LIFE ON BOARD SHIP—THE WALLIS ISLES—FOTUNA—SUNDAY ISLE—CYCLOPEAN REMAINS
ON EASTER ISLE—STONE ADZES—SAMOA—PANGO-PANGO HARBOUR.
FROM MY SOFA IN THE GUN-CARRIAGE,
ON BOARD THE SEIGNELAY, _Sunday, 16th_.
MY DEAR NELL,—I have asked Lady Gordon to send you a long letter to her,
which I hope to post at Apia, so that I need not repeat what I have
already written. We are having a most delightful cruise, with everything
in our favour, and the kindness of every one on board is not to be told.
To begin with, Monseigneur Elloi, Evêque de Tipara, is a host in
himself, so genial and pleasant, and so devoted to his brown flock. He
is terribly unhappy about all the fighting in Samoa; and I think the
incessant wear and tear of mind and body he has undergone, in going from
isle to isle, perpetually striving for peace, has greatly tended to
break down his own health, for he is now very far from well, and every
day that we touch land, and he has to officiate at a long church
service, he is utterly exhausted. It is high time he returned to France,
as he hopes to do, at the end of this cruise.
His title puzzled us much when he arrived in Fiji, as we supposed him to
be Bishop of Samoa. But it seems that a Roman Catholic bishop cannot
bear the title of a country supposed to be semi-heathen, so they adopt
that of one of the ancient African churches, which are now virtually
extinct.
To-day, being Sunday, the bishop called together as many of the sailors
as wished to attend, and held “a conference”—which meant that he sat on
deck, and they sat or stood all round, quite at their ease, no officers
being present, while he gave them a very nice winning little talk,
ending with a few words of prayer. There was no regular service. There
is always a tiny form of morning and evening prayer, said on parade by
one of the youngest sailors, which is very nice theoretically, but is
practically _nil_. At the word of command, Prière, a young lad, rapidly
repeats the _Ave Maria_ and _Nôtre Père qui êtes aux cieux_; he gabbles
it over at railroad speed in less than a minute; then, as an amen, comes
the next thing, _Punitions_, followed by a list of the various little
trespasses of the day, and the penalties awarded.
At each point where the vessel has touched, she has taken or left some
of the French priests, many of whom have been working in these isles for
so many years, that they know every detail concerning them, and are
consequently very pleasant companions. One of my especial friends is a
dear old Père Padel, a cheery Bréton, who has been working in the Wallis
group for many years, with the happy result of seeing its savages
converted to most devout Catholics. He is now going to Samoa.
Much of the charm of this voyage is due to the kindly, pleasant
relations existing between the captain and all his officers, from the
least to the greatest—all are so perfectly at ease, while so thoroughly
respectful. They are all counting the hours for their return to _la
belle France_, where several have left wife and family; and their two
years’ absence apparently seems longer to them than the four years of
our English ships would seem to be to less demonstrative Britons.
Nothing astonishes me more than the freedom of religious discussion on
every side. Of course to the bishop and the numerous _pères_,
personally, every one is most friendly and respectful, as well they may
be; but as a matter of individual faith, _c’est toute autre chose_.
The evening tea-parties in the captain’s cabin are particularly
pleasant. Very often the conversation turns on some literary question,
and then, from the ample library, are produced books from which M. le
Commandant reads illustrations of prose or poetry. He is himself
literary, and writes very well, in the ‘Revue des deux Mondes’ and other
papers. Monseigneur Elloi says that Captain Aube is a very distinguished
man in the French navy, and one who is certain of rapid promotion.
He has another guest on board, M. Pinart, a scientific traveller. He
belongs to a French Protestant family, but is such a thorough
cosmopolite, that when we go about together in the native villages, and
the people ask our nationalities, I always answer for him “American.” He
is most industrious in his various lines of work, and is at present busy
copying out vocabularies of all manner of dialects. He is greatly
interested in all ethnological questions, and has a collection of
skulls, enough to supply a resurrection army. I do not think the sailors
like it very much, and they are always afraid that some trouble will
arise with the natives of various isles on the vexed subject of _les
cranes_, which our _savant_ scents out from old hiding-places in caves
and clefts of the mountains, with all the instinct of a schoolboy
hunting for bird’s nests. He has just shown me some beautiful
illustrations in colours, for the book he is bringing out on American
Indians; also many good photographs, done by himself, of objects of
interest in many lands.
