LIFE IN A FRENCH MAN-OF-WAR—CONVENT-LIFE IN TONGA—EARLY MARTYRS—WESLEYAN
MISSION—ROMAN CATHOLIC MISSION—CYCLOPEAN TOMBS AT MUA—GIGANTIC
TRILITHON—FINES AND TAXES—KING GEORGE TUPOU.
ON BOARD LE SEIGNELAY, OFF TONGATABU,
_Friday, 7th Sept. 1877_.
DEAR LADY GORDON,—I may as well begin a letter at once, in case of a
chance of posting it by some stray ship, but as yet there is none even
on the horizon.
Is it possible that it was only last Wednesday afternoon when you and
Jack left me on board the Seignelay to try an entirely new experiment in
ship-life—only three days since we ate our first _méringues_ in that
charming little dining-room, of which I now feel such a thoroughly old
inhabitant? I can scarcely believe it.
Still more wonderful, is it scarcely a fortnight since I first met the
amethystine bishop, and this extraordinarily kind captain, who both seem
like real old friends, as do, indeed, all the people on board, from the
officers and quartermasters, down to Antoine, the Italian _maître
d’hôtel_, who takes me under his especial charge, and is as careful as
any old nurse? I know that if I were sick he would insist on coming to
the rescue, but as yet he has not had the smallest chance of showing me
such attentions; for though we had one really rough day, the ship is so
very large and steady, that you scarcely perceive any motion. You did
not half see her; she really is a noble vessel, and all her machinery is
so beautifully kept—such a display of polished brass and steel—brighter
than on most English men-of-war. Of course I have been duly lionised
over every corner of her, and I think the most novel sight of all, is
serving out rations, and seeing wine pumped up from huge vats, to fill
the small barrels, each of which represents eight men’s daily allowance.
What immense supplies must be laid in when such a ship starts on a long
cruise! They are sufficiently startling on board such vessels as the
Messageries Maritimes, where every soul on board drinks _vin ordinaire_
at every meal, and where there is daily consumption of about two hundred
bottles, and the store laid in at Marseilles has to suffice for the
voyage to Yokohama, and back to Marseilles.
The little cabin assigned to me is charming—so full of natty
contrivances to make the most of space, and all so pretty. I believe
that several of our kind friends on board have contributed to make it
so. One lent a beautifully carved mirror, another a pin-cushion of
pale-blue silk and lace. Fixed to the wall are fascinating flower-vases
of black Chilian pottery, brought from Lima, and most delicate little
_kava_ bowls from the Wallis Isles, now utilised to hold soap, sponge,
and matches. I find a whole chest of drawers empty, and various shelves,
which I know can only have been cleared at great inconvenience. A small
bookcase contains a very nice selection of French and English books—for
my especial host, M. de Gironde, has travelled a good deal in England
and in Scotland, and reads English well, as do several of the others.
Having so generously given me his cabin, he has taken up his abode in
the chart-room on the bridge, and declares he likes it far better; that
it is much cooler, and that he never was so comfortable, &c. In short
(in common with all the others), he tries to make me really feel as if I
were conferring a huge obligation on the whole party by having come.
Never were there such hospitable people. I have had a good deal of
spoiling in the course of my life, but I never had it in such perfection
as now. Every creature on board is so cordial, that it would be quite
impossible not to feel so in return. I think my French is improving! I
can now distinguish the Brétons from the Provençals, and both from the
Parisians.
The officers are a pleasant, well-informed set, who have travelled with
their eyes open, and their relations with their fine old captain are
those of cordial sons with a father. It would be difficult for any one
accustomed to the rigid stiffness of the British navy to understand such
a condition. Even the frank kindliness with which sub-officers and men
are addressed, sounds to me as unusual as it is pleasant. Life on this
ship seems that of a happy family, with the filial and paternal
affections unusually well developed, and M. Aube is generally the centre
of a cheery group, chatting unreservedly on whatever topic may arise.
At least two of the officers are daily invited to breakfast, and two
others to dinner in the captain’s little cabin, all coming in their
turn. And six or eight generally come in to evening tea, a ceremony
which, I suspect, has been instituted specially out of deference to my
supposed English habits. Besides the bishop and myself, M. Pinart is
also the captain’s guest, and I find him pleasant and very ready to
impart his information, which, as you know, is considerable, on all
scientific matters. The others have little jokes at his expense, and
declare that he is more of a Yankee than a Frenchman. I can only say the
combination is good.
The feeding is excellent, beginning with early chocolate. Breakfast is
at 9 o’clock, and ends with coffee and liqueurs, especially most
delicious Chartreuse, which some of us in an irreverent whisper call “La
meilleure œuvre des moines.” Dinner, with similar ending, is at 5
o’clock, and tea at 8. Antoine has orders to give me luncheon at 1, with
due respect to English habits; but I find this quite superfluous; so
that ceremony falls through. By the by, tell A. that his champagne-cup
produced quite a sensation. It was generally set down as being _de
l’hydromel_, and the greatest curiosity prevails concerning its
ingredients, which I, unfortunately, am not able to satisfy.
