ARRIVE IN FIJI—TROPICAL LUXURY IN LEVUKA—KING THAKOMBAU—PLAGUE
OF MEASLES.
FROM MRS HAVELOCK’S HOUSE, LEVUKA, ISLE OF OVALAU,
FIJI, _Sunday, Sept. 26, 1875_.
Here we actually are, safely landed in Fiji! We embarked on the Egmont on
the 9th, and left Sydney at midnight. The Egmont was specially chartered
to carry the Engineers. Their officers are Colonel Pratt, Captain
Stewart, Mr Lake, and Dr Carew. Our only other companions were the Rev.
Frederick and Mrs Langham, superintendent of the Wesleyan Mission, who
have lived in the group for seventeen years, and have seen Fiji in all
its changes; and many a tale of horror they have told me. They are a
kind, genial couple, while she is a gentle little woman, whom it is hard
to associate with such scenes as she has had to go through. Mr Langham
made great friends with some of the Engineers; and a few of the more
thoughtful men told him they were thinking that perhaps they might be of
some use to the poor ignorant people,—perhaps teach some of them to read
and write. Mr Langham expressed his pleasure at their good intentions,
but added, “I think that you will find that some of them can read a
little. We have already established some schools in Fiji,—_about fourteen
hundred schools and nine hundred churches_!” I think the Engineers were
not the only people who opened their eyes at this statement, which is
strictly true!
Our voyage was not altogether pleasant. The Pacific proved false to its
name, and favoured us with “a northerly buster,” which is a much more
rare occurrence than the “southerly buster,” of which we have heard so
much, and which did not seem to find much favour with any one except
the beautiful albatross, who evidently gloried in the gale. We were all
more or less ill—even the captain; and we liked it all the less, as the
wind drove us out of our course and allowed us no chance of touching at
Norfolk Island, as we had hoped to do.
Ten days’ steam brought us to Khandavu, a remote isle lying far to the
south of the group, and rarely visited by the regular white inhabitants,
yet the only Fijian isle ever seen by casual travellers, and
consequently the text for many a lengthened description of the group.
On the following morning, Sunday 19th, we neared Ovalau, and found
ourselves surrounded by many isles, of which we caught glimpses from
time to time; but thick mist alternated with downpours of rain, and the
isles looked grey and cold, like many much nearer home! It was early dawn
when we found ourselves lying off Levuka, the capital; but the land was
shrouded in dense mist, and not a glimpse could we obtain of the hills,
which rise to a height of 3000 feet just behind the town. What mattered
more, we were for nine hours in rough water outside the coral-reef (which
encircles the isle of Ovalau at about a mile from the shore), and were
actually within sound of the church bells, though we could see literally
nothing till a lull in the storm revealed the passage—_i.e._, the opening
in the barrier reef, through which we passed into the quiet harbour of
Levuka.
Just then a bright gleam of sunshine fell like a ray of promise on the
little town, with its background of richly wooded hills, and dark craggy
pinnacles far overhead, appearing above the white wreaths of floating
mist. It was very lovely, and we were duly charmed; but our delight on
arriving was somewhat damped by finding ourselves utterly unexpected.
Great was the perturbation in Levuka when the inhabitants, coming
peacefully out of church, perceived the Egmont quietly steaming in!
Greater still was the excitement at Nasova, for no one seemed to have
believed Lady Gordon was really coming, and her new house is still a mere
skeleton. Even the Engineers were not expected for some days. Indeed, the
official information of their having left England arrived about an hour
after themselves, by a mail _viâ_ New Zealand!
After some delay Sir Arthur came and took us ashore to Nasova, where
we had lunch in the house which was built to be the council-chamber of
Thakombau’s Government—a place of many memories, the last being its use
as a hospital-barrack during the recent terrible scourge of measles, from
which, in spite of most tender nursing by Captain Olive, R.N., several of
his men died. (I must explain that Captain Olive came here with Commodore
Goodenough, and liked the place and people so much that he was appointed
head of the native constabulary; and now he is a sort of additional
A.D.C. to the Governor.)