I am so sorry that the Seignelay paid her visits to Fotuna (in the
Southern New Hebrides), and to the Wallis Isles, on the way to Fiji. If
only these had been reserved for the return journey, I should have had
the rare luck of seeing them also. My kind friends are for ever
regretting this, and give me tantalising descriptions of both isles and
people.
Apparently _les isles Wallis_, or Uvea, must be the true earthly
paradise—so green, so fertile, with people so industrious, so contented,
and so hospitable. It is a group of four or five high volcanic isles,
all richly wooded, and protected from the ocean, not only by the great
barrier-reef, but by an intricate labyrinth of lesser belts and patches,
which make navigation a matter of extreme danger, even after the
difficult entrance, by a very narrow passage, has been accomplished. The
approach to the anchorage is by a network of such dangerous channels, as
involve masterly steering for even small craft, and make it a matter of
wonder that large vessels should attempt it. Indeed a French steamer,
L’Hermite, was wrecked there not long ago, owing to one moment’s
hesitation on the part of her commander, who, meeting a strong tide
running out, shifted the helm at a critical moment, and so the vessel
was swept on to the reef—a helpless plaything for the overwhelming surf.
The Wallis Isles lie due north of Tonga, and are the headquarters of the
Roman Catholic Bishop of Oceania, and a strong clerical staff; also of a
French sisterhood, who devote themselves to teaching children whose
lives have been spared by their own once cannibal parents, and who now
worship with them, in a handsome stone church, built by themselves,
under the direction of the Fathers, and are in every respect pattern
Catholics.
Three days’ sail from Wallis lies Fotuna, which is a little world by
itself. It consists of a single peak, rising abruptly from the waters,
and broken up into towering masses of crag and pinnacles, seamed by deep
ravines, opening up into fertile valleys, richly cultivated. Sparkling
streams afford an abundant water-supply for the irrigation of the _taro_
beds; bread-fruit, bananas, and palms grow luxuriantly: so it is an isle
of great natural beauty, and though only fifteen miles in circumference,
affords ample provision for its 900 inhabitants. They seem to be a
happy, healthy community, and have all adopted Christianity, either in
its Protestant or Roman form. The representative of the latter is a fine
old priest, who has devoted the greater part of his life to work on
Fotuna, and year by year adds a few inches to the walls of a very large
cathedral, which he hopes some future generation will complete. The
natives show their love for the good _padre_ by bringing him the heavy
blocks of coral-rock, which he hews at his leisure; but they are well
content to worship in less solid buildings. The majority wear, as their
badge, a little brass medal of the Virgin, or some other Christian
amulet, which, in the case of the little children, is often their only
raiment!
Apparently the adherents of the two great Christian bodies contrive to
live in peace, instead of finding in differing faith a new occasion for
enmities, as has been the case even in Polynesian isles. But is it not
grievous that, when at length “the people who sat in darkness have seen
a great light,” it should not shine upon them in one undivided ray?
The people of this lonely isle are especially interesting, because they,
and the inhabitants of Aniwa—a much smaller isle in the same region—are
of a totally different race from those on the other isles composing the
New Hebrides—the latter being Papuans, and these Malays, whose ancestors
drifted all the way from Tonga in a canoe. Though their colour has
darkened, they retain the dialect and the hair of their race.
Every one on board has treasures of some sort from Fotuna—especially
very beautifully painted native cloth. I think some of the patterns are
almost more artistic than those of the Fijians. Like theirs, these are
principally geometrical; and in addition to the black and red dyes which
are there used, the artists of Fotuna introduce a good deal of yellow.
The printing is done in the same manner, the raised pattern being
carefully designed with strips of cocoa-rib or bamboo on wooden blocks,
on which the colour is stamped. It is the same principle as that of our
printing-types, and was known in Polynesia long before the art of
printing was invented in Europe.
