A CANOE ADVENTURE—SHARKS—FEVER—THE FEAST OF WORMS—RESULTS OF
MISSION WORK—NO MEANS OF LOCOMOTION—GODS ACRE.
LEVUKA, _November 16, 1875_.
The happiest of happy birthdays to you, my dear Nell. I suppose you are
not even awake yet, for you know our time is twelve hours ahead of yours.
I wish I could look in on you all and have a long, long talk. Certainly
it is a weary expanse of sea that separates us at present. I was within
an ace of bringing my journeys to an end last Saturday; and as I don’t
have many adventures to relate, I may as well tell you about it.
We were going off for one of the Governor’s pleasant little picnics along
the coast, but somehow one of the boats was not forthcoming, so, as I
had always been anxious to go in a native canoe, it was agreed that I
should go with Mr Gordon, Mr Maudslay, and Captain Havelock, and four
Fijians, in the canoe which carried the luncheon. A canoe is built on
the principle of having an outrigger alongside to balance her. When the
big mat-sail is up, she runs like the wind; but, of course, every small
ripple that breaks over the bow pours into her hold, so that a man has
to stand astern bailing incessantly, which he generally does by kicking
out the water with his foot. Some of the large canoes belonging to the
chiefs are quite beautiful; but, as luck would have it, the luncheon-boat
on this occasion was a very bad one, and unusually small, so that really
we perhaps overweighted her. However, what happened was, that, as we
were running full speed, a strong puff of wind caught us, twisted the
sail, and ran her head under water. Of course she immediately filled, and
apparently about thirty seconds might elapse before we foundered. The
gentlemen instinctively tightened their girths to be ready for a swim,
when happily the presence of mind of the Fijians in jumping overboard,
and the sudden righting of the sail, changed the state of affairs,
and after a deal of hard bailing our position became somewhat more
satisfactory. The men rigged up a humble little sail, with which we sped
onward at a much less exciting, but, under the circumstances, a good deal
surer rate, and reached our destination in capital time for luncheon.
Our halt this time was under one specially grand old tree close to the
shore (white sand and large trees are both sufficiently rare to make them
noteworthy on this isle of Ovalau). Of course, in coming home, room was
made for me in the big boat, and the gentlemen agreed to walk home—rather
a stretch for Mr Gordon, who, as I told you in my last, has had a very
sharp attack of fever and neuralgia, and was still rather low when we
came out. However, he seemed quite brightened up by the day’s exertions,
and has now gone off with Mr Carew to the very wildest mountain district
in all Fiji, where the cannibal and disaffected tribes live. Baron A.
von Hügel went there some time ago to study the natives in their wild
state, and try to buy some good specimens of their work. Of course these
districts are the place of all others to collect curiosities. I don’t
mean that this is Mr Gordon’s reason for going there. Sir Arthur is going
very soon, and it is well to make straight his path.
As concerns the boat incident, you may make your mind quite easy about
its not happening again; for all the gentlemen are naturally in mortal
fear of swimming in a sea swarming with sharks, and they’ll take good
care not to incur such a double risk as having to look after me at the
same time![15]
Since I last wrote to you there has been a good deal of sickness going
about of an unusual description; its principal feature being, that
while your pulse continues quite steady, your temperature runs up to
any extent, and you feel good for nothing. I’ve had a sharp touch of it
myself, enough to pull me up for boasting about never being ill. I was
laid up for a fortnight, which you can imagine rather astonished me.
Really it was worth a little touch of illness to see how dear and kind
every member of the Fijian family could be. You yourself could not have
taken more care of me than did Mrs Havelock; and Lady Gordon, to whom
walking is such an exertion in this hot climate, came toiling up the hill
every day to see me, and sent me the strongest brown soups and port-wine
to take at short intervals. Knowing how unattainable such luxuries are
to most people on these isles, I marvel how they contrive to shake off
similar attacks. Dr Macgregor, too, has proved himself a most kind friend
and skilful doctor. He is such a good fellow. He and his wife both hail
from Aberdeen, then went to Mauritius, whence Sir Arthur persuaded them
to come here. To them, as also to Colonel Pratt, the ‘Inverness Couriers’
afford unfailing interest.
I find another centre of north-country sympathy in Mrs Havelock’s nurse,
a cosy woman who has taken great care of me during my illness. She lived
in Scotland for many years, till her husband’s regiment was ordered to
Seychelles, where Captain Havelock was then acting Governor. She has a
vivid recollection of Roualeyn; so has the carpenter who comes to work
here. But so it is wherever I find Scotchmen. As to Dr Macgregor, he has
known his book[16] by heart since he was ten years old! Now I really have
nothing more to tell you. We are near midsummer, and have cold blustering
winds and sharp showers. A fine day is quite exceptional. Good-bye. Love
to each and all.