In the evening we all returned on board the Egmont, as no other quarters
were ready for us. Early next morning Lady Gordon and the children
went ashore, but I stayed on board, thinking I might as well secure a
sketch of the town from the ship, as the view thence was lovely. In
the afternoon Captain Knollys brought back the children, and Captain
Havelock came to say that his wife had prepared a corner for me in her
wee bungalow, charmingly perched on a breezy headland overlooking the
harbour. This was pleasant news; and I soon found myself cordially
welcomed to a most cosy little nest, very small, but one of the nicest
little homes here.
You need not imagine that the bungalows here are like those bowers of
delight I have described to you in other tropical countries. There are
no wide verandahs, over which veils of luxuriant creepers weave garlands
of delight, and no heavy scent of tropical blossoms perfumes the night
air. Here few people have had time, or care, to cultivate flowers; and
somehow those who have, have only succeeded on a _very_ small scale.
Even the fireflies, which we demand as a positive right in all tropical
lands, are very few and very dim. As to the houses, they are all alike
hideous, being built of wood (weatherboard is the word), and roofed
with corrugated iron or zinc, on which the mad tropical rains pour with
deafening noise; or else the burning sun beats so fiercely as wellnigh to
stifle the inmates, to whom the luxuries of punkahs and ice are unknown;
and even baths are by no means a matter of course, as in other hot
countries.
We have not come to a land flowing with milk and honey in any sense.
Daily food is both difficult to obtain and expensive. Fish is scarcely to
be had at any price, though the sea swarms with many good kinds. Foreign
vegetables are not to be got for love or money. The supply of fruit is
very scant, consisting only of indifferent bananas, pine-apples, and
oranges; and such as are brought to market are very poor. Milk is 1s. a
quart; eggs, 3s. a dozen. Indifferent meat is about the same price as
in England; poultry a good deal dearer. Washing varies from 4s. to 6s.
a dozen, not including dresses or petticoats; and any lady who ventures
to have her cuffs and collars, or other small pieces, washed at home,
finds that not one of the scrubbing fraternity will undertake her work.
To people accustomed to washing in India and Ceylon at 1s. a dozen, this
is of itself a startling item. As to house-rent in Levuka, it is simply
exorbitant: four guineas a-week being the moderate price paid, though
taken by the year, for this tiny little one-storeyed bungalow, the whole
of which, offices included, would easily fit into a moderately large room
at home. And this is the country to which the Colonial Office sends men
at ridiculously small salaries, because, as they were told ere leaving
England, living would cost them nothing, and they could save all their
pay! Why, a man without private fortune could hardly live here at all!
Of course, all imported goods are necessarily expensive, having to pay
freight first to Sydney and then to Levuka.
But oh, above all, the miseries every housekeeper must daily endure in
wrestling with a household of utter savages, even supposing her to be
fortunate enough to get a good well-meaning set! Hitherto my ideas of
native servants have been derived from the faultless cooks and other
excellent attendants of India, quick, wide-awake, and neat-handed;
whereas here you probably begin by having one or two Fijians, who look
very intelligent, but prove hopelessly stupid, or rather utterly careless
about learning our strange new ways. Day after day you must show them
exactly how everything is to be done, and may be certain that each time
it will be done wrong, and that the moment your back is turned they will
proceed to twist up a bit of tobacco in a banana-leaf, and deliberately
smoke their cigarette before touching the work you have given them.
Probably they will follow you to ask where the matches are, and the
only answer to any remonstrance is “_malua_” (by-and-by), a universal
principle which is the bane of Fijian life. They are very honest, though
sometimes they cannot resist borrowing large English bath-towels, which
make most tempting _sulus_ (_i.e._, kilt); and nice cambric handkerchiefs
are a tempting covering for carefully-dressed hair. It would be quite
right and proper that they should use things belonging to their own
chiefs, so we need not wonder that they cannot always discriminate. But
the would-be housekeeper certainly needs boundless patience and unfailing
gentleness. Any other course would make a Fijian altogether give up the
attempt to learn anything.