We are now about 250 miles east of Fiji, and sighted land this
afternoon; we have just anchored off Tonga, which certainly compares
unfavourably with our beautiful Fijian isles. This is the dullest,
flattest land I have yet seen—a low shore, fringed with long lines of
cocoa-palm, which, seen from the sea, are singularly monotonous. The
king’s town, Nukualofa, consists of a long row of more or less ugly
villas, stores, and barracks, built of wood and painted white: one is
bright-green. The houses are roofed with zinc or shingle, and the
general effect is that of a new English watering-place. King George’s
palace is a rather handsome wooden building like a hotel, and is
reserved for his guests. The Government offices occupy another wooden
building, and just beyond them is the printing-office, in which a few
books, a magazine, and an almanac, are printed in the native tongue. A
large Wesleyan church, painted white, and with a very small steeple,
stands on a green hill on the site of an old fortification, and close to
it is the house of Mr Baker, Wesleyan missionary.
About a mile and a half along the shore is another village called
Maofanga, where there is another Wesleyan church, but it is chiefly a
Roman Catholic settlement; and near a neat thatched chapel of the true
Tongan type, I see a long pleasant-looking bungalow, which I am told is
a convent, the home of a society of French Sisters. To-morrow morning I
hope to go ashore and see everything.
* * * * *
_Saturday Night_,
IN MY CELL, CONVENT OF THE IMMACULATE
CONCEPTION, MAOFANGA.
You see my experiences are rapidly enlarging. I have to-day made my very
first acquaintance with conventual life, and am greatly interested by
it, and by the exceedingly ladylike kind women who, at a hint from the
bishop, invited me to stay with them as long as the ship is in harbour,
and have given me this clean, tidy wee room, which, though not
luxurious, is some degrees more so than their own simple cells. I have a
table, a chair, and a tiny bedstead.
There are only four Sisters. The eldest, Sister Anna, is a very old
lady, but most courteous and friendly. Sœur Marie des Anges is a cosy
middle-aged woman, who has lately come from the convent at Samoa to take
care of Sœur Marie des Cinq Plaies, a sweet, pretty young woman, with a
terrible cough, and evidently fast dying of consumption. The fourth
sister, Sœur Marie-Jésu, is Irish. All are most gentle and kind, and
seem deeply interested in their schools and the care of a large number
of nice-looking women and children. I think myself most fortunate in
having been invited to stay here, instead of finding quarters in the
ugly, pretentious town of foreign houses, which, whatever advantages
they may possess, are quite opposed to all our predilections in favour
of native architecture.
The surroundings here are calm and quiet. Through a frame of tall palms,
with ever-waving fronds, we look to the blue harbour, where the friendly
big ship lies mirrored—a ship which, to these good Sisters, is a link to
that dear home-land, _la belle France_, which they do so love, but to
which they have bidden a long farewell, in devotion to their mission
work in these far isles. The schoolroom is under the same roof, and full
of bright intelligent girls. At sunset there were vespers in the church
close by, and, as the delicate sister was ordered to stay at home, and
do her part by ringing the Angelus, we sat together and listened to the
singing, which was very good,—the Tongan rendering of Canticles and
harmonised Litanies being excellent. The harmonium is played by Père
Lamaze, who is a good musician. Another father, a fine old Bréton
priest, is the architect of a handsome wooden church now in process of
erection. (When the Seignelay touched at the Wallis Isles on their way
to Fiji, the bishop consecrated a really very fine new church there; and
as the Roman Catholic Mission in those isles is very strong, there seem
to have been wonderful rejoicings on the occasion. Among the offerings
of the people were 150 pigs, which are being gradually consumed by the
crew.)
This morning, soon after breakfast, Captain Aube landed me, in charge of
M. Berryer and M. Pinart, to explore the hideous town. The shore-reef is
so wide that at low tide there is a broad expanse of slimy mud and sharp
coral; so it was with some difficulty that we effected a landing, just
below the king’s house, whence floated the flag of Tonga, which is red,
with a white cross on one corner. King George has a guard of two hundred
men, some of whom are arrayed in scarlet, and a detachment of these were
on duty, expecting a formal visit from the captain and the
bishop,—which, however, did not come off till the afternoon, when there
was much saluting—twenty-one guns fired from the ship, and twenty-one
returned.
We naturally made for the highest point of this very flat town—namely,
the Wesleyan church, which, though it only stands about fifty feet above
the sea, commands a good bird’s-eye view of its surroundings—thatched
roofs just seen through luxuriant bread-fruit trees, cocoa-palms, and
large-leaved bananas, with scarlet hybiscus and rosy oleanders to give
an occasional touch of colour.
