SAIL FROM TONGA TO VAVAU—VOLCANO OF TOFUA—WESLEYAN MISSION—TWO THOUSAND
MILES FROM A DOCTOR—ORANGE-GROVES—A LOVELY SEA LAKE—CORAL CAVES.
ON BOARD LE SEIGNELAY,
_Wednesday, 12th September 1877_.
Here I am once more safely ensconced in my favourite niche, which is the
carriage of a big gun. Filled with red cushions, it makes a capital
sofa, and is a cosy, quiet corner, and a capital point of observation,
whence, without being in the way, I can look down on the various
manœuvres on deck—parades, gun practice, fire-parade, and so forth. We
embarked this morning early, the four Sisters, by special sanction of
the bishop, coming to see the last of me, and to breakfast with M.
Aube;—an outrageous piece of dissipation, they said, but almost like
once again setting foot in France. Four of the priests likewise escorted
the bishop, and we had an exceedingly cheerful ecclesiastical
breakfast-party, after which came a sorrowful parting, and then we
sailed away from Tonga, taking with us the Père Padel, a fine old Bréton
Father.
We are now passing through the Happai group, and hope to-night to catch
a glimpse of the volcano of Tofua, or, as it is also called by the
natives, _Coe afi a Devolo_ (the Devil’s fire). It is a perfect volcanic
cone 2500 feet in height, densely wooded to the edge of the crater.
Strange to say, though the isle simply consists of this one active
volcano, there is said to be a lake on the summit of the mountain. It is
not stated to be a geyser; but the Tongans who visit it bring back small
black pebbles, which they strew on the graves of their dead.
The Happai group consists of about forty small isles, some purely
volcanic, and others, as usual, combining coral on a volcanic
foundation. About twenty of these are inhabited.
NEIAFU, VAVAU, _Thursday Evening_.
The volcano proved to be quiescent. Not even a curl of luminous smoke
betrayed its character. The sea, however, made amends by the brilliancy
of its phosphoric lights. It was a dead calm, and from beneath the
surface shone a soft mellow glow, caused, I am told, by vast shoals of
living creatures, as though the mermaids were holding revel beneath the
waves, and had summoned all their luminous subjects to join in the
dance. I know few things in nature more fascinating than this lovely
fairy-like illumination. Its tremulous glow and occasional brilliant
shooting flashes are to me always suggestive of our own northern
lights—a sort of marine aurora.
Our course this morning was very pretty, steaming for many miles through
narrow and intricate passages between the richly wooded headlands of
Vavau, the great island, and many outlying islets. Finally, we anchored
in what seemed like a quiet landlocked lake, at the village of Neiafu.
The bishop went ashore at once, and was reverently welcomed by two
priests, one of whom, Père Bréton, has been here for about thirty years,
living a life so ascetic as to amaze even his brethren, so completely
does mind appear to have triumphed over matter. We sinners all agree
that having each been intrusted with the care of an excellent animal, we
are only doing our duty by feeding and otherwise caring for it to the
best of our ability. So the ascetic example is one which we reverence,
but have no intention of following, cold water and yam, day after day,
being truly uninviting. But the old man has not forgotten how to be
genial and kind to others, and is a general favourite.
The Roman Catholic flock here is small, as is also the church, which,
however, is very neat. The Wesleyan Mission flourishes here, as it does
throughout these Friendly Isles. In the three groups—namely, Tonga,
Happai, and Vavau, it has 125 chapels, with an average attendance of
19,000 persons, of whom 8000 are church members. Four white missionaries
superintend the work of 13 native ministers, upwards of 100
schoolmasters, and above 150 local preachers. At the Tubou Theological
College—so named in honour of King George Tubou—there are about 100
students preparing for work as teachers or pastors.