* * * * *
_Monday, November 22, 1875._
DEAREST BESSIE,—I suppose Nell told you about my having an attack of
fever. I’m all right again now, though not very strong yet. While I
remember, I want you to tell the boys about an extraordinary fact in
natural history, which, is, I believe, peculiar to these islands. It
is called “The Balolo Festival”—in other words, The Feast of Worms—and
occurred yesterday. The balolo[17] is a small sea-worm, long and thin as
ordinary vermicelli. Some are fully a yard long; others about an inch. It
has a jointed body and many legs, and lives in the deep sea.
Only on two days in the whole year do these creatures come to the surface
of the water. The first day is in October, which is hence called “Little
Balolo,” when only a few appear. The natives know exactly when they are
due, and are all on the look-out for them. They make their calculations
by the position of certain stars. After this no more are seen till the
high tide of the full moon, which occurs between the 20th and 25th of
November, which hence takes the name of “Great Balolo,” when they rise to
the surface in countless myriads, always before daybreak. In the Samoan
Isles the day occurs about a fortnight earlier. At certain well-known
points near the reefs, the whole sea, to the depth of several inches, is
simply alive with these red, green, and brown creatures, which form one
writhing mass, and are pursued by shoals of fish of all sizes, which come
to share the feast with the human beings. The latter are in a state of
the wildest excitement, for it is the merriest day of the year, and is
looked forward to from one November to the next by all the young folk.
About midnight they go out in their canoes, and anxiously await the
appearance of the first few worms, and great is the struggle to secure
these, which herald the approach of untold myriads. For several hours
there is the merriest sport and laughter, every one bailing up the
worms and trying who can most quickly fill his canoe, either by fair
sport or by stealing from his neighbour. All is noise, scrambling, and
excitement, the lads and lasses each carrying wicker-baskets with which
they capture the worms without carrying too much salt water on board. As
the day dawns, these mysterious creatures with one accord sink once more
to their native depths, and by the moment of sunrise not one remains on
the surface; nor will another be seen for a twelvemonth, when, true to
its festival, the balolo will certainly return. Never has it been known
to fail, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, white or brown. Nor is
there any record of any one having seen one rise to the surface on any
save the two appointed days, which are known as the “Little Balolo” and
“Great Balolo.”
Well do the natives know how needless it would be to look for one after
sunrise, so all the canoes then return to land, wrap their balolo in
bread-fruit leaves, cook them in ovens dug on the beach, and have a great
feast—a regular whitebait dinner, in fact. So now you know the true
meaning of the “Diet of Worms.” So great is the quantity taken, that the
supply generally lasts for several days, being warmed up when required;
and basketfuls are sent to friends at a distance, just as we in Scotland
send a box of grouse. Such is our prejudice against all manner of worms,
that few Europeans appreciate this dainty, which nevertheless is really
not nasty, especially when eaten like potted meat, with bread and butter.
It is rather like spinage, with a flavour of the sea,—perhaps I should
compare it with the laver of the Scilly Isles. Captain Olive brought us
some to taste, which had been given him by some of the Roman Catholic
soldiers.
Sad to say, both this year and last year the full moon tide occurred on
Sunday morning, notwithstanding which, the irreligious little worms rose
to the surface with their wonted punctuality. So rigid is the obedience
of all the Wesleyans in the matter of Sabbatical observance, that not one
of their canoes went out; whereas their Roman Catholic brethren, to whom
more laxity is allowed, went forth rejoicing. The latter, however, are a
very small minority, and you can imagine what an act of self-denial it
must be to give up this highly-valued harvest of the sea on two following
years. So rigid is the adherence to the letter of the old Sabbatical law
throughout the group, that not a canoe will put to sea except to carry a
teacher to a place of worship; nor will a native climb a tree to fetch
a cocoa-nut, even when bribed with much coveted silver; in fact, the
offer of silver is considered as a Satanic temptation to trade on _Singha
tambu_, the holy day. Of course, to us this seems an overstraining of
obedience, but then these people are still like children, for whom a
strictly defined law has many advantages; and, moreover, many of them are
still in the fervour of their first faith, and they certainly are the
most devout race (_for Christians_) that I have ever seen.
Strange indeed is the change that has come over these isles since first
Messrs Cargill and Cross, Wesleyan missionaries, landed here, in the
year 1835, resolved at the hazard of their lives to bring the light of
Christianity to these ferocious cannibals. Imagine the faith and courage
of the two white men, without any visible protection, landing in the
midst of these bloodthirsty hordes, whose unknown language they had in
the first instance to master; and day after day witnessing such scenes as
chill one’s blood even to hear about. Many such have been described to
me by eyewitnesses.
