks covered with cocoanut-palm leaves. Fresh green banana leaves
served as a table-cloth, and on it was spread every dainty known to
Samoa--pigs baked underground, turtle, whole fish, chickens, _taro_,
yams, roasted green bananas, broiled fresh-water prawns, crabs, a fat
worm that we pretended to eat but didn't, heart of cocoanut-tree salad
with dressing made of cream from the nuts, limes and sea-water, and
all kinds of fruit. We were all so hungry that, if it hadn't been for
Laulii's warning, we might have fallen to before the chief said grace,
which would have been a shocking breach of good manners. The first
ceremonious stiffness having worn off by this time, the meal was
enlivened by much friendly gaiety.
"That evening was given over to the dances, which lasted till nearly
midnight. The _manaia_ and the _taupo_ had each written songs and
composed music for the dances in our honor, and copies of them,
written out neatly by the schoolmaster, were presented to us. Our
friend, the English captain, made a great hit with the young men by
exhibiting feats of strength, which they all copied, being highly
delighted when they beat the Englishman, but cheering generously when
he beat them. Then we played casino, with sticks of tobacco on our
side and head knives, fans, etc., on theirs, for stakes. I perceived
that the _manaia_ purposely played badly in order to let me win his
head knife, on which he had carved my name.
"We had intended returning over the mountain as we came, but the chief
suggested that we go back by sailboat, as they had a very good one,
and we could stop at some village every night on the way home. When we
saw the boat we found it to be a primitive affair, with a bent tree
for a mast and the sails tied with rotten ropes, but, knowing the
natives to be the best boatmen in the world, we decided to take our
chances and rely on their skill to pilot us safely home. We sent a
number of our men back over the mountain to carry our share of the
presents, but, as we were going to stop at villages on the way we took
with us our part of the feast--several turtles, and, in lieu of calico
or European things, which were not to be had at this retired place,
some _tapa_--for gifts. Before we left I made a parcel of
sandwiches--of tinned tongue and stale bread--in case we got hungry,
for it is often a 'long time between feasts.'
"Everybody wanted to go with us, and, though the chief did his best to
hold them back, the little boat was so crowded that we were nearly
level with the water. As we went around by the windward side of the
island, it was a rough trip.
"I noticed that the boatmen were narrowly watching my mother as she
paddled in the water with her hand over the side of the boat, but did
not understand the reason until afterwards, when we found out that, a
little while before, a man had had his hand bitten off by a shark, and
another who was sitting on the edge of a canoe had had a large piece
of his thigh bitten out. The natives, being too polite to tell her to
stop dabbling in the water, preferred to keep close watch themselves
and be ready to strike with their oars if a shark should rise.
"At the first village where we stopped for the night we had a ticklish
job getting through the reef, for there was but one small opening, and
if we missed it we would be smashed to pieces. The wind was blowing
towards the shore, and the great breakers crashing against the reef
sent white spray high into the air. The boatmen were all pulling ropes
and shouting orders at once. It seemed as though we were driving
straight into the reef, and I looked on terror-stricken, but my mother
chose that moment to say cheerfully, 'I think I'll have a sandwich!'
"The last day of our trip we ran inside the reef, where it was smooth
sailing. Surely there is no mode of travelling on earth so enchanting
as this; we went gliding over the blue water, with a sea-garden of
coral, marine mosses, and brilliantly coloured fish below us, the
white sails bellying before the breeze, the natives singing, the shore
with its palms and little villages half hidden in green foliage
slipping by, the mountains standing high against the sky, while on the
other side of the barrier reef the surf pounded in impotent fury,
throwing up a hedge of white, foaming spray. We seemed to be part of a
living poem.
"When at length our delightful expedition came to an end and we landed
at Apia, we found ourselves confronted by a rather ridiculous dilemma.
My mother had not worn any shoes going over to Vaiee, which was quite
in keeping with native customs and more comfortable for walking on the
soft moss and lush grass in the damp, dripping woods, but it was
another thing to land in Apia at the hotel barefoot. She slipped in as
unobtrusively as possible and no one saw her. We had supper in our
rooms--or, rather, on the veranda connected with them. The next
morning I ran out to buy her some shoes--any kind--but there were
none small enough. At last our little carriage was sent down from
Vailima and came around to the side entrance. My mother got in without
being seen and took the reins, but the horse, having been overfed with
oats by Eliga in his desire to treat it kindly, began to leap and
plunge, and dashed around to the front, where a number of the hotel
guests were gathered. I heard them say, 'That is Mrs. Stevenson,' and
all ran to look. As the horse continued to plunge about they all
called out 'Jump, Mrs. Stevenson!' but she held on. I knew why she
didn't jump--it was because of her bare feet. She was otherwise very
neatly dressed in black, with hat and veil and gloves. Finally one
man, bolder than the rest, reached in and lifted her out, and her
little bare feet were seen waving in the air!"