Close to the church is the grave of the commander of an English
man-of-war, who, forty years ago, allowed his valour to overcome his
discretion, and himself led an armed force to assist the present King
George in asserting his claim to the throne. In charging a stockade he
and several of his men were killed, and an English gun was captured,
which still lies at the village of Bea, about four miles from here.
Another very sad memory clings to this place—namely, that of the
barbarous massacre in the year 1799 of three of the very first
missionaries who ever landed in the South Pacific. A party of ten men
were sent to Tonga in 1796 by the London Mission, and for three years
they contrived to hold their ground, till, on the breaking out of a
civil war, three of their number were murdered, and the others were
compelled to fly, and conceal themselves as best they could. On this
occasion, as on almost every other when the lives of Christian teachers
have been sacrificed, the action of the savages was distinctly due to
the influence of wicked white men. The culprit at Tonga was an escaped
English convict, who, having won the ear of the king, persuaded him that
these men were wizards, and that an epidemic, which was then raging, was
due to their malignant sorceries. So, at the bidding of this scoundrel,
the poor savages murdered their true friends.
That any should have escaped was due to the most providential and
unlooked-for arrival of a ship captured in the Spanish war and brought
to Tahiti—whence a member of that mission undertook to navigate her to
New South Wales, on condition she might call at Tongatabu, to see how it
fared with his brethren in the Friendly Isles. Thus happily were the
survivors rescued, and the mission abandoned, till the Wesleyans
ventured to reoccupy the dangerous ground, with what success we well
know, seeing that to the aid given by their Tongan converts was due much
of their wonderful progress in Fiji. On the green hill of Nukualofa are
the graves of those early martyrs, shadowed by dark, mournful casuarina
trees.
Leaving the church, on the little grassy hill, we descended to the dead
level, and passed long rows of thatched houses embowered in flowering
shrubs, with banana and pine-apple gardens. These are the homes of the
mission students and their families,—all very tidy, and with well-kept
grass paths and green lawn all round.
All the native houses here are oval in form, having both ends rounded.
They have the same deep thatch as the Fijian houses, generally of reeds
or wild sugar-cane. The walls are of plaited cocoa-palm leaves or reeds
interlaced. The houses have no stone foundation to raise them above the
damp earth, and in many of the poorer huts the floors are merely strewn
with dried grass instead of having neat mats, such as the poorest Fijian
would possess. Only in the wealthier houses did we see coarse mats, made
of pandanus. In the majority, however, there is an inner room screened
off to form a separate sleeping corner; and we noticed that the Tongan
pillow closely resembles that of Fiji, being merely a bit of bamboo
supported by two legs. The cooking is generally done in a hut by itself,
built over an oven in the ground; but a good many ovens are _al fresco_,
and the daily yams, or the pig of high festivals, are baked quite in
public.
Mr Baker,[1] who is the head of the mission here, was absent, but we
called on his wife, who received us kindly, and made me a present of a
pretty Tongan basket and combs. She regretted that she could not offer
to take me for a drive, her carriage having come to grief. There are all
manner of vehicles here—wonderful in our eyes after having so long
looked with reverence on the engineer’s wheel-barrow as the only wheeled
conveyance in Fiji! There are also a number of horses, descendants of
those left here by Captain Cook, A.D. 1777, which the Tongans ride at a
hard gallop, with a tether rope round their necks in lieu of a bridle.
Finding that Nukualofa was utterly lacking in picturesque incident (at
least so it appeared to eyes satiated with Fijian beauty of scenery), we
followed a broad grass path which runs along the shore and intersects
the isle. Like everything else here, it is in apple-pie order. King
George is too wise to waste the labour of his subjects, albeit convicts;
so instead of useless stone-drill or treadmill, all Tongan criminals
labour for the good of their brethren, eminently to the improvement of
the isle. How often, in India and Ceylon, when unable to close my ears
to the monotonous word of command of some police sergeant, “Take up—put
down,” “Take up—put down,” I have watched the cruel waste of human
strength expended on lifting a heavy stone, carrying it so many paces,
and putting it down—and then doing the same thing again, and again, and
again, in the stifling heat of a tropical sun! Would that our prison
disciplinarians might borrow a hint of wisdom from this once savage
Tongan king!
Following the pleasant path, beneath the shadow of greenest bananas,
with the sunlight streaming in mellow gold through the tall palms far
overhead, we reached the village of Maofanga, where we found the bishop
at the house of the Fathers.
Père Lamaze then brought me here to the good Sisters, who received me
with open arms. The delicate one immediately slipped out to do a little
preliminary milking, that she might give me a cup of delicious fresh
milk, and with it she brought me some lovely blossoms from the little
garden in which the Sisters cultivate tall French lilies and a few other
flowers to mingle with the abundant pink oleanders, in their church
decorations.