The most remarkable productions of Fotuna and some of its neighbouring
isles are gigantic cocoa-nuts, more than double the ordinary size. They
are immensely prized as drinking-cups. Many are 18 inches in
circumference after the husk has been removed. The largest grow on the
isle of Niufau, which is described as being merely the rim of a great
crater, from which smoke sometimes rises, and which is incrusted with
sulphur. Apparently the warmth of the soil agrees with all vegetation;
for the isle is exceedingly fertile, and the cocoa-nuts are the wonder
and envy of all beholders.
I confess I should not care to live on one of these smouldering
volcanoes. There are a good many such, scattered about the Pacific—and
occasionally one subsides altogether. For instance, halfway between
Tonga and New Zealand lies Sunday Isle. It is a volcanic rock-mass 1600
feet in height, and about four miles in diameter. It is exceedingly
fertile, but steam rises from all the crevices of the rocks, and the
people have only to scrape a hole in the ground, and therein place their
food that it may be baked in nature’s own oven. At one time there were a
good many settlers in this warm corner, but in an evil day a Peruvian
slave-ship touched here, and landed 200 poor creatures, captured in all
parts of the Pacific. Typhoid fever had broken out among them; so they
were thrown ashore to die, which they did, and most of the settlers
shared their fate. The others left the island on the first opportunity,
leaving only one white man with a Samoan wife and a dusky brood. These
lived on in peace and plenty for about ten years, when suddenly the
little fresh-water lake began to boil furiously, and from its midst a
fountain of fire shot high in the air. Happily this mighty rocket served
as a signal of distress, for a passing vessel descried the fiery column
and came to investigate, greatly to the relief of the Crusoe family, who
were taken on board, and for ever abandoned their home.
Evidently this isle must lie on the same volcanic chain as the White
Sulphur Isle, which is a sulphur volcano to the north of New Zealand,
connected subterraneously with that great tract in the province of
Auckland, where geysers, solfataras, and all manner of volcanic
phenomena abound.[6]
All these are reproduced on a smaller scale on the island of Tanna in
the New Hebrides, within 30 miles of Fotuna. It is a circular island,
about 40 miles in diameter. Near the harbour rises a volcanic mountain
about 500 feet in height, densely wooded to the very summit, though
seamed with fissures from which rise clouds of steam and sulphureous
vapours. The whole island is exceedingly fertile—cocoa-palms,
bread-fruit trees, bananas, sugar-cane, &c., grow luxuriantly, and the
yams occasionally attain a weight of 50 lb.; one root being from 40 to
50 inches long—a very neat thing in potatoes. Yet the soil which
produces this rank vegetation forms so thin a crust over the vast
furnace below, that in some places the penetrating heat is painful to
the naked foot. Nevertheless, the people have no fear of accidents; on
the contrary, wherever they find a group of hot springs they build their
huts, and, like the New Zealanders, they love to lounge on the steaming
grass or hot stones. In every village a circular space is set apart as
the _marum_, or place for holding council or feasting, and in these
districts a warm spot is selected, where, after sundown, the men may
combine the pleasures of a vapour-bath with the enjoyment of their bowl
of _kava_, while discussing the affairs of the tribe.
The springs are in great favour as baths. They are of all
temperatures—from the tepid water in which the natives play luxuriously
for hours, to the boiling springs in which they place their food and
leave it to cook itself. Some of these natural boilers lie so close to
the shore, that the fishers who haunt the reefs, armed with long
four-pronged spears, have only to throw their prize into the
rock-caldron the moment they have secured it. No fear of tainted fish
for them! Nor need they search far for drinking water. Probably the
nearest spring is quite cold and excellent. Some of the springs are
highly medicated, and many resort to the healing waters, some of which
are especially efficacious for the cure of ulcerous sores.
Beyond the strangely fertile crust, covering the region of horror, lies
an unveiled tract of cinders and black volcanic ash, forming a wide
barren valley from which rises the principal cone. This valley is
intersected by a multitude of fissures from which issue scalding
sulphureous fumes. Here and there beds of the purest sulphur have been
deposited, and trading vessels occasionally carry hence a cargo of this
pale primrose-coloured mineral, to be turned to good domestic uses.