One day, not long after this--July 17, 1896, to be exact--Mrs.
Stevenson and her daughter were driving along the beach at Apia, when
they were surprised to see a strange craft in the bay--a curious
little sloop that they knew had not been seen nor heard of before in
those waters. On inquiry they found it was the famous _Spray_, in
which Captain Joshua Slocum, of Boston, sailed alone around the world.
They called on the adventurous skipper at once and invited him to
visit Vailima, which he did on the following day. Mrs. Stevenson was
delighted with the unconventional ways and conversation of the
captain, and, indeed, found in him much that was kindred to her own
spirit. When he wished to buy some giant bamboo from her plantation
for a mast for his little vessel, she, of course, made him a present
of it, and had it cut and taken down by the natives. He told her of
his visit to the missionary bark, the _Star of Hope_, which was then
in port at Apia. He was shown into their chart room and looked at
their instruments, upon which he remarked, "I am a better Christian
than you are, for you have two chronometers and a sextant, while I
have only my belief in God and an old clock." When asked why he didn't
take a sheep or some chickens along with him to eat as a relief from
his constant diet of canned goods, he said, "You can't kill a
fellow-passenger. Out in the great stillness you get fond even of a
chicken, and as for pigs, they are the most lovable and intelligent of
animals."
Joshua Slocum was a magnificent specimen of strength and health, and
his manly figure was well set off by the clothing--or, rather, the
lack of it--used in the tropics. When Mrs. Stevenson met him
afterwards in New York she was much struck by the change caused in his
appearance by the wearing of a conventional black suit, and regretted
that he had to hide his real beauty--his lithe, strong figure--in ugly
broadcloth. She had a great and sincere admiration for him, as she
always had for physical courage in any form. In her preface to _The
Wrong Box_ she says, "Some time after Louis's death Captain Joshua
Slocum, on his way round the world alone in the little sloop _Spray_,
came to the house at Vailima. Here, I thought, was a mariner after my
husband's own heart. Who had a better right to the directories
[studied by Stevenson at Saranac when planning for the South Sea
cruise] than this man who was about to sail those very seas with no
other guide than the stars and a small broken clock that served in
place of a chronometer? Captain Slocum received the volumes with
reverence, and used them, as he afterwards told me, to his great
advantage."
From his own book, _Sailing Alone Around the World_, I have taken the
following account of his meeting with Mrs. Stevenson:
"The next morning after my arrival, bright and early, Mrs. Robert
Louis Stevenson came to the _Spray_ and invited me to visit Vailima
the following day. I was of course thrilled when I found myself, after
so many days of adventure, face to face with this bright woman, so
lately the companion of the author whose books had delighted me on the
voyage. The kindly eyes, that looked me through and through, sparkled
when we compared notes of adventure. I marvelled at some of her
experiences and escapes. She told me that along with her husband she
had voyaged in all manner of rickety craft among the islands of the
Pacific, reflectively adding, 'Our tastes were similar.' Following the
subject of voyages she gave me the four beautiful volumes of sailing
directories for the Mediterranean, writing on the fly-leaf of the
first, 'To Captain Slocum. These volumes have been read and re-read
many times by my husband, and I am very sure that he would be pleased
that they should be passed on to the sort of sea-faring man that he
liked above all others. Fanny V. de G. Stevenson.' Mrs. Stevenson also
gave me a great directory of the Indian Ocean. It was not without a
feeling of reverential awe that I received the books so nearly
directly from the hand of Tusitala, 'who sleeps in the forest.'
Aolele, the _Spray_ will cherish your gift!
"On another day the family from Vailima went to visit the _Spray_. The
sloop being in the stream, we boarded her from the beach abreast, in
the little razeed Gloucester dory, which had been painted a smart
green. Our combined weight loaded it gunwale to the water, and I was
obliged to steer with great care to avoid swamping. The adventure
pleased Mrs. Stevenson greatly, and as we paddled along she sang 'They
went to sea in a pea-green boat.' I could understand her saying of her
husband and herself 'Our tastes were similar.'
"Calling to say good-bye to my friends at Vailima, I met Mrs.