Most people seem to prefer engaging servants from among the “foreign
labour”—_i.e._, men who have been brought from other groups on a three
years’ engagement to work. Most of these are truly hideous, but they
are generally more diligent, and more anxious to learn their work,
than the Fijians, who, as a rule, seem to be chiefly taken up with the
contemplation of their own beauty: certainly many of them are unusually
fine men, with strong muscular frame and good features, set off by a
splendid head of frizzy hair—not so big as the gigantic mop they wore
in heathen times, but still very large and carefully dressed. Some have
really silky hair.
But in the matter of servants, the chief difficulty is to get a cook who
knows anything at all. The very unsatisfactory person known as an English
“plain cook” would here be a household treasure, compared with the
English or Chinese wretches who by turns experiment on your unfortunate
digestion, at not less than £1 per week. I cannot tell how many changes
Mrs Havelock, Mrs Macgregor, Mrs de Ricci, Lady Hackett, and Mrs Abbey,
have already had in their respective households; but anyhow, it would be
a long list. Mrs Abbey and her husband have already done wonders towards
getting Nasova made habitable, and have also started a farmyard and a
garden; so, eventually, we shall have poultry and vegetables secured.
A room has been found for Lady Gordon—very noisy and uncomfortable,
however; and the children are for the present living in a pretty little
house close by, belonging to the Thurstons, who will scarcely care to
give it up for long; so the work at the new rooms is being pushed on in
earnest. Good-bye for the present.
* * * * *
_September 29, 1875._
... You may tell the boys that at last I really have seen the King of
the Cannibal Islands, and a fine stately old fellow he is, with a bright
intelligent countenance, and very chief-like, commanding carriage. I am
told he was born about 1815, but he certainly appears older; his grey
hair looks so strange round the brown face. He and several other high
chiefs from various parts of the group have been staying at Driemba,
a village of native houses just beyond Nasova, where they have been
exchanging counsel on affairs of the State. I am told that he never
appears so dignified as when he is addressing his brother chiefs on
disputed questions. This afternoon they all came to Nasova for a farewell
meeting with Sir Arthur ere returning to their respective dominions. Of
course they had a solemn drinking of yangona, and one chief was appointed
Roko of his district (_i.e._, chief officer in charge); after which there
was a very pretty _méké_,[6] when a number of the people assembled to
dance and sing, dressed in native cloth, gracefully worn as drapery, with
kilts and fringes of black water-weed, long reedy grass-coloured leaves
or climbing ferns thrown over one shoulder and round the waist, also
round the arms and below the knee. They danced a circular dance, turning
sunwise, with many varied figures, and with immense action, while the
non-dancers stood in the middle, making vocal music and beating time on
a drum. The words of these songs are very old, and never alter from the
dialect in which they were at first composed, so they are not understood
by the singers themselves. It was a very interesting scene.
But I do regret not having seen the grand ceremony of Sir Arthur’s
arrival, when (on the 25th June) Thakombau and all his sons, and five
hundred vassals, came to Nasova, and formally did homage to him,—the
first time the old chief has acknowledged any earthly superior. They
brought the customary offerings of yams, turtle, &c. Then Thakombau’s
herald carried a yangona root, of which the Vuni Valu (_i.e._, Root of
War, as the old chief is generally called) broke off a small piece, which
he placed in Sir Arthur’s hands, with a few words of greeting. Sir Arthur
formally accepted the root, and the Vuni Valu then addressed his people,
saying he was glad to welcome the Queen’s representative, and that he and
all his people would obey her law as their only safeguard. Sir Arthur
then addressed the chiefs, entreating them to put away their rivalries
and jealousies, and work together for the common weal, suggesting to them
as a parable, a canoe paddled by many men, some pulling backwards and
some forwards; what would become of canoe and people?
A week later, Sir Arthur was invited by Thakombau to a great
meeting of chiefs at Bau, where there was a very solemn ceremonial,
yangona-drinking, when all present formally acknowledged him as their
feudal lord, and solemnly pledged him as such. There were about two
hundred chiefs present, a greater number than had probably ever assembled
before; indeed, hitherto, the majority had lived in such a condition
of ceaseless warfare, that they had never met save as foes. Even the
tiny isle of Bau, on which the meeting was held, was formerly divided
into seven antagonistic communities, at war one with the other. So this
meeting really was a very important act of feudal homage, and all present
joined in the _tama_, a curious deep-toned acclamation of _ndua woh! ndua
woh!_ which is the vassal’s salutation to his feudal lord, and which on
this occasion proclaimed the Queen’s representative as their superior,
the first chief of Fiji. Now all the people who pass Nasova (Government
House), either by sea or land, shout this greeting.