Pools of boiling mud alternate with springs of cold water clear as
crystal; and in fissures lying but a few feet apart the same strange
diversity exists. One sends forth a blast of scalding steam, while in
the next a dripping spring yields its slow but continuous supply of
ice-cold water, falling drop by drop.
The cone, which is called Asoor by the Tannese, is about 300 feet in
height. It is a gradual ascent, but fatiguing, owing to the accumulation
of fine black ash or sand, in which the foot sinks at every step. Masses
of scoria and vitreous lava, or obsidian, have been thrown up by the
volcano, and lie scattered on every side.
On reaching the summit, you find yourself on the brink of a crater half
a mile in diameter, within which lie five secondary craters. These act
as so many chimneys for the great furnace, which roars and bellows
below, and which day and night, with deafening roar, unweariedly throws
up its fiery blast at intervals of five, seven, or ten minutes,
according as its action is more or less vehement. Some travellers have
visited it repeatedly at intervals of several years, and their accounts
of the intervals of eruption never vary beyond this slight difference.
Huge masses of black rock or liquid fire are tossed in the air, to a
height of 200 or 300 feet, often falling back within the crater, or else
hurled to the valley below. Clouds of white steam mingle with denser
clouds of the finest dark-grey dust, which is carried by the wind to all
parts of the island, coating every green leaf with a powder like fine
steel-filings, which fills the eyes and nostrils of all breathing
creatures in a most unpleasant manner. When rain falls, it absorbs this
dust, and becomes literally a mud-shower.
From the position of the inner craters, it is obvious that even the most
foolhardy scientific traveller could hardly venture to approach them to
peer into the mysterious workings of that mighty caldron. Yet a native
legend records, that in one of the fierce battles between the tribes of
Tanna, one party was gradually driven backward, till they retreated to
the summit of the cone, and even there they still fought on, contesting
foot by foot of the sandy ridges of the inner crater, where a multitude
of these savage warriors perished, having fought to the death, unheeding
the wrath of the fire-gods.
But of the isles visited by the Seignelay, before I had the privilege of
joining the party, there is none which I regret so much as Easter
Island, or, as the inhabitants call it, Rapa Nui, where they touched on
the way from Valparaiso, from which it is distant about 2500 miles,
without any intermediate isle. I think it must be the loneliest spot in
the Pacific, as there are apparently only two little isles anywhere
within a radius of 1000 miles. It is a volcanic island, about 11 miles
long by 4 wide. It is covered with extinct craters, in some of which are
deep pools of water. The highest point is about 1000 feet above the
sea-level. The hills are covered with hybiscus and other scrub. It is
inhabited by a race of very fair natives, like the Tahitians, and very
elaborately tattooed.
But the isle owes its interest to its mysterious relics of a forgotten
race, who have utterly and completely died out, even from legendary
lore; while their handiwork abides, written on the rocks, which are so
covered with carving as to resemble the studio of some giant sculptor.
Colossal stone images lie half buried beneath the creeping grass and
encroaching scrub. At intervals all round the coast there are cyclopean
platforms, from 200 to 300 feet in length, and about 30 feet high, all
built of hewn stones 5 or 6 feet long, and accurately fitted, without
cement. And above these, on the headlands, are artificially levelled
platforms, paved with square blocks of black lava. On all these, stone
pedestals remain, whereon were placed the great images, which, by some
powerful force, have mostly been thrown to the ground and broken.
The average height of the figures is about 18 feet; some of those lying
prostrate are 27 feet long, and measure 8 feet across the breast. You
can infer the size of some of the upright ones from the fact that, so
near noon as 2 P.M., they cast sufficient shadow to cover a party of
thirty persons. Some have been found which measure 37 feet. They are all
hewn of a close-grained grey lava, which is only found at Otouli, a
crater on the east side of the island. On a platform near this quarry
several gigantic images stand in perfect preservation. One of these
measures 20 feet from the shoulder to the crown of the head.
They represent an unknown type. Very square face—short, thin upper lip,
giving a somewhat scornful expression—broad nose and ears, with pendent
lobes. All the faces look upward. The eyes are deeply sunken, and are
supposed to have originally had eyeballs of obsidian.