Stevenson, in her Panama hat, and went over the estate with her. Men
were at work clearing the land, and to one of them she gave an order
to cut a couple of bamboo trees for the _Spray_ from a clump she had
planted four years before, and which had grown to a height of sixty
feet. I used them for spare spars, and the butt of one served on the
homeward voyage for a jib-boom.
"After a farewell _ava_ ceremony in Samoan fashion at Vailima, the
_Spray_ stood out of the harbor August 20, 1896, and continued on her
course. A sense of loneliness seized upon me as the islands faded
astern, and as a remedy for it I crowded on sail for lovely Australia,
which was not a strange land to me; but for long days in my dreams
Vailima stood before the prow."
It is sad to know that this brave sailor tempted fate once too often,
for he sailed out of New York harbor some years ago and was never
heard of again.
Even though their beloved Tusitala was with them no more, the Samoans
did not forget his widow, and they often went to Vailima in bodies to
do her honour. In a letter to her mother-in-law she describes one of
these visiting parties:
"A couple of months ago the Tongan village sent to ask if they might
come and dance for us on Christmas. They were the men that considered
they belonged particularly to Louis; do you remember my telling you
how their village was put into mourning at the time of his death--in
Tongan fashion--for three days? And then how they marched up here,
every man in a new black lavalava, some forty strong, to decorate the
grave? I did not feel much like gaieties, but could not refuse the
Tongans. I asked Chief Justice Ide, his daughter, and a travelling
salesman named Campbell to see the dancing. Six or eight pretty girls
were turned up by our 'poor old family' to make the _kava_, and,
though our own boys had been given a holiday, we had attendants in
scores. I had had a turkey roasted and corned beef boiled, so that
with such things laid out on the sideboard I could give my guests a
sort of picnic meal instead of dinner. The Tongans marched up--about
fifty of them--led by their _taupo_ dressed in a fine mat and dancing
as she came. She was followed by the girls of the village carrying the
usual presents on poles, and then came the fighting men with blackened
faces and wearing the dress used in the war dances. They were all tall
powerful young men, and looked very fierce and magnificent. They
manoeuvred while on the lawn and then we had the usual business of
_kava_ and orations. The dancing, for which they used an ancient war
drum, took place in the hall, where the Chief Justice and I sat, as
you might say, on thrones in front of the table, with the other
spectators sitting on the floor around us. The dancing was wild and
really splendid. When they left, just as dusk was falling, we
presented them with a full-grown pig and two boxes of biscuit. Our
boys thought Louis's grandfather[67] should be shown some honor for
the occasion, so they decorated his bust with a wreath cocked over one
eye and a big red flower over one ear. I never saw anything more
incongruous; it was enough to make him turn over in his grave."
[Footnote 67: Robert Stevenson, lighthouse engineer.]
Mrs. Stevenson's health improved after her return to Samoa, and she
and her daughter spent quiet, pleasant months together working in the
garden, walking in the forest, playing chess, reading, and sewing, and
were both looking forward to the return of Mr. Osbourne when the news
arrived of the sudden death in Edinburgh of Mrs. Thomas Stevenson. It
was a sad shock to her daughter-in-law, who had grown to love Louis's
mother dearly, and all the more distressing as she was summoned to go
at once to Scotland to help settle the estate. It now became clear
that the island home, made dear by a thousand tender associations,
would have to be abandoned. Had Mrs. Stevenson been able to follow out
her own desires at that time, she would have preferred to spend the
remainder of her days there, but her son and daughter were drawn away
perforce by the claims of their own families--the education of their
children, etc.--and it was impossible for her to live there alone. So,
with a tearing of heart-strings more easily imagined than described,
she began to make preparations to leave the place for ever.
The first thing was to choose from their belongings suitable gifts for
the dear friends that were to be left behind. Two young chiefs, one
their host at the _malaga_ to Vaiee, were taken to the tool room and
told to choose what they wanted. One took an immense steel gouge which
he said would be grand for making canoes. Another young chief fell
heir to the tennis outfit (he had learned the game from Lloyd
Osbourne), and went proudly off to set it up in his village. To old
Seumanutafa, high chief of Apia, Mrs. Stevenson gave a four-poster
bedstead, with mattress and pillows complete, in which one may imagine
that he slept more imposingly but less restfully than on his own
native mats. This chief was the man who saved so many lives at the
time of the great hurricane, when the men-of-war were lost, that the
United States Government sent him, in appreciation, a fine whale boat
and a gold watch with an inscription in the case. As he had no pockets
in his native costume, he wore a leather belt with a pouch in it for
the watch, usually wearing it next to his bare brown body.