After vespers, the day’s work being done, they came to my cell, and we
all sat down on the mats and had a pleasant little gossip. I think that
a breath from the outside wicked world cannot quite have lost all charm,
and two at least of these ladies have evidently lived in good French
society. Now they have gone to their cells, and there is not a sound in
the quiet night. My door opens on to a verandah leading into the garden,
and just beyond lies a peaceful burial-ground—neatly kept graves of
Christian Tongans, some marked with simple crosses, and overgrown with
flowers.
Now I must say good-night, as to-morrow will be a long day.
_Monday 10th._
On Sunday morning I was awakened before dawn by hearing the Sisters
astir. They were lighting their own tiny chapel, where, at sunrise, they
had an early celebration, in order that they might not be obliged to
remain fasting till the later service.
At 7.30 they brought me _café au lait_ in my cell, and at 8 we went
together to high Mass in the large native church. Of course there was a
very full congregation, as, the better to impress the native mind, all
the French sailors were paraded, to say nothing of all the officers,
who, dressed in full uniform, were ranged in a semicircle inside the
altar-rails, on show—a very trying position, especially to the excellent
captain, who, though a thoroughly good man, would scarcely be selected
as a very rigid Catholic. Indeed I cannot think that devotion to the
Church is a marked characteristic of this mission-ship.
Accustomed only to see the good bishop in his ordinary garb of rusty
black and faded purple, it was startling to see him assume the gorgeous
Episcopal vestments of gold brocade with scarlet linings—the mitre,
which was put off and on so frequently at different parts of the
service, and all the other ecclesiastical symbols. The friendly priests,
too, were hard to recognise in their richly brocaded vestments; and I
confess that to my irreverent eyes the predominance of yellow and
scarlet, and a good many other things besides, forcibly recalled the
last gorgeous ritualistic services I had witnessed in many Buddhist
temples in Ceylon, and on the borders of Thibet. Such impressions tend
to wandering thoughts, and mine, I fear, are apt to become rather
“mixed.” Anyhow it was a relief when the scarlet and gold vestments were
replaced by purple, with beautiful white lace. All the accessories were
excellent. A native played the harmonium well, and Tongan _enfants de
chœur_ chanted the service admirably. Altogether the scenic effect was
striking.
Chairs had been provided for all the foreigners present, and of course I
sat with the Sisters, though it would have seemed more natural to curl
up on a mat beside the native women, as we do in Fiji. These Catholic
Tongans so far retain their former customs, that they continue to sit on
the ground, although the polished wooden floor, which has replaced the
soft grass and mats of old days, is not exactly a luxurious seat.
In the Wesleyan churches, which are here built as much as possible on
ugly foreign models, regular benches are the rule. I trust it will be
long ere our simple and suitable churches in Fiji are replaced by
buildings of that sort. I grieve to say that this is by no means the
only point in which the natives here have departed from primitive
custom. Not content with the noble work of utterly exterminating
idolatry and cannibalism, the teachers in these isles are afflicted with
an unwholesome belief in foreign garments, and by every means in their
power encourage the adoption of European cloth and unbecoming dresses;
consequently many of the Tongan men glory in full suits of black, while
some of the girls appear in gaudy and vulgar hats, trimmed with
artificial flowers. Imagine these surmounting a halo of spiral curls!
Is it not strange that this admirable mission, which has done such
magnificent work in these isles, cannot be content to allow its Tongan
converts the same liberty in outer matters as its wise representatives
in Fiji allow their congregations? Here the “gold ring and goodly
apparel” are promoted to the foremost stiff benches. There the
distracting “care for raiment” is reduced to a minimum, and all the
people kneel together devoutly, on the soft accustomed mats, in houses
of the same type as their cool pleasant homes, without a thought that a
building of a European type, with hard uncomfortable seats, and
unbecoming foreign clothes, can render their prayer and praise more
acceptable to their Father in heaven.
Nothing astonishes me more, in reading any of the early missionary
records of grand work done in these seas, than the frequent laudatory
allusions to the general adoption by the converts of some fearful and
wonderful head-dress, in imitation of the hideous bonnets of our
grandmothers, and worn by the wives of the early missionaries. Immense
praise was bestowed on the ingenious females who, under the direction of
those excellent women, succeeded in manufacturing coal-scuttle bonnets
of cocoa-palm leaves. Still more startling was the same monstrous form,
when cunningly joined pieces of thin tortoise-shell were the materials
used to imitate the brown silk bonnet of England! We may well rejoice
that these horrors are no longer an integral feature of Christianity in
the South Seas! It is sufficiently dreadful to see the ultra
“respectable” classes donning coats, waistcoats, and trousers.