All the principal images have the top of the head cut flat and crowned
with a cylindrical mass of red lava, hewn perfectly round. Some of these
crowns are 66 inches in diameter and 52 in height. The only place on the
island where this red lava is found, is the crater of Terano Hau, which
is fully eight miles from Otouli; and how these ponderous crowns were
conveyed to their position on the heads of the grey rock-kings, is one
of the mysteries of the isle. About thirty of them still lie in the
quarry where they were hewn, ready for the heads which they were never
destined to adorn. Some of these are 30 feet in circumference.
Well may we marvel by what means those unknown sculptors transported
their ponderous works of art from one distant point to another on this
lonely volcanic isle. The statues are literally lying about in hundreds,
and the very rocks on the sea-beach are carved into strange
forms—tortoises or human faces.
Besides these, all along the coast, there are cairns of small stones,
and on the top of each pile are laid a few white pebbles. These have
probably been burial-cairns.
Unless the face of the island has undergone some wondrous change, those
mysterious workmen cannot even have possessed wooden rollers to aid them
in the toil of transport, for there are literally no trees—nothing but
small scrub. When Captain Cook discovered the isle, he only saw three or
four little canoes, which were built of many small pieces of wood, sewed
together with fibre, the largest piece being 6 feet long and 14 inches
wide at one end, 8 inches at the other; and this, he thought, was
probably driftwood. These canoes were from 18 to 20 feet long, and could
barely hold four people. He found that the most acceptable gift he could
bestow on the people was cocoa-nut shells, to be used as cups, since the
island produced no palms, and but few gourds. Their only drink is
brackish water, obtained by digging wells on the stony beach, through
which the salt water filters.
Wooden tablets, covered with hieroglyphics, have been found, which might
perhaps reveal something of the old history of the race, but as yet no
one has been able to decipher them. There are also stone slabs, covered
with geometric figures, curious birds, animals, and faces, painted in
black, white, and red—doubtless these also are hieroglyphs. They are
ranged inside the quaint stone houses, of which about a hundred remain,
at one end of the isle; and are built in lines, with the doors towards
the sea. The inside measurement of these houses is about 40 feet by 13,
and the walls are upwards of 5 feet thick; they are built of flat stones
laid in layers. At about 6 feet from the ground, the slabs are so laid
as to overlap one another, till they gradually close; and the small
opening at the top is roofed with long thin slabs.
Till a Rawlinson arises to read the hieroglyphs of Rapa Nui, its
mysteries must remain unsolved; and the cold proud faces, with the
sightless eyeballs, will continue to gaze heavenward, and the great
stone images, whether gods or heroes, must lie in fallen grandeur in
this their sea-girt shrine, with none to tell us what unknown race
devoted the labour of their lives to sculpturing the rocks on this
lonely isle.
Unfortunately the Seignelay has no artist among her officers, so no one
has any sketches which can give me any general idea of the isle, and
though I have seen a few photographs of individual figures, I cannot
from them obtain any impression of the whole effect. I confess I wish I
had had the chance of doing a few panoramic and bird’s-eye views of the
whole scene. Though perhaps not artistic, I am quite convinced that by
no other means can a traveller so fully enable friends at home to
realise the scenes on which his own eyes have feasted.
The only other corner of the earth, in which I can hear of anything akin
to these mysterious rock-sculptures, is the far-distant volcanic isle of
Java. If you sail almost halfway round the world, heading straight for
the west, you come to that wonderful isle, with its terrible volcanoes
and amazing wealth of vegetation. Nowhere else are there so many
distinct volcanoes in so small a space. No less than thirty-eight
separate cones cluster round the great central range of mountains, from
5000 to 13,000 feet in height. Some are active fire-craters, and throw
out molten lava; others are water-craters, containing milk-white lakes
or sulphureous geysers: in short, volcanic action is there in every form
of sublime terror, and the Javanese aborigines erected temples to
appease the fire-giants, and from the solid rocks sculptured prodigious
statues in their honour. In one spot 400 ruined shrines have been
discovered, with altars, and images—all apparently built to propitiate
the fire-gods.