Slow and disheartening was their labour for many years, yet so well has
that little leaven worked, that, with the exception of the Kai Tholos,
the wild highlanders, who still hold out in their mountain fastnesses,
the eighty inhabited isles have all abjured cannibalism and other
frightful customs, and have _lotued_ (_i.e._, embraced Christianity) in
such good earnest as may well put to shame many more civilised nations.
I often wish that some of the cavillers who are for ever sneering at
Christian missions could see something of their results in these isles.
But first they would have to recall the Fiji of ten years ago, when every
man’s hand was against his neighbour, and the land had no rest from
barbarous intertribal wars, in which the foe, without respect of age or
sex, were looked upon only in the light of so much beef; the prisoners
deliberately fattened for the slaughter; dead bodies dug up that had
been buried ten or twelve days, and could only be cooked in the form of
puddings; limbs cut off from living men and women, and cooked and eaten
in presence of the victim, who had previously been compelled to dig the
oven, and cut the firewood for the purpose; and this not only in time of
war, when such atrocity might be deemed less inexcusable, but in time of
peace, to gratify the caprice or appetite of the moment.
Think of the sick buried alive; the array of widows who were deliberately
strangled on the death of any great man; the living victims who were
buried beside every post of a chief’s new house, and must needs stand
clasping it, while the earth was gradually heaped over their devoted
heads; or those who were bound hand and foot, and laid on the ground to
act as rollers, when a chief launched a new canoe, and thus doomed to
a death of excruciating agony;—a time when there was not the slightest
security for life or property, and no man knew how quickly his own hour
of doom might come; when whole villages were depopulated simply to supply
their neighbours with fresh meat!
Just think of all this, and of the change that has been wrought, and
then just imagine white men who can sneer at missionary work in the way
they do. Now you may pass from isle to isle, certain everywhere to find
the same cordial reception by kindly men and women. Every village on
the eighty inhabited isles has built for itself a tidy church, and a
good house for its teacher or native minister, for whom the village also
provides food and clothing _Can you realise that there are nine hundred
Wesleyan churches in Fiji_, at every one of which the frequent services
are crowded by devout congregations; that the schools are well attended;
and that the first sound which greets your ear at dawn, and the last at
night, is that of hymn-singing and most fervent worship, rising from each
dwelling at the hour of family prayer?
What these people may become after much contact with the common run of
white men, we cannot, of course, tell, though we may unhappily guess. At
present they are a body of simple and devout Christians, full of deepest
reverence for their teachers and the message they bring, and only anxious
to yield all obedience.
Of course there are a number of white men here, as in other countries,
who (themselves not caring one straw about any religion) declare that
Christianity in these isles is merely nominal, adopted as a matter of
expediency, and that half the people are still heathen at heart. Even
were this true (and all outward signs go to disprove it), I wonder what
such cavillers expect! I wonder if they know by what gradual steps our
own British ancestors yielded to the Light, and for how many centuries
idolatrous customs continued to prevail in our own isles! Yet here all
traces of idolatry are utterly swept away.
I wonder, too, if they ever remember that out of the four million
inhabitants of London, one million are not recognised as even nominal
members of any Christian sect; that of that million an exceedingly
small number have, even once or twice in their lives, entered any place
of worship; and of the remainder, I think, the largest charity could
scarcely recognise many by any mark of special uprightness or devotion!
It would be strange indeed, therefore, if these new converts had suddenly
acquired a monopoly of Christian virtues.
It is painfully suggestive to know that the thing chiefly deprecated
by all who have the welfare of the people at heart, is their acquiring
English, or being thrown in the way of foreigners.
I hope you won’t think this a very long-winded letter. It is the last
I shall write to you from Mrs Havelock’s pleasant little home, for the
workmen have been getting on with the new house at Nasova, and to-day
I am going to rejoin Lady Gordon there. Of course we have been meeting
almost every day, as this house is on a small hill close by. In fact,
this is the better situation of the two, being on a headland which
catches every breeze; whereas Nasova is too much sheltered, and actually
on the sea-level. There are only a dozen steps from the dining-room to
the pier, from which, by the way, the gentlemen bathe every morning, in
utter defiance of the sharks, which have been seen quite close to them.
It certainly is risky.
* * * * *
NASOVA, _November 30, 1875_.
MY DEAREST NELL,—Immense excitement prevailed here last night, the
Colonial Secretary coming down to rouse up the Governor and staff, just
as they had got comfortably to bed after a grand Levuka ball, to announce
that, after all our doubts and fears, a large steamer has come with mails
from San Francisco. We fear she has only come once in a way, not knowing
the cruel decision of the New Zealand Government not to call here.