To the friend and neighbour, Mr. Caruthers, were given some framed
oil-paintings, and he returned the compliment by offering to take
Jack, Mrs. Stevenson's pony, and give him the best of care as long as
he lived, promising that no one should ever ride him. To a Danish
baker named Hellesoe, who had always sent up a huge cake with his
compliments on Mr. Stevenson's birthday, was given a wonderful
armchair made entirely of beadwork put on by hand and trimmed with
fringe and coloured flowers. Having seen the little sitting-room over
the bakeshop, they were sure the chair would fit in beautifully there.
It was a busy time when they packed up to leave Samoa. They had no
real help, for none of the Samoans knew how to pack, though they
helped in making boxes and lifting and carrying. The two women sorted,
wrapped, and packed all the books of the large library, besides the
Chippendale furniture that came from Scotland, and some antiques,
including old carved cabinets dating back to 1642. After everything of
value had been packed, there were still many odds and ends--glassware
and such articles--which were left behind with the intention of
sending for them later. Eventually the plan was changed and the things
were given to Mr. Gurr, with whom the key of the house had been left.
This explains why so many glass bowls, etc., were bought by tourists
at Apia, and how every odd pen that was found was sold as Mr.
Stevenson's own and original. It was then that Mrs. Stevenson's diary,
to which I have already alluded, was overlooked in the packing, only
to turn up years afterwards in London.
It was a genuine grief to Mrs. Stevenson to sell Vailima, but, in
order to retain it she would have had to keep a force of men there
constantly at work "fighting the forest," which, if left alone for a
short time, speedily envelops and smothers everything in its path. If
even so much as an old tin can is thrown out on the ground tropic
nature at once proceeds to get rid of the defacement, and in a few
days it will be covered with creepers. So, with many a pang of regret,
the place was finally sold--with the reservation of the summit of Vaea
where the tomb stands--to a Russian merchant named Kunst. He lived
there for some time and at his death his heirs sold it to the German
Government, which purchased it as a residence for the German governor
of Samoa. So the flag of Germany flew over Vailima until the New
Zealand expeditionary force landed and took over the islands for Great
Britain, when the Union Jack was run up. The natives said that England
came to Tusitala, since he could not go to her, and when his own
country's flag blew out in the breeze over his old home one could
almost fancy that his spirit looked down and rejoiced. Since then it
has been used as the British Government House, and at present the
English administrator lives there with his wife and aides. Many
changes and enlargements have been made in it since it was the home of
Tusitala. The Germans cut a new road to Vailima from the highway, and
the Road of the Loving Hearts, which originally led to the house, now
leads to the burial place of the man for whom the grateful chiefs
built it long ago.
All was now ready for their departure, and their native friends
gathered from far and wide to take part in what was for them an event
of mournful significance. Tusitala's widow was not permitted to go out
to the waiting vessel in the ordinary boat, but was taken by the high
chief Seumanutafa in the cutter that had been given him by the United
States Government. The awning had been put up over it and it was all
trimmed for the occasion in ferns and flowers. Crowds of Samoan
friends--Fanua (Mrs. Gurr), Laulii (Mrs. Willis), Tamasese, Amatua,
Tupua, Tautala, the Vailima household, and many others, were there in
boats, also trimmed with ferns and flowers, to see them off. All went
on board and were taken into the cabin, where they were treated to
bottled lemonade with ice in the glasses, at which they marvelled
greatly. Though they realized that the woman who had done so much for
them in the few years of her residence among them--who had tended them
in sickness and sympathized with them in sorrow--was about to leave
them for ever, they made a strong effort not to cloud her departure
with demonstrations of grief, and it was only when she took farewell
of Sosimo, the man who had been her beloved husband's body servant at
Vailima, that they gave signs of breaking down. All had brought
presents, and Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter stood on the deck
wreathed in flowers, surrounded by baskets of pineapples, oranges,
bananas, and other fruits. Each departing friend, after kissing their
hands, added something to the pile of gifts--Samoan fans, seed and
shell necklaces, rolls of _tapa_, and native woven baskets, and the
two ladies had all the fingers of both hands adorned with Samoan
tortoise-shell rings. As the ship steamed away the little flotilla of
boats, looking like green bouquets on the water, followed them for
some distance, the boatmen singing as they rowed the farewell song of
the islands, _To-fa mi feleni_ (good-bye, my friend).