It is very risky to draw inferences from mere descriptions of any sort
of art, but so far as I can make out, these would appear to be the
productions of the true aborigines, ere Hindu influence prevailed,
leaving its mark in those marvellous Buddhist ruins at Borrobudua and
Samarang, which we so unfortunately did not see, on our way from
Singapore to Fiji.
It is, of course, possible that the platforms and sculptures of Easter
Isle may simply have been an extraordinary development of the
_marai_—_i.e._, the tomb-temple, which was the accepted form of
ecclesiastical building throughout the south-east Pacific. They varied
considerably in form, some being great pyramids erected on a stone
platform; while on other isles (as, for instance, on Huahine, in the
Society Isles) there are stone terraces, built irregularly, right up the
face of the hill, with spaces left between them. On one of the principal
platforms a row of tall monoliths stand upright, just as did the images
on the Easter Island terraces. On Huahine these are called “the stones
of dividing,” and are said to have been set up as memorials of the
division of land among the various tribes, each stone representing the
title-deeds of a clan. To this day each tribe recognises its own stone,
and, beholding it, recollects its unwritten legend,—just as at the
present day in Fiji a messenger who is charged with a dozen different
errands, will carry in his hand a dozen small sticks or leaves, and in
fancy makes each stick represent a message. From this imaginary notebook
he will read off each detail with unerring accuracy.
Whatever faint resemblance may suggest itself between the irregular
terraces and monoliths of Huahine, and the equally irregular terraces
and statues of Easter Isle, it is hardly conceivable that such vast
energy could have been expended on a mere memorial of tribal divisions,
especially where there was so little land to divide. Perhaps Easter Isle
was a sort of Iona—the Holy Isle of the old Druids, who there erected
the 360 great monoliths, which the followers of St Columba sanctified by
carving them into the form of crosses, but which in later years were
cast into the sea by order of a ruthless Protestant Synod, who declared
them to be “monuments of idolatrie.”
The only traces of any forgotten race which I have had the good luck to
see on the present cruise, have been the cyclopean tombs of the old
kings of Tonga, and a huge trilithon, concerning which the present
islanders know as little as we do of Stonehenge.
While in Tonga I endeavoured to procure some stone adzes, but could only
buy three very coarse ones without handles. They have long been in
disuse there. M. Pinart, however, succeeded in getting some better
specimens, which were carefully stowed away by some of the old people in
the recesses of their homes.
What miraculous patience it must have required, first to make these
stone implements, and then to work with them! They were generally made
from basaltic stones, which were dug out of the earth with strong
sticks, and then roughly chipped into shape with a heavy flint. Perhaps
after many hours of severe labour the stone would break in two, and the
workman had to select another and begin again. This time he might
progress swimmingly, and spend perhaps whole days in carefully chipping,
till the rough stone began to take shape. Then he would substitute a
lighter flint, and work with still greater care, only chipping off the
first fragments,—and after all his labour, perhaps one sharp tap would
prove fatal, and the carefully chiselled axe would split in two,
revealing an unsuspected flaw in the centre. So the work must all be
begun again, and the patient, persevering savage go on with his chipping
till he succeeded in producing a perfect axe.
Then came the slow process of smoothing it by such delicate strokes as
only removed a fine white dust, and last of all came laborious polishing
with rough coral and water and fine sand, till the axe at length became
a serviceable tool, ready to be bound with strongly plaited fibre to the
bent wooden handle.
After this it had to be periodically ground by rubbing it on a very hard
rock. We saw several rocks in Fiji scored with deep grooves from having
constantly been used for this purpose; and of course they must exist in
all countries in which stone celts have been in use, which, I suppose,
means all corners of the round world, Britain included. I greatly doubt,
however, whether the ancient Britons ever produced such artistic carved
bowls and spears with their stone implements as these Pacific Islanders
have done.