Immediately after service I returned to luncheon on board, to be ready
to start with Monseigneur Elloi for Mua, which is the principal Roman
Catholic station here, distant about twelve miles. A large man-of-war
boat with twelve rowers carried the bishop’s party, which consisted of
two Fathers, and four of the ship’s officers. Several others got horses
and rode across the isle. A party of Tongan students filled another
boat. Wind, tide, and current being against us, the journey took three
hours. It is a dreary coast, everywhere bound by a wide expanse of
villanous shore-reef, which makes landing simply impossible. The
approach to Mua is by a channel which seemed to me several miles long,
and is like a river cut through the reef, which edges it on either side.
Here we rowed against a sweeping current, and the men had hard work to
make way.
On reaching Mua we found the riders awaiting us, and a great procession
of priests, headed by Père Chevron, a fine grey-haired old man, who has
been toiling here for thirty-five years. Scarlet and white-robed
acolytes and others, carried really handsome flags and banners. Their
chanting was excellent. They escorted the bishop to the beautiful Tongan
church, which is a building of purely native type, with heavy thatch,
and all the posts, beams, and other timbers are fastened together
without the use of a single nail. All are tied with strong vines from
the forests, and plaited over with sennit—_i.e._, string of divers
fibres,—of hybiscus, cocoa-palm, pandanus, and other plants, ranging in
colour through all shades of yellow, brown, and black. These are laid on
in beautiful and most intricate patterns, and form a very effective and
essentially Polynesian style of decoration. The altar, which is entirely
of native manufacture, is really very fine. It is made of various island
woods, inlaid with whales’-tooth ivory and mother-of-pearl. All the
decorations in this church are in excellent taste, and bespeak most
loving care. Here, as at Maofanga, comfort is sacrificed to appearance
by the substitution of a polished wooden floor for the accustomed mats.
I cannot say I think this an improvement, as it is a hard seat during a
long service.
However, on this occasion I did not experience its discomfort, for,
shocking to say, in view of the example to the natives, none of us
attended the service, but all went off at once, guided by M. Pinart
(whose antiquarian instincts had already led him thither), to the tombs
of the Toui Tongas, the old kings of Tonga. They are formed of gigantic
blocks of volcanic rock, said to have been brought to these flat isles
from the Wallis group. They are laid in three courses of straight lines,
like cyclopean walls, and lie at intervals through the bush. They are
much overgrown with tangled vegetation, especially with the
widespreading roots of many banyan trees, and though wonderful, are not
sketchable.
In olden days, when the Toui-Tonga was here laid to his rest, his
favourite wife and most valued possessions were buried with him. All his
subjects, young and old, male and female, shaved their heads and mourned
for four months. Those engaged in preparing his sacred body for the
grave were obliged to live apart for ten months, as being _tabu_ or
sacred.
When the corpse had been deposited on this great burial-mound, all the
men, women, and children assembled, and sat round in a great circle,
bearing large torches made of dried palm-leaves. Six of the principal
men then walked several times round and round the place of burial, in
sunwise procession, waving the blazing torches on high; finally, these
were extinguished and laid on the ground. Then all the people arose and
made the sunwise circuit of the royal tombs, as has been done from the
earliest days, by men of all nations and colours,[2] and then they, too,
extinguished the emblematic torches, and laid them on the earth, in
memory of him whose flame of life had passed away for ever from the poor
dead clay. This ceremony was repeated on fourteen successive nights.
The mystery in all antiquities of this sort lies in the problem, how a
race possessed only of stone adzes could possibly have hewn these huge
blocks in the first instance, and how they then transported them on
their frail canoes across wide distances of open sea. Tombs of the same
character were common to all these groups, and were called _marais_.
They combined the purpose of mausoleums of the chiefs, and of temples
where human and other sacrifices were offered.
Some of them were of gigantic dimensions. Captain Cook described one at
Papara in Tahiti, which consisted of an immense pyramid, 267 feet long
by 87 wide, standing on a pavement measuring 360 feet by 354. On its
summit stood a wooden image of a bird, and a fish carved in stone,
representing the creatures especially reverenced by that tribe.
The pyramid was, in fact, a huge cairn of round pebbles, “which, from
the regularity of their figure, seem to have been wrought.” It was faced
with great blocks of white coral, neatly squared and polished, and laid
in regular courses, forming eleven great steps, each of which was 4 feet
high, so that the height of the pile was 44 feet. Some of these stones
were upwards of 3 feet in length and 2½ in width. The pavement on which
the pyramid was built was of volcanic rock, also hewn into shape, some
of the stones being even larger than the coral blocks, and all perfectly
joined together, without mortar.
As Captain Cook found no trace of any quarry in the neighbourhood, he
inferred that these blocks must have been carried from a considerable
distance; and even the coral with which the pyramid was faced, lies at
least three feet under the water. The question, therefore, which puzzled
him, as it does us this day, was, how did these savages, ignorant of all
mechanical appliances, and possessing no iron tools, contrive to hew
these wonderful _marais_, which were the temples and tombs of every
Polynesian group? The majority were pulled to pieces by the natives when
they abandoned idolatry, but happily for the antiquarian, some of the
tombs of the mighty dead escaped these over-zealous reformers; and
though the coral altars are no longer polluted by human blood, the grey
ruins still remain, now overgrown by forest-trees, and more solemn in
their desolation than when those hideous rites were practised by the
poor savages at the bidding of ruthless priests.