I landed with M. Pinart, and a half-caste Samoan woman, who could talk
some English, acted as our interpreter with the widow of the late
“governor,” a large comely woman, who invited us to her cool Tongan
house, where friendly, pleasant-looking girls peeled delicious oranges
faster than we could eat them. This whole village and district is one
orange-grove; every house is embowered in large orange-trees—the earth
is strewn with their fruit, the air fragrant. What an enchanting change
after Tonga, where there are no orange-trees, and where a sense of
stiffness and over-regulation seemed to pervade life!
The present “governor” is a fine tall young chief, rejoicing in the name
of Wellington. He is acting for his father, Unga, King George’s
illegitimate son, whom he has declared heir to the throne, but who is at
present in very bad health. The young chief seems inclined to hold the
reins firmly and well. But at present the Vavau chiefs are in some
disgrace with King George, as they are suspected of plotting against
Unga, in favour of Maafu.[4]
Having eaten oranges to our hearts’ content, we continued our walk to
the Wesleyan Mission, and on our way thither met the Rev. —— Fox on his
way to the ship, to see if we had a doctor on board. The latter having
already gone ashore, we returned together to the house—a quiet pleasant
home, but for the present saddened by the serious illness of the young
wife, who, a few weeks ago, gave birth to her first child. As Vavau can
furnish neither nurse nor doctor, the wife of the missionary in Happai
had, at great personal inconvenience, come thence in an open canoe to
officiate on the occasion. She had, however, been compelled to return
soon afterwards to her own nurslings, leaving the young mother and her
baby in charge of native women. A very slow recovery, accompanied with
some unfavourable symptoms, had produced such depression and alarm, that
just before our arrival, the poor husband had actually been making
arrangements for his wife’s return to Sydney for proper medical care.
But, to get there, involved, in the first instance, a journey of about
200 miles in an open canoe to reach Tonga, whence she would have to
proceed alone, in a wretched little sailing vessel, on a voyage of
upwards of 2000 miles (as the crow flies)—a serious undertaking for a
woman in robust health, but a terrible prospect for an invalid with a
young baby.
Happily the timely arrival of the Seignelay dispelled this nightmare. M.
Thoulon, the good kind doctor (himself _père de famille_), at once
vetoed the rash arrangement, and his well-applied wisdom, and kind
encouraging words, have already restored heart to the dispirited young
wife; while a congenial talk with M. Pinart on the subject of Polynesian
dialects and races, has helped to cheer the husband, who, later, took us
to see his schools, pleasantly situated on a wooded hill, commanding a
lovely view of the landlocked harbour. Then strolling back through the
orange-groves, we returned on board, where I am now writing. The captain
and several of the officers have gone off duck-shooting, and expect good
sport.
_Saturday Evening._
Yesterday morning, after a very early breakfast, I went ashore at 6.30
with M. Pinart and Dr Thoulon. Mr Fox was waiting at the pier, and
returned with us to the mission-house, where we found the patient
already on the mend. I acted the part of interpreter for the doctor, who
was happily able to supply, as well as prescribe, all needful remedies
and tonics. So when we returned this afternoon to say good-bye, the
young mother looked like a different creature—so bright and happy. Truly
a blessed skill is that of the kindly leech!
The previous evening Mr Fox had undertaken to borrow some horses, and
escort us to the summit of “The Pudding,” a wooded hill, commanding a
splendid map-like view of the strangely intersected land and water on
every side of us. The isles lie so close, one to the other, that we
could scarcely believe we were looking on the ocean, and not rather on a
network of clear calm lakes and rivers. All the isles appear to be
densely wooded, but at intervals along the shore we could distinguish
villages nestling among the trees. One small island has recently been
ceded to the Germans as a coaling station, and there seems some reason
for anxiety lest this small foothold should be taken further advantage
of.
[Illustration:
A CORAL CAVE. VAVAU.