The men who worked with these tools needed wellnigh as much patience as
those who manufactured them. Imagine a squad of men taking from fifteen
to thirty days to fell a tree! Saith the old proverb, “Little strokes
fell great oaks,” and these were little strokes indeed! Of course a more
rapid process was to make a slow fire all round the base of the tree,
and so burn it down; but the fire so often ran up the heart of the tree,
destroying it altogether, that the slower process proved best in the
long-run. However, as a good-sized tree could thus be felled in three or
four days, the rafters of houses were often thus prepared, and the
branches burnt off. Once down, fire could be better used to divide the
tree into useful lengths; and if a canoe were required, a long narrow
line of fire was allowed to burn the whole length, its progress being
regulated by the slow dripping of water. Thus the work left for the
stone axe was considerably lessened, though it would still have puzzled
a British carpenter to work with such tools.
_Tuesday, 18th._
We are enjoying the most perfect weather—a calm sea and a faint sweet
breeze. The vessel glides on her way so smoothly that we scarcely
perceive any motion, and all yesterday I was able to work up my sketch
of the grotto, sitting in a delightful improvised studio on the tiny
bridge (_la passerelle_). We are not making much way, as we are sailing
to economise fuel; but the days pass pleasantly, and there is always
some ship-life going on, which to me has all the interest of
novelty—either parade, or fire-stations, or fighting-stations, or cannon
practice (mercifully done in dumb show!)
We are passing through a great shoal of jelly-fish—I suppose I ought to
say medusæ—filmy, transparent creatures of very varied form. Some are
like mushrooms, some like great bells, with delicately marked patterns
of pale green or pink, and long fringe of feelers. They are beautiful by
day, and at night gleam like balls of white fire. They are here in
myriads, and are of all sizes, from a teacup to a cart-wheel. There are
also a great number of flying-fish skimming on the surface of the glassy
sea.
I am told that we are now 630 miles from Levuka in a direct line; but
our _détour_ in the Friendly Isles has made our voyage thence amount to
about 1100 miles.
We have just sighted Mount Matafae, the highest point in the isle
Tutuila. It is a conical mountain 2300 feet high, and lies just above
Pango-Pango, the most perfect landlocked harbour in all the Samoan
group, with water six or eight fathoms deep close in shore, and
surrounded by luxuriantly wooded hills. At present we are steering
straight for Leone, where the bishop has work awaiting him. The place
had an evil name in old days, as that where M. de Langle, who
accompanied La Pérouse on his expedition in 1787, was barbarously
murdered, with eleven men of his boat’s crew,—hence the name of
“Massacre Bay,” and the character of treacherous and bloodthirsty
savages which for so many years clung to the people, till Messrs
Williams and Barff arrived here in 1830 with their trained Tahitian
teachers, and made friends with them. Then they learnt the native
version of the fray, and heard the invariable story of innocence
suffering for guilt,—namely, that a poor fellow who had gone off to the
ship to trade had been detected in some trifling act of pilfering, when
he was immediately shot and carried ashore mortally wounded. Of course
his friends determined to avenge his death, and so assembled on the
beach, armed with stones and clubs, ready to attack the invaders the
moment they attempted to land. They were only carrying out the example
given to them, and combined revenge for evil done, with prevention of
further assault.
PANGO-PANGO HARBOUR, _Tuesday Night_.
After all, we did come here, for the anchorage at Leone is simply an
open roadstead, and is not safe in a strong southerly gale. Captain Aube
feared the wind might shift, so the vessel merely lay to, to allow a
young priest, Père Vidal, to leap on board from his canoe, and then we
ran right to this lovely spot, where we anchored at sunset.
It is indeed a perfect harbour. We are lying close to the shore, in
water twenty-one fathoms deep, clear as crystal, and calm as any inland
lake. Steep, richly wooded hills rise round us on every side to a height
of about 1000 feet, and you can discern no entrance from the sea. It
seems like living in a vast cup. The hills all round are covered with
bread-fruit trees, oranges, limes, pine-apples, bananas, and all the
usual wealth of tropical greenery.
This has been a calm, peaceful evening of soft moonlight. We sat on the
_passerelle_ while one of the officers, who is an excellent violinist,
played one lovely _romance_ after another, sometimes soaring to
classical music. The others lay round him listening in rapt delight.
The air is fragrant with the breath of many blossoms, and indeed all the
afternoon we have had delicious whiffs of true “spicy breezes,” such as
I remember vividly off Cape Comorin, but which I have not very often
experienced at any distance from the land.