In the course of our walk we saw some lovely little pigeons,
bright-green with purple head, and a number of larger ones, green and
yellow. Also many small bats skimming about the cocoa-palms, darting to
and fro in pursuit of the insects which make their home in the crown of
the tree. Towards dusk a multitude of fruit-bats with soft fur appeared,
flapping on heavy wing, and feeding on the flowers of various tall
trees. We also noticed a number of tree swifts, reminding us forcibly of
our own swallows: like them they skim airily about the houses, but
instead of resting under the eaves, they seek a safer home in the tall
palms.
Returning to the village, we lingered beneath the fine old trees known
as Captain Cook’s, till summoned by the Fathers to supper at their
house, which stands close to the church. They gave us the best they
had,—namely, salt-junk and villanously cooked cabbage, whereat their
naval guests secretly groaned, and bewailed the excellent _cuisine_ they
had left on board; but to these good ascetics such fare seemed too
luxurious, so, although it was Sunday, and a great festival, they would
taste nothing but a few slices of yam. I find them most interesting
companions, having been so long in the isles, that they are familiar
with all details of native manners and customs. The old Père Chevron is
particularly pleasant. He has worked here for several years longer than
our good old friend Père Bréhéret of Levuka, to whom he bade me send his
loving greetings, which I hope you will deliver.
After supper with the Fathers, a kind Scotchwoman, Mrs Barnard, the only
white woman in the place, came to take me to her house for the night,
where she made me most comfortable, though I could not but fear that she
and her husband had given me their own room. He is agent for a
merchant’s house in the colonies. I found my hostess was a Cameron from
Lochaber, who has retained her pure Gaelic tongue, and speaks both it
and English with the sweet intonation ascribed to the Princess of Thule.
Great was her delight when she learnt the real name of her guest, and
many a pleasant reminiscence she had to tell of certain of my own
nearest kindred.... We talked of mutual friends in the dear old north
and on the west coast, and many a touching memory was reawakened for us
both. Verily the ends of the world are bound by tender human links!
My hostess was herself astir long before dawn, to prepare breakfast for
her countrywoman, as I was to make an early expedition with my French
friends to Haamonga, distant about eight miles, to see a wonderful
trilithon. The Fathers lent us their dogcart, but had no horse. However,
they succeeded in borrowing one, which M. Pinart volunteered to drive.
It proved a brisk trotter, and we sped along cheerily. Most of the
others rode, escorted by two _kanaques_—a word which, though it simply
means “a man,” is used by the French as a generic term for all manner of
islanders in North and South Pacific.
It was a lovely morning and a delightful drive, over a good broad grass
road—the bush on either side fragrant with jessamine, and the trees in
many places matted with such tangles of large, brilliantly blue
convolvulus as I have seen nowhere else but in the Himalayas. The lilac
marine ipomæa abounds everywhere, and we passed dense masses of the
large-leaved white sort. From these lovely hiding-places flashed green
pigeons and blue kingfishers, startled by our approach. Tall sugar-cane,
wild ginger with scarlet blossom, and blue clitoria, with here and there
a clump of glossy bananas or quaint papawa, kept up the tropical
character of the vegetation.
We had no difficulty in finding the great dolmen of which we were in
search. It stands on a grassy lawn, surrounded by bush, and is certainly
a remarkable object. It differs from all other trilithons I have seen or
heard of, in that the two supporting pillars are cut out at the top to
secure the transverse capstone, which is hewn.
The height above ground is 15 feet, length 18 feet, and the width 12
feet. Nothing whatever is known concerning its origin, and the natives
have apparently no tradition concerning it.
This is the only rude stone monument I have seen in the Pacific, but I
am told that others have been observed in different groups, though on a
smaller scale; for instance, in the Society Isles, where the great altar
of the principal _marai_ on Huahine is a large slab of unhewn stone,
resting on three boulders. Around it are the rock-terraces which formed
the rude temple.
At Haamonga the cyclopean trilithon stands alone. All others known to
us, such as those at Stonehenge, at Tripoli, Algeria, and in Central
America, are found in connection with circles of huge stones, to which
they have apparently been the gateway; but here there does not appear to
have been any circle, not even a detached dolmen.
In its weird solitude it most resembles the cromlech of Byjnath in
Bengal; but what may be its story none can possibly guess. One thing
only is certain, that these grey stones were brought here by some
long-forgotten race, who little dreamt, when they raised this ponderous
monument, that a day would come when _it_ should survive as the sole
proof that _they_ ever existed.
[Illustration:
TRILITHON ON TONGATABU
FRIENDLY ISLES.