Certainly these brown men are a fine race. Such a contrast to the
hideous blacks, of whom we saw a few, in Australia. The latter are such
a wretched race, that it seems rather an advantage to humanity that they
should die out; but it is a very different matter with these stalwart
intelligent fellows and bright friendly women. And really it is too sad
to hear of the awful ravages of the measles in the early part of this
year.
Do you realise that one-third of the whole population has died?—that
is to say, 40,000 have died out of a population of 120,000. And the
saddest thing of all is, that the terrible scourge was brought here in an
English man-of-war, H.M.S. Dido, in which, last January, Thakombau and
his sons returned from Sydney, where they had gone to visit Sir Hercules
Robinson, and so prove their implicit confidence in their new friends
and protectors. At Sydney, Ratu Joe and Ratu Timothy, the king’s younger
sons, took measles of a mild type, as did also two servants; and on
the return voyage the old chief was slightly unwell,—so slightly, that
the question of quarantine was never even suggested, and on reaching
Levuka he was allowed at once to go ashore. Vassals and kindred came
from all parts of the group to receive him, and, according to custom,
fervently sniffed his hand or his face, thereby, alas! breathing the
unsuspected poison. A few days later Mr Layard held a meeting on the
Rewa, to which came chiefs from all parts of the interior of Viti Levu,
representing the mountain tribes; there were about a thousand people
present. To this meeting went some from Levuka, who had already caught
the measles, without being as yet unwell. The infection spread, and the
seeds of the disease were thus carried by the mountain chiefs to their
respective districts, where it rapidly extended, proving fatal to a vast
number of the people, and to nearly all the chiefs who had been present
at the meeting with the white chief (Mr Layard). Of course it was only
natural that they should attribute this to poison or witchcraft, and
that the tribes who had only recently accepted Christianity, or were
on the eve of doing so, should conclude that this was a Heaven-sent
punishment for forsaking the gods of their fathers and giving up their
lands to the white men. So they retreated to their mountain strongholds,
banished their teachers, returned to heathenism, and openly repudiated
the recently accepted British rule. We heard of an instance in which
one of the teachers having died, even the Christian villagers deemed it
expedient so far to return to their old customs as to bury his wife and
children in the same grave with him as a propitiation to the spirit of
the murrain. But, as a rule, the Christians stood their ground firmly,
and the marvel is that so very few should have relapsed. Among the first
victims was a very good man, Ratu Savanatha, one of the most able and
intelligent of the chiefs, and who had done all in his power to explain
to the Kai Tholos (_i.e._, people of the mountains) the advantages of
English rule.
So from every corner of the group came tidings that the plague was
raging. Whole villages were stricken down—young men and maidens, old
men and children, lay dead or dying. The handful of white people, as
a rule, did their utmost to help, and gave all the food and medicine
they possessed; but their own labourers and their own children were
stricken, and needed more care than they could give; nor were there
lacking bad white men who went about telling the natives that the disease
had been purposely introduced to kill them and get their lands. So the
plain medical directions which were at once published were ignored, and
the white man’s medicine too often refused, from a conviction that it
would cause certain death. Native medicines, and bad, ill-cooked food,
made matters worse. Of course anything like isolation of the sick was
impossible; nor could they be prevented from rushing to the nearest
water to cool their burning fever. How could men who are continually
bathing and swimming be persuaded that this could harm them? So the rash
was thrown in, and congestion of the lungs and dysentery of the most
malignant type were brought on in thousands of cases.