]
Our ride in the early morning was exceedingly pleasant. I had insured my
own comfort by bringing my side-saddle ashore. By some mistake we found
that the stirrup had been left in Fiji; but happily, on such a ship as
this, to want a thing is to have it, and I hear that a new stirrup and
strap are to be ready for me ere we reach Samoa. On the summit of the
hill we found breakfast all ready, a party of natives from the mission
having made an early start with tea, yams, ham and eggs—all of which had
been cooked gipsy-fashion. To this foundation we added the contents of a
hamper, which the thoughtful captain had directed his _maître d’hôtel_
to send with us. So we had a royal feast, and then I settled down to do
a bird’s-eye sketch of the strange world outspread below, while gentle
and rather pretty brown girls, with sienna hair, sat by, peeling oranges
by the dozen, with which they fed us all incessantly.
It is the part of true hospitality to peel oranges for a guest, as their
thick green skins contain so much essential oil, that the mere act of
removing them makes the hands very oily and uncomfortable. Woe betide
the rash and thirsty stranger who puts the green fruit to his lips to
suck it, as he might a golden orange in Europe. For many hours the
burning pain of almost blistered lips will remind him of his folly.
Returning to the village, we found a large ten-oared boat waiting for
us, the captain having most kindly placed it at our disposal, to enable
us to explore the coast. Mr Fox guided us to a truly exquisite cave,
about five miles distant. Never before, in all my wanderings, had my
eyes been gladdened by such an ideal fairy grot. We rowed along the face
of beautiful crags, which we had passed on the previous day without a
suspicion of the wonderful hiding-place within them. Suddenly we steered
right into a narrow opening, and found ourselves in a great vaulted
cavern like a grand cathedral—a coral cave, with huge white stalactites
hanging in clusters from the roof, and forming a perfect gallery along
one side, from which we could almost fancy that white-veiled nuns were
looking down on us.
The great outer cave is paved with lapis-lazuli, at least with water of
the purest ultra-marine, which was reflected in rippling shimmers of
blue and green on the white marble roof. For the sun was lowering, and
shone in glory through the western archway, lighting up the mysterious
depths of a great inner cavern, which otherwise receives but one ray of
light from a small opening far overhead, through which we saw blue sky
and green leaves. No scene-painter could have devised so romantic a
picture for any fairy pantomime. The French sailors were ecstatic in
their delight. They collected piles of old cocoa-nut fibre and dry
palm-leaves and kindled bright blazing fires, whose ruddy light glowed
on the dark crevices, which even the setting sun could not reach, and
blended with the blue and green reflected lights, and both played on the
white coral walls, and the white boat, and white figures—(for of course,
in the tropics, the sailors all wear their white suits). Soon these
active lads contrived to reach the gallery, and glided behind the
stalactite pillars, making the illusion of the nuns’ gallery still more
perfect. Altogether it was a scene of dream-like loveliness.
All this coast is cavernous, and most tempting to explore. Very near my
fairy cave lies the one described by Byron, in “The Island,” which can
only be reached by diving—
“A spacious cave
Whose only portal is the keyless wave
(A hollow archway by the sun unseen
Save through the billow’s glassy veil of green).”
A huge rock, about 60 feet high, rises from the sea, with nothing to
indicate that it is hollow; but at a considerable depth beneath
low-water mark, there is an opening in the rock through which expert
divers can enter, and find themselves in a cave about 40 feet wide and
40 in height—the roof forming rude Gothic arches of very rich and varied
colour, and the whole incrusted with stalactites. The clear green water
forms the crystal pavement, but two lesser caves, branching off on
either side, afford a dry resting-place to such as here seek a temporary
refuge. The place is quite unique in its surpassing loveliness; and the
brilliant phosphoric lights which gleam with every movement of the
water, and which are reflected in pale tremulous rays, that seem to
trickle from the stalactites and lose themselves among the high arches,
give to the whole a weird ghostly effect, quite realising all one’s
fancies of a spirit-world.