]
We have been told that within the memory of persons now living, an
enormous _kava_ bowl stood on the horizontal stone, and that most solemn
and sacred drinking festivals were held here. It is very probable that
this may have been the case, as the people would, in heathen days, very
naturally retain some tradition of reverence for the trilithon, as the
peasants of Brittany, and, I may say, of Britain, do for similar
erections to the present day, assembling for annual festivals at “the
stones,” though the origin of Carnac, Stonehenge, and Stennis, is as
unknown as that of Haamonga.
Returning to the village we saw that the church was crowded, and that
there were a number of candidates for confirmation. Judging that the
service would occupy some time, and being anxious to see as much of the
neighbourhood as possible, we drove along the coast to a particularly
fine banyan, noted in Captain Cook’s chart, and beneath its shadow we
rested awhile, and enjoyed a very pleasant half-hour overlooking a calm,
beautiful sea.
We reached Mua just as the congregation was dispersing, and were
troubled with some qualms on the score of our bad example, but the
considerate bishop gave us full absolution. I regret to say that a
considerable proportion of the people were like hideously-dressed-up
apes, masculine and feminine—many of the former in seedy black clothes,
and some of the latter attired in gay flimsy silk gowns, inflated with
large crinolines, and with baby hats, trimmed with pink and blue
flowers, stuck on the top of their fuzzy heads. Hitherto, as you know,
my ideas of Tongans have been derived only from the stately men and
women who have settled in Fiji, and there, like their neighbours, have
retained the graceful drapery of native cloth. Here the influence of
certain persons interested in trade is so strong, that the manufacture
of _tappa_ is discouraged by every possible means; and a heavy penalty
attaches to making it on any, except one, day in the week. It seems that
this law was passed in King George’s absence, and I am happy to learn
that he was exceedingly angry—though, as yet, the law stands unrepealed,
and the manufacture is doomed to cease altogether this year.
Whoever is to blame, the system of taxation and fines is something
astounding. A woman who is found without a pinafore, even in her own
house, is fined two dollars, no matter how ample is her petticoat.
Should she venture beyond her threshold minus this garment, she is
liable to a fine of three dollars. If caught smoking, she is fined two
and a half dollars, and one and a half dollar costs. Imagine such
legislation for a people whose highest proof of reverence in olden days
was to strip themselves to the waist in presence of their king, or on
approaching a sacred spot, and who still consider any upper garment as
altogether superfluous—a people, moreover, whose very nature it is to be
for ever rolling up minute cigarettes for themselves and their friends!
The most atrocious of all the regulations is one inflicting a fine of
ten dollars on any man found without a shirt, though wearing such a
_sulu_ (kilt) as would in Fiji be considered full dress, either at
church or Government House. One of the lads told us he had actually been
made to pay this fine a few days ago, having put off his shirt while
fishing. Wet or dry they must wear the unaccustomed foreign clothing,
instead of the former coating of oil, which made these people as
impervious to water as so many ducks. But whether by compulsion or for
vainglory, the hideous foreign clothes are worn during the burning heat
of the day; then, under the friendly veil of night, comfort and economy
are consulted by dispensing with superfluous garments; and so the heavy
night-dews act with double power, and chills produce violent coughs,
which too often end in consumption and death.[3]
These people, like most kindred races when brought in contact with
civilisation, are fast dying out. I believe there are now only about
9000 in the Tongan group, 5000 on Happai, and 5000 in Vavau district.
They certainly are a very fine well-built race, with clear
yellowish-brown skin and Spanish colouring; they also resemble Spaniards
or Italians in their animation of expression,—the muscles of the
forehead working in a most remarkable manner, especially to express
wonder or interest. They have fine faces, well-developed forehead,
strong chin, and features generally like those of an average
good-looking European. Not the slightest approach to the “blubber lips
and monkey faces” of negro races, or of the isles lying nearer to the
equator. On the contrary, the mouth is well formed, and shows beautiful
teeth. The eyes are invariably dark brown, generally large and clear.
The beard, moustaches, and eyebrows are allowed to retain their natural
glossy black; but, as in Fiji, the hair is dyed of a light sienna by
frequent washing in coral-lime, and encircles the head with a yellow
halo, strangely in contrast with the dark eyes and eyebrows. Like that
of the Papuan, rather than the pure Polynesian races, it takes the form
of a mop of innumerable very fine spiral curls, of which each individual
hair twists itself into a tight corkscrew. It is crisp and glossy, and
very elastic; and if you draw it out full length, it at once springs
back to its natural form. Some of the women now allow their hair to grow
quite long. Both men and women march along with a proud overbearing gait
that always gives one an impression that they look on all other races
with something of contempt.
Our morning’s work had given us such keen appetites that we did more
than justice to the breakfast which awaited us at the Fathers’ house,
though it must be confessed that the fare was of the coarsest; it was,
however, the very best they had to offer, and was evidently considered
quite a feast. My comrades congratulated one another that such viands
did not often fall to their lot!