Apart from this irresistible craving to lie down in cool streams, it
would have been a hard task for the poor sufferers to keep themselves
dry, for an unparalleled rainfall converted whole districts into dreary
swamps, where dysentery and starvation completed the work of death. The
people were too weak to go to their gardens (which are often far away
on some steep hillside), and so there were none to carry food; besides,
a cold wretched walk through the long wet reeds was almost certain
doom. At last the few who were well began to herd together, forsaking
the sick, and scarcely exerting themselves to give them a drink of
water, or prepare such food as they had. In some districts, as in the
isle of Ono, the people were literally starving, digging up wild roots,
and eating old cocoa-nuts only fit for making oil. Then they lay down,
all alike stricken, for the most part awaiting the fate they deemed
inevitable, with that strange apathetic calm which characterises a race
wholly indifferent to life. At last the living were unable to bury the
dead, and there was good cause to dread lest a worse pestilence, in the
form of typhus, should be produced by the horrible putrefaction which
poisoned the air. On the king’s little island of Bau (the special home of
the nobles, and which is small and overcrowded), all were ill at once.
Canoes bearing the dead were ceaselessly crossing to the mainland, where
the graveyards lie; the cries of mourners and the death-drums resounded
day and night. There, too, the people were starving; they had no strength
to go ashore to the mainland for food. Many of the finest chiefs and
teachers died.
At the Missionary Institute all the students were down; but thanks to
unwearied nursing day and night, most of them recovered.
Of course all the native constabulary were seized; but, thanks to
the devoted care of Lieutenant Olive, late of the Royal Marines,
comparatively few died. He turned Nasova into a great hospital, and
distributed his 150 patients all over it, appointing those who were less
ill guards over the very sick, to prevent their yielding to the fatal
impulse to rush into the cool blue sea, which lay so temptingly at their
very door. By dint of indefatigable exertions, and a generosity that
spared not the utmost expenditure of his private means on comforts, and
indeed necessaries, for his sick men, he had the unspeakable satisfaction
of saving all but ten, and these fell victims to their own craving for
the cool waters. They managed to escape from their guards, and lay down
in the sea, thus sealing their own doom.
All the details that come from every isle are alike harrowing. Whole
towns are deserted, every house closed. The dead have been buried in
their own houses, and these having fallen, the raised foundation on which
every Fijian house is built has now become a platform on which lie the
graves of the whole family, marked by the red leaves of dracæna or other
plants. Perhaps one wretched orphan alone survives. The coast towns
seem to have suffered more severely than those in the mountains, owing
to the fact of their being generally built in mangrove-swamps, or some
other morass, as being better concealed and more easily defended in the
intertribal wars which have hitherto been of ceaseless occurrence. We are
told of some teachers who fled from their villages, but were overtaken
by the disease and died. The majority acted as noble examples to their
flocks, but many died at their posts; indeed one district alone has lost
_ninety_, and the district next to it _forty_, native ministers and
teachers, all carefully trained men,—a loss not to be quickly replaced.
Of the 40,000 who are computed to have perished, 35,000 were personally
known to the Wesleyan teachers as being either professedly Christians or
under instruction.
It appears that the measles, which we consider such a simple and
infantile complaint, invariably assumes a character more like the
plague when first introduced in one of these South Sea isles. In 1860
it was unfortunately taken to the Mare Loyalty group, and one-fifth of
the population died. The Dido unfortunately put three persons ashore on
Norfolk Island, on her way to Fiji; they also carried the measles, which
spread to the whole community. Afterwards she landed some time-expired
labourers at the Isle Malicolo, and there too, it is reported that many
have died.
This is the first epidemic of any sort that has visited Fiji, and
its results naturally make the introduction of any other infectious
disease a thing to be dreaded. Just imagine how appalling would be the
results of small-pox, for instance! And as hitherto there have been no
quarantine laws, this might have been brought by any vessel. Even now
there is the greatest anxiety lest it should be carried by the large
steamers which call at Khandavu every month, on their way to and from San
Francisco, Australia, and New Zealand. Of course the strictest quarantine
regulations have now been issued; and Dr Mayo is stationed at Khandavu
to enforce them, as also to vaccinate the whole population, and very
monotonous work he finds it, however necessary. Happily the people take
rather kindly to the operation. They have a fancy for making scars on
their skin, both as a remedy and an ornament, so the process is rather
attractive; and they come voluntarily to the doctor (whom they call
_matai-ni-mate_, “carpenter of death”) to request his good offices. Now
you will think I am never going to stop writing, so I may as well say
good-bye.