This home of the mermaids was first discovered by a young Tongan, who
was diving in pursuit of a wounded turtle. Filled with wonder and
delight, he lingered a few moments in admiration, then, recollecting how
valuable such a hiding-place might prove in days of ceaseless
intertribal war, he determined to keep his own counsel. So when he
returned to the surface he held his peace, and all his companions were
filled with wonder and admiration at the length of time he could remain
under water.
Not very long after this, his family incurred the anger of the great
chief of Vavau, and one and all were disgraced, and in continual danger
of their lives. But the chief had a beautiful daughter, who loved this
bold young islesman, and though under any circumstances he was of too
lowly birth to dare to claim her openly in marriage, he persuaded her to
forsake her father’s house and come to that which he had prepared for
her in the romantic grotto.
Here she remained hidden for several months, only venturing to swim to
the upper world in the starlight, and ever on the alert to dive to her
hiding-place on the slightest alarm. Of course her simple bathing-dress
of cocoa-nut oil and garlands did not suffer much from salt water; or if
it did, trails of sea-weed quickly supplied fresh clothing. Her love
brought constant supplies of fruit, to add to the fish which she herself
provided: and so the happy weeks flew by, till at last the companions of
the young man began to wonder why he left them so often, to go away all
by himself, and especially they marvelled that he invariably returned
with wet hair—(for the Tongans have the same aversion as the Fijians to
wetting their hair, and rarely do so without good cause). So at length
they tracked him, and saw that when his canoe reached the spot where he
had stayed so long under water in pursuit of the turtle, he again
plunged into the green depths, and there remained. They waited till he
had returned to the land, suspecting no danger. Then they dived beside
the great rock-mass, which seemed so solid, though it was but the crust
of a huge bubble—and soon they too discovered the opening, through which
they swam, and rising to the surface beheld the beautiful daughter of
the chief, who had been mourned as one dead. So they carried her back to
her indignant father—but what became of her hapless lover history does
not record. Doubtless he was offered in sacrifice to the gods of Vavau.
We peered down through the crystal waters to see whether we could
discern the entrance to the lover’s cave, but failed to do so. Except at
very low tide, it is difficult for average swimmers to dive so low. We
only heard of two Englishmen who had succeeded. One was the early
traveller, Mariner, who was present at a _kava_-drinking party of the
chiefs in this cool grot; the other was the captain of an English
man-of-war, who, in passing through the low rock archway, injured his
back so seriously, that the people of Vavau believed him to have died in
consequence.[5] It appears that the passage into the cave bristles with
sharp projecting points, and it is exceedingly difficult to avoid
striking against them. A native having dived to the entrance then turns
on his back, and uses his hands as buffers to keep himself off the rocky
roof.
Our row back to Neiafu was most lovely—sea, isles, and sky, vegetation
and cliffs, all glorified in the light of the setting sun. As we were
returning to shore, to land Mr Fox, Captain Aube hailed us, and bade us
invite him to dinner with him. I thought this very courteous, as of
course, on such an essentially Roman Catholic mission as this, there is
just a little natural feeling that it may not be discreet to show too
much honour to the Protestant minister, who, however, met with a most
cordial reception, and we had a very pleasant evening.
This morning I was invited to accompany a party who started at daybreak
to shoot wild duck on a pretty lake at some distance; but as I had the
option of returning to the grotto, I chose the latter. So the captain
again lent me the ten-oared boat, and we made another pleasant party to
the beautiful cave: but it lost much of its beauty by being seen in the
cold shadow of early morning, instead of being illumined by the level
rays of the evening sun. We repeated the palm-leaf bonfires, but felt
that we were not exhibiting our discovery to the best advantage.
However, I got a sketch, which has the one merit of being totally unlike
anything else I ever attempted.
We returned too late for breakfast in the captain’s cabin, so had a
cheery little party in the ward-room, then went ashore to say good-bye
to our friends, and carry away last impressions of the fragrant
orange-groves of Vavau. Then the bishop and the Fathers returned on
board, and we sailed away from the Friendly Isles.