Immediately after breakfast we started on our return journey with a high
tide. Wind and current being in our favour, we flew down the river-like
passage through the wide coral-reef, which we had ascended with such
toil, and less than two hours brought us back to the good ship, and to
cordial greeting from her genial captain. He had invited King George of
Tonga and his grandson to dine on board, to meet the bishop and the
Fathers, and I was invited to join the party. The king, who ought
properly to be called Tupou or Toubo, which is the surname of all the
royal family, was received with a salute of twenty-one guns—the ship
dressed and yards manned, with sailors shouting “Vive la République!”
(an institution to which, I fancy, that most men on board are profoundly
indifferent—in fact several are declared royalists, and faithful
adherents of Henri V.)
The Tongans were duly conducted all over the ship, and examined
machinery, guns, men’s quarters, and every detail, with apparent
interest. A long dinner followed, from which I escaped as soon as I
conveniently could.
The king is a very fine old man, in height about 6 feet 2 inches. He was
dressed in a general’s full uniform, and his grandson in that of an
aide-de-camp—cocked-hat, &c. I confess I think that Thakombau and Maafu,
in their drapery of Fijian _tappa_, are far more imposing figures. The
king’s son, Unga, is at present seriously ill. His three sons govern the
three groups into which this island-kingdom of Tonga divides
itself—namely, Tongatabu, Happai, and Vavau. There are only about sixty
isles in all, and their area is about 600 square miles; so this is a
small matter compared with the 7000 square miles of Fiji. I am told that
here the land all belongs to the king, so that any one wishing to settle
can only do so as a tenant, leasing land from his Majesty.
The feast being over, _le Roi kanaque_ departed amid blue and green
lights, one of which was reserved for us—_i.e._, the ecclesiastical
party—returning to the priest’s house and to the convent, where the
pleasant Sisters awaited me with kindest welcome; and we all sat on the
mats in my cell and chatted for a while.
Now I am so very cold that I must go to bed. I think this climate must
be far more trying than that of Fiji. The heat in the daytime feels to
me greater, and every night is bitterly cold, necessitating piles of
rugs and blankets; while the dew is so drenching that the roofs always
drip as if there had been heavy rain. I do not wonder at the delicate
little Sœur Marie having fallen into consumption. It carries off many
strong natives.
_Tuesday Night._
Wasn’t it just cold when I left off writing! I lay awake shivering for
two hours, though wrapped up in blanket, cloak, and big tartan plaid. I
find that the island of Tongatabu is known all over the group as the
cold isle, and I am ready to endorse the title.
I devoted this forenoon to a sketch of this hospitable cottage-convent,
and in the afternoon went alone to see Mrs Baker, who took me to visit
the queen—a fine old lady, but very helpless, having dislocated her hip
by a fall eight years ago. She was sitting on the bare boards in a
wretched little room of a small house close to the large villa or palace
in which King George receives his guests, but in which he never lives,
preferring that his home should be _faka-Tonga_—_i.e._, adhering to
native customs so far as is consistent with keeping up appearances. But
here, again, we were struck by the uncomfortable substitution of a hard
wooden floor for the soft mats of a truly native home. As civilised
houses are glazed, the poor old queen, though much oppressed with heat,
sat beside a glass window, shaded by a filthy tattered rag which had
once been a curtain, but which in its palmiest days had been
immeasurably inferior to a handsome drapery of native cloth: indeed the
only symptom of comfort in the place was a curtain of Fijian _tappa_.
The king and his chiefs were in council over church matters in a small
room adjoining the queen’s, so we had to talk in whispers. Various
female relations were grouped round the door, making the hot room still
hotter. I am much struck by the fact that these proud Tongans make use
of no titles. The Fijians always prefix the word _Andi_—_i.e._, Lady—to
the name of a woman of rank; but here the name is used bluntly, whether
in addressing a princess or her handmaid.
Hearing of the grave assembly of the chiefs to discuss the affairs of
the Wesleyan Church, brought back vividly to my mind all that I had
heard in former days of this very King George, and of the prominent part
taken by him in rousing these islanders to abandon their gross
heathenism and cannibalism. So effectual has been his work, that now not
one trace of these old evils remains, and these islanders are looked
upon as old-established Christians.
I had a pleasant walk back in the twilight, along the broad grass road
which runs parallel with the sea, and am now spending my last evening in
this peaceful convent. I am truly sorry that it is the last, for it will
feel like leaving real friends to part from these kind Sisters, who make
much of me, and do enjoy coming to sit with me in the evenings for a
little quiet chat. They bring all my meals in here, as it is against
their rules to allow me to feed with them in the refectory. In this
respect they are far more rigorous than the Fathers, who, as you know,
have invited me to supper and breakfast at their house.