Anyhow she will take our letters this time, so I may as well begin one,
especially as it may be some time before I write again; for, two days
hence, I am going with the Governor, Lady Gordon, Mr Maudslay, and the
children, in the new little Government steamer to Suva, on Viti Levu[18]
(Great Fiji). There is a good deal of work going on here, such as pulling
down of old native huts, and levelling of earth, and painting the new
house; and Dr Macgregor wants to get rid of us all till it is finished,
so Sir Arthur has taken the so-called hotel, an empty house, at Suva, the
proposed site of the new Capital. It will be very good for the children
to have change of air. When they are snugly settled we are to go on to
the Rewa, a very fertile district. If we have such lovely weather as this
last week has been, it will be pleasant. But last night it poured, and
looks as if it meant to do so again, which would spoil everything.
From Rewa I am going on a grand expedition with the Langhams. Mr L. is
the head of the Wesleyan Mission here. He and his wife travelled with us
from Sydney, and we made great friends, and now they have asked me to
go with them on a three weeks’ cruise up the Rewa river. We shall sleep
every night in Fijian houses—large reed-huts—so we shall travel really in
correct style, and yet quite comfortably. It is a great thing for me to
have this chance, as none of our own set (Lady Gordon, Lady Halkett, Mrs
de Ricci, Mrs Havelock, or Mrs Macgregor) ever care to leave their own
roofs.
Since I last wrote I have moved down from Mrs Havelock’s house to Nasova,
where the new house is so far on that the children are sleeping in the
large new drawing-room, and I am in possession of their nursery. But my
own room is now quite ready; and I was busy yesterday, with the help of
an acute darkie (Hindoo), in making it all cosy, putting up shelves, and
hooks, and brackets, and pictures; and by the time I come back the garden
in front of the windows will be quite in order and full of flowers.
They do grow well here when any one takes any trouble; and Sir Arthur’s
head man, Abbey, is possessed of an unbounded energy, which delights in
organising everything. He works himself, and struggles to make a troop of
idle careless Fijians do likewise, so garden, farm, and everything else
are taking shape. He goes with us to Suva. Captain Knollys remains here
in charge of everything, and to try to get the work done. He has command
of a large body of Fijian police, or soldiers, who are always on guard
here—picturesque people—who keep the place alive, and are to us a source
of endless interest and amusement. There are also a lot of Engineers
living in a native house on the green in front, so there is no lack of
human beings about the place.
Two days ago a large German man-of-war came in, the Gazelle: her band
came and played here, and the Levuka world came to listen. Last night
the German residents gave them a ball; but our distance from the scene
of action (a long mile of vile footpath, and no alternative but walking)
franks us ladies from appearing at any of these festivities.[19] There is
literally no means of being carried, such as we are accustomed to find
in all Eastern lands. Palanquins, sedan-chairs, dandies, kangos, and
all such substitutes for carriages, are alike unknown, and if imported,
it would be impossible to induce men to carry them (at least so we are
told). So there is nothing for it but to tramp, either in the fierce sun,
or, if after sunset, carrying lanterns to enable us to avoid the many
snares and pit-falls of the great highroad. Some of the officers of the
Gazelle lunched here yesterday, and some more dine to-night. They talk
very good English.
The only other events of the week have been two very sad deaths. One
was that of the contractor for part of this house, a young man, only
married three months ago; the other, a fine boy of twelve, who climbed a
_keveeka_-tree, overhanging a rocky burn, to get bunches of red blossoms,
and, alas! fell off on to the cruel boulders, fracturing his leg and arm,
and doing internal injury besides. For a week they thought he might live,
but the lock-jaw set in, as it commonly does in these climates, from
very slight wounds (as in the cases of Bishop Patteson and Commodore
Goodenough, and their men), and the poor fellow died. He is one of a
large family; they are in dire grief, as you can fancy. His little
brother was in the tree with him, and says he almost fainted with terror
when he saw his brother fall, and can’t think how he got down himself.
It made us all think of ‘Misunderstood’! The cemetery lies on a pleasant
hill, one mile further along the shore, so we saw both funerals go past.
The poor carpenter’s coffin was rowed in a boat, his friends following
by the shore. But the boy’s funeral, which was a Roman Catholic one, was
more ceremonial, and followed by a great number of children carrying
flowers. I think the poor little brothers and sisters go to the grave
almost daily.
I don’t think there’s anything else to tell you, and I must get on with
my preparations for the trip. I have got your photograph in the white
frame, just in front of me, with such a lovely red rose and gardenia, and
bit of stag’s-horn moss